To bid them breathe a silent prayer, And then, all free and gloriously The Sun comes mounting from the sea, As lightning had sprang sudden there, And lingered in the atmosphere! Again the languid pulses start Like a rush of joy to a weary heart, That hardly hath left a hope for such, So mild its quick but gentle touch: And now it clasps in warm embrace All living things, and face to face And lip to lip, shall cling all day, Still giving life, unceasingly. Beneath the clear unclouded sky All quiet and still the islands lie, Like monsters of the deep, couchant; And farther out is cool Nahant, A finger pointing the sea aslant; The light-house top, and Nix's Mate, And tall ships moving by in state, With top-sails and top-gallants bent To catch each wandering breeze that's sent; Some, just come in from Labrador, Sweep by with the nod of an emperor; And some are there, have dipped their spars In waters that flash back of stars A sky-full from each wave that swells Its mounting crest in the Dardanelles; Some, that have iced them at Cape Horn; And some dash in, with topsails torn In some such trifling matter as A rough-and-tumble at Hatteras; And some, still warm from southern seas And cotton bags, hail out, 'Balize;' A long procession, dashing on, Like the march of men to a clarion. They may do these things in Italy In a different way; but enough for me The off-hand manner, the tone, the style, The 'keeping' of all, and the glorious smile Of earth and air, and sky and sea, So gayly decked and brilliantly; Why, Heaven has left a door ajar This side the world, to show how fair May be a land, and sky, and air, Where bold and free are 'heart and hand'-- And such is this, our glorious land! Beside, your Greece and Rome, and all Who hold themselves so beautiful, Have no such charming mists as these, No climate changing with each breeze; And nothing to compare, in the least, With a Boston storm, NO'TH-EAST BY EAST. [C] A small star near Mars. [D] The monument: vide WEBSTER. THALES OF PARIS. FROM THE FRENCH.