THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY.

———

BY A. M. PARIS.

———

In the balmy breath of the early spring,

In the warbling notes that her songsters sing,

In her bursting buds, and her fragrant flowers,

In her azure skies and her golden hours,

In the leafy woods and the meadows green,

Are thy powers displayed, and thy breathings seen.

Thou art found in the ocean’s wide expanse,

When the gentle waves in the sunbeams dance,

Or propelled by the storm’s resistless might,

Rise foaming up to their giddy height;

When the first faint blush of the glowing morn,

Lights the dewy pearl on the flower and thorn,

And the sunbeams kiss the awakening flower,

And the zephyr stirs the enchanted bower;

Or the silvery clouds of the sunset lie

On the radiant breast of the evening sky,

And the gentle gales through the forests play,

And the requiem sing of departing day,

On the craggy steeps of the rock-based hills;

By the flowery banks of the purling rills;

From the darkling climes of the gelid north,

Where the bright Aurora flashes forth,

And the iceberg gleams in the moon’s soft light,

Through the lengthened hours of the polar night;

To the sunny south, where the palm-trees spread

Their feathery boughs o’er the sheltered head;

And a thousand flowers of brilliant hue,

Are forever expanding to the view;

And a thousand birds of plumage bright,

Rejoice in the groves of a land of light;

O’er the gladsome earth, in the stars of night,

Thou art seen, if the heart be attuned aright.