TREASURE-TROVE.

A day in the heart of summer, A sky of that glorious hue That dazzles and melts like the ocean, In its fathomless, infinite blue! The topmost leaves of the maple Are stirred by a wondrous song, That swells, and dies; then rising, Still clearer floats along. Oh, where have I heard that music? Whence its familiar tone? The beauty that thrills it, trembles Not in the song alone: It dwells in sunsets, that deepen In the glory and gloom of night; In waters that glance and sparkle, In the hush of the lingering light. Like the waves of a springing river, That from silver fountains wells; Higher, and fuller, and sweeter That liquid melody swells. Oh, the haunting, dim-shadowed expression, That sighs on the breathless air! If ever a soul were in music, A soul is thrilling there! That song, with its burden immortal, I heard it long ago! I know its every cadence, That quivers and pulses so: I claim it, bird of summer! That wondrous song of thine; Though thine its tuneful utterance, Its melody is mine. Then sing till, tranced in rapture, The day forgets to wane; And the winds of heaven are silent, To hear that magic strain. Sing till the pain of thy transport O'erpowers each dying tone! Thou canst not warble a measure That is not all mine own.