And on its breast so pure and high The burning paths of planets lie, Planets which ’neath its folds had birth When worlds on worlds first smiled o’er earth, And northern-lights and comets play, And meteors gleam, then die away. And oft that bending sky doth wear A look of deep and troubled care. When sunbeams by deep clouds are hid, The gath’ring tempests frowning lid, And thunders burst, and lightnings play, And storms sweep o’er the trav’lers way. And on the broad and rolling deep Each mariner doth turn and keep An anxious vigil of the sky, When threat’ning clouds and storms are nigh, And tempests round them fierce are driven, Or rainbows span the arch of heaven. The sky, the sky, now clear, now bright, Now wreathed with folds of snowy white, Now tinged with amber hues, whose glow Is borrowed from the sunbeams flow, Then on its ever-changing breast Beam roseate streakings in the west. And oft upon the sky I gaze As in my childhood’s early days, And watch at every morn and night Its fading or increasing light, And trace with love each cloud and star, Which floats above, or beams afar. The sky, the sky, it bendeth o’er The weary exile, who no more Can greet his home, or feel the breeze Play through his native forest trees, Or watch upon his home’s clear stream The moon’s pale rays reflected beam. And the bright sky o’er all that’s here Unto the exile’s heart is dear; In it he sees each beaming star Which shone above his home afar, And knows a power of deathless love Spread out that azure sea above. And over all things here below It bendeth with a radiant glow; On peasant’s cot—on lordly hall— Alike its sun and shadows fall, And gems which gild its brow at even Shine forth for all beneath the heaven. And from its firm unwav’ring height, Its never-failing day and night, The fadeless glory of its sun— Its tireless stars, when day is done, May all, as tow’rd that sky they turn, A lesson of deep import learn. * * * * * TAURUS. BY J. BAYARD TAYLOR. The Scorpion’s stars crawl down behind the sun, And when he drops below the verge of day, The glittering fangs, their fervid courses run, Cling to his skirts and follow him away. Then, ere the heels of flying Capricorn Have touched the western mountain’s fading rim, I mark, stern Taurus, through the twilight gray The glinting of thy horn, And sullen front uprising large and dim, Bent to the starry hunter’s sword, at bay.