1850-fiO.] BENJAMIN T. GUSHING. 495 Radiant and beautiful ! whose task The pure Immoi-tals well might ask ; Within whose heart's cell ever burn High thoughts, like stars in Night's blue urn ; And whose clear voice, so deep and kind, Charms, blesses, glorifies mankind! Upon him from his earliest day A golden charm from Nature lay, Which bade the world, to others dim, Reveal a beauteous realm to him, And seem as fair as when she burst From her Creator's hand at first ; And let him go where'er he will That charm of life is round him still. To him the simplest flower that blooms — The rose-bud, laden with perfumes, The lily, pale as cloistered nun. The cowslip, colored by the sun, The meek-eyed violet's grassy bed. The dainty daisy tipped with red — E'en lichens from the rude rocks bowing. And butter-cups in meadows growing. And moss that waves by waters clear, Give inspiration fresh and dear. He loveth, too, Earth's living things : — The humming-bird on radiant wings, Like a plumed jewel, fallen down All glittering, from a rainbow's crown; The lark that sings, the soaring eagle. The bounding doe, the baying beagle. The lambkin sporting wild with play On a green bank, of summer day ; All these, — and vales, and dashing floods And thickets deep, and wild old woods Where springs are born, which the bright sun Strives through thick leaves to look upon, And mountains brown, and heaving sea, Grand in its deep-toned min^elsy ; These charm him, whether lit at morn By the sun's early torch, or warm With the thick fire which noontide showers. Like small, bright rain on thirsty flowers. Qr whether fair and soft they lie Steeped in calm evening's rosy dye! But better far than these he loves. The glorious night, when fields and groves. In their thrice sacred beauty spread, Solemn as mourners o'er the dead ; When all gay Nature's myriad forms (So fancy-hued in Day's wide arms) Now, in one somber garb arrayed, Bow down and worship in the shade Of the great temple God hath made ! Whose floor is earth's circumference wide, Whose organ is the ocean's tide. Whose pillars are the mountains high, Whose lamps the stars, whose roof the sky; That temple where both great and small Proclaim God in, above, through all ! Yes, when the Night spreads out her tent With golden orbs of light besprent, The Poet seeks yon lofty mound. And scans the dreamy landscape round — The darkened woods, the distant river. And the stars shining on forever — Nature's dear child, most glad with her. To be a silent worshiper ! And as he gazes, o'er his soul Those tides of song in music roll. Which yet shall break on time's dark shore. And ring melodious, evermore ! Oh, solemn Night ! thine is the hour When Poesy hath deepest power, When inspiration, like a flood Of mellow glory, bids the blood Dance swifter through the veins, and fires The heart with fond and proud desires ; Thine is the hour when most we love To radiate towai'd the Soul above — When tender thoughts abroad are stealing, And tender wishes past revealing ; Thine is the hour for dreams most bright — Then let the Poet love tlife Night !
