36. When the _moon_ Bends her _new_ silver bow, as if to fling Her arrowy lustre through some vapor's wing. PARK BENJAMIN. 37. Be it the _summer noon_; a sandy space The ebbing tide has left upon its place, While the broad basin of the ocean keeps An equal motion, swelling as it sleeps, Then, slowly sinking, curling to the strand, Faint, lazy waves o'er-creep the ridgy sand. Ships in the calm seem anchor'd, for they glide On the still sea, urged solely by the tide. CRABBE. 38. Night; when the stars are gemming heaven, And seem like angels' eyes, Resuming still their silent watch Within the far-off skies. When tenderly they gaze on us, Those children of the air, While every ray they send to us Some message seems to bear. MISS LEWIS. 39. The _Sabbath morn_ So sweet;--all sounds save nature's voice are still; Mute shepherd's song-pipe, mute the harvest horn, A holier tongue is given to brook and rill; Old men climb silently their cottage-hill, There ruminate, and look sublime abroad, Shake from their feet, as thought on thought comes still, The dust of life's long, dark, and dreary road, And rise from this gross earth, and give the day to God. THOMAS MILLER. 40. When the fair young moon in a silver bow Looks back from the bending west, Like a weary soul that is glad to go To the long-sought place of rest. When her crescent lies in a beaming crown, On the distant hill's dark head, Serene as the righteous looking down On the world from his dying-bed. MISS H. F. GOULD. 41. When gleaming through the gorgeous fold Of clouds, around his glory roll'd, The _orb of gold_, half hid, half seen, Swells his rays of tremulous sheen, That, widely as the billows roll, Glance quivering on their distant goal. SOTHEBY--_Constance de Castile_. 42. When, like lobster boiled, the _morn_ From black to red begins to turn. BUTLER--_Hudibras_. 43. When in mid air, on seraph wing, The paly _moon_ is journeying In stillest paths of stainless blue. Keen, curious stars are peering through Heaven's arch this hour; they dote on her With perfect love, nor can she stir Within her vaulted halls apace, Ere, rushing out with joyous face, These Godkins of the sky Smile as she glides in loveliness, While every heart beats high With passion, and breaks forth to bless Her loftier divinity. MOTHERWELL.