O,  sun-bright  gleams,  and  ye  unfolding  depths

Of  azure  space,  what  are  ye  but  a  pledge

And  precious  foretaste  of  that  cloudless  day,

Gladdening  at  intervals  the  good  man's  heart  lo

With  earnest  of  infinitude  ?     The  while

He  on  his  rugged  path  moves  cheerily.
Towards  joys  that  mock  the  measuring  eye  of  hope,

As  yon  abyss  ethereal  mocks  our  gaze.
March  8,  1812.
TO  THE  NIGHTINGALE

All  hail,  thou  messenger  of  spring  and  love.
Instinct  with  music,  and  with  blissful  thought !

What  spell  unknown  from  genial  southern  grove.
From  purer  gales,  and  skies  without  a  blot,

Does  round  thy  charmed  beak  and  pinions  move.
Mellowing  our  rude  air  to  receive  thy  note  ?

Art  thou  indeed  a  thing  of  soulless  frame  ?

And  heaves  that  bosom  with  no  minstrel  flame  ?

O,  no  !  for  sure  those  thrilling  tones  had  mind.
That  trembled  from  beneath  the  evening  star,    lo

In  whose  dear  liglit  thou  sittest  as  enshrined
While  woods  and  waves  do  rustle  from  afar.
And  to  thy  varied  descant  the  low  wind
Makes  fitful  answer,  which  no  sound  may  mar

Of  beast  or  meaner  bird  :  they  silent  all

Are  held  by  that  sweet  chain  in  willing  thrall.
Thy  song  has  language  :  to  each  heart  of  man
It  sounds  in  unison  :  but  who  are  they

Who  best  thy  mystic  melodies  may  scan  ?
The  Poet  musing  at  the  close  of  day,

He  who  with  heavy  heart  and  visage  wan
In  thought  of  vanish'd  bliss  does  sadly  stray,

The  lover  when  his  true  love  is  not  by.
And  the  rapt  ear  of  Heaven-taught  infancy.
