One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooks-- There the hushed winds their sabbath keep While a near hum from bees and brooks Comes faintly like the breath of sleep. Well may the gazer deem that when, Worn with the struggle and the strife, And heart-sick at the wrongs of men, The good forsakes the scene of life; Like this deep quiet that, awhile, Lingers the lovely landscape o'er, Shall be the peace whose holy smile Welcomes him to a happier shore. A SCENE ON THE BANKS OF THE HUDSON. Cool shades and dews are round my way, And silence of the early day; Mid the dark rocks that watch his bed, Glitters the mighty Hudson spread, Unrippled, save by drops that fall From shrubs that fringe his mountain wall; And o'er the clear still water swells The music of the Sabbath bells. All, save this little nook of land Circled with trees, on which I stand; All, save that line of hills which lie Suspended in the mimic sky-- Seems a blue void, above, below, Through which the white clouds come and go, And from the green world's farthest steep I gaze into the airy deep. Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower. Even love, long tried and cherished long, Becomes more tender and more strong, At thought of that insatiate grave From which its yearnings cannot save. River! in this still hour thou hast Too much of heaven on earth to last; Nor long may thy still waters lie, An image of the glorious sky. Thy fate and mine are not repose, And ere another evening close, Thou to thy tides shalt turn again, And I to seek the crowd of men. THE HURRICANE. deg. Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh, I know thy breath in the burning sky! And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, For the coming of the hurricane! And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales, Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails; Silent and slow, and terribly strong, The mighty shadow is borne along, Like the dark eternity to come; While the world below, dismayed and dumb, Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear. They darken fast; and the golden blaze Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze, And he sends through the shade a funeral ray-- A glare that is neither night nor day, A beam that touches, with hues of death, The clouds above and the earth beneath. To its covert glides the silent bird, While the hurricane's distant voice is heard, Uplifted among the mountains round, And the forests hear and answer the sound. He is come! he is come! do ye not behold His ample robes on the wind unrolled? Giant of air! we bid thee hail!-- How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale; How his huge and writhing arms are bent, To clasp the zone of the firmament, And fold at length, in their dark embrace, From mountain to mountain the visible space.