Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/242

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NATURE.
Tell us a tale of wonder. They recall, To Fancy's vision many a lordly scene, What time chivalrous England's virgin queenGraced martial tournament, and festive hall,A sovereign and a guest! Instructive pile! We learn, while musing 'mid thy ruined maze,The story of thy former greatness—while On every breeze there comes a voice which says, "Though earthly grace and grandeur have their day,Their night, like thine, will come—their darkness and decay!"
Nature.
I love to sit upon some steepThat overhangs the billowy deep,  And hear the waters roar;I love to see the big waves fly,And swell their bosoms to the sky,  Then burst upon the shore.
I love, when seated on its brow,To look o'er all the world below,  And eye the distant vale;From thence to see the waving corn,With yellow hue the hills adorn,  And bend before the gale.
I love far downward to beholdThe shepherd with his bleating fold,  And hear the tinkling soundOf little bell and mellow flute,Wafted on zephyrs, soft, now mute,  Then swell in echoes round.
I love to range the valleys too,And towering hills from thence to view,  Which rear their heads so high;When nought beside, around, is seenBut one extended space between,  And overhead the sky.
I love to see, at close of day,Spread o'er the hills the sun's broad ray,  While rolling down the west;When every cloud in rich attireAnd half the sky, that seems on fire,  For purple robes is drest.
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