POETRY.
THE CALM OF NATURE.
[`` The tranquil rhythm of this fair Nature, the hurrying throb of the human interests it measures : there is the eternal poem of human life."—From the article, " Clouds," in the Spectator, September 14th.] THE heart of Nature doth not feel or know Our heart's quick heritage of sympathy;
What though we laugh her days sob by ; and she Smiles no return to love's transcendent throe.
What though we weep ? the winds their Pan-pipes blow, The stream still sings, wild woodland notes of glee Burst irrepressible from brake and tree, And myriad dancing wings ebb to and fro. Her stars of evening in their order bloom Alike to dreaming eyes and sleepless souls ; And, still inviolate through glow and gloom, She holds impervious to her seasons' goals ; Yet those who will, may lean against her knee, And grow serene through her serenity.
KATE CARTER.
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