A RHYMING MOOD.

There’s much of rapture in those favored hours, When o’er the mind a magic influence steals, That tunes to poetry and song its powers, And melts in music all a warm heart feels. There is a blissfulness that lifts the soul Far from the paltry cares and toils of time, In venting feelings that defy control, In lofty-measured strains or tuneful rhyme. The summer’s shower that wets the deep-seared earth, And decks her burning surface new in green, And saves the land from pestilence and dearth, Comes not more joyous than the spirit dream, Steals o’er the poet’s troubled soul, and gives The rapture-speaking voice and tone! He rises to another sphere—he lives For a short season in a world alone! Alone!—oh no! there Fancy groups her forms More lovely far than earth presents to view; More beauteous garniture that land adorns— The skies assume a deeper, brighter blue. Manning.