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SPRING MORNING IN ITALY.

The sun is up, and 'tis a morn of May,
Round old Ravenna's clear-shown towers and bay;
A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen--
Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green;
For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night,
Have left a sparkling welcome for the light;
And there's a crystal clearness all about;
The leaves are sharp; the distant hills look out;
A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze;
The smoke goes dancing from the cottage trees;
And when you listen, you may hear a coil,

Of bubbling springs about the grassy soil;

And all the scene, in short-sky, earth, and sea— Breathes like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly.

"Tis nature full of spirits, waked and springing;
The birds to the delicious time are singing,
Darting with freaks and snatches up and down,
Where the light woods go seaward from the town;
While happy faces striking through the green
Of leafy roads at every town are seen.

And the far ships, lifting their sails of white,
Like joyful hands, come up with scattery light-

Come gleaming up, true to the wished-for day,
And chase the whistling brine and swirl into the bay.
Already in the streets the stir grows loud,

Of expectation and a bustling crowd;
With feet and voice the gathering hum contends,
The deep talk heaves, the ready laugh ascends;
Callings, and clapping doors, and curs unite,
And shouts from mere exuberance of delight;
And armed bands, making important way,
Gallant and grave, the lords of holiday;
And nodding neighbors, greeting as they run;
And pilgrims chanting in the morning sun.

LEIGH HUNT.

UP, AMARYLLIS!

SWEDISH.

Waken, thou fair one! up, Amaryllis !

Morning so still is;

Cool is the gale:

The rainbows of heaven,

With its hues seven,

Brightness hath given

To wood and dale.

Sweet Amaryllis, let me convey thee;

In Neptune's arms naught shall affray thee;
Sleep's god no longer power has to stay thee,
Over thy eyes and speech to prevail.

Come out a-fishing; nets forth are carrying ;
Come without tarrying-

Hasten with me.

Jerkin and vail in

Come for the sailing,

For trout and grayling:

Baits will lay we.

Awake, Amaryllis! dearest, awaken;

Let me not go forth by thee forsaken;

Our course among dolphins and sirens taken,

Onward shall paddle our boat to the sea.

Bring rod and line-bring nets for the landing;

Morn is expanding,

Hasten away!

Sweet! no denying,

Frowning, or sighing

Could'st thou be trying

To answer me nay?

Hence, on the shallows, our little boat leaving, Or to the Sound where green waves are heaving, Where our true love its first bond was weaving, Causing to Thirsis so much dismay.

Step in the boat, then! both of us singing,

Love afresh springing,

O'er us shall reign.

If the storm rages,

If it war wages,
Thy love assuages
Terror and pain.

Calm 'mid the billows' wildest commotion,

I would defy on thy bosom the ocean,

Or would attend thee to death with devotion:
Sing, O ye sirens, and mimic my strain!

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And smiled, at my feet, on the cloudless blue
Which decked the sky.

O lovely field, and forest fair,
And meads grass-clad!

Her bride-bed Freya everywhere
Enameled had;

The corn-flowers rose in azure bond

From earthly cell;

Naught else could I do but stop, and stand,
And greet them well.

"Welcome on earth's green breast again,
Ye flowerets dear!

In Spring how charming, 'mid the grain,
Your heads ye rear!

Like stars 'midst lightning's yellow ray
Ye shine red, blue:

O how your Summer aspect gay
Delights my view!"

"O poet, poet, silence keep,
God help thy case!

Our owner holds us sadly cheap,
And scorns our race;

Each time he sees he calls us scum,
Or worthless tares,

Hell-weeds, that but to vex him come
'Midst his corn-ears."

"O wretched mortals! O wretched man!

O wretched crowd!

No pleasures ye pluck, no pleasures ye plan,
In life's lone road-

Whose eyes are blind to the glories great
Of the works of God,

And dream that the mouth is the nearest gate
To joy's abode !

"Come, flowers! for we to each other belong,
Come, graceful elf,

And around my lute in sympathy strong
Now wind thyself;

And quake as if moved by zephyr's wing,
'Neath the clang of the chord;

And a morning song with glee we'll sing
To our Maker and Lord."

Anonymous Translation.

ADAM GOTTLOB OCHLENSHLAGER, 1779.

DANISH MORNING SONG.

From eastern quarters now

The sun's up wandering;

His rays on the rock's brow,

And hill-side squandering.

Be glad, my soul! and sing amid thy pleasure;
Fly from the house of dust,

Up with thy thanks, and burst

To heaven's azure.

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And thou foreseest what is for me most fitting;
Be still, then, O my soul!

To manage in the whole,
Thy God permitting!

May fruit the land array,

And even for eating!

May truth e'er make its way,

With justice meeting!

Give Thou to me my share with every other,

Till down my staff I lay,

And from this world away

Wend to another!

Translation of H. W. LONGFELLOW.

THOMAS KINGO, 1634-1728.

SUMMER MORNING SONG.

FROM THE DUTCH.

Up, sleeper! dreamer, up! for now

There's gold upon the mountain's brow

There's light on forests, lakes, and meadows;

The dew-drops shine on floweret bells;

The village clock of morning tells.
Up, man! Out, cattle! for the dells
And dingles teem with shadows.

Up! out! o'er furrow and o'er field!
The claims of toil some moments yield,

For morning's bliss and time is fleeter
Than thought; so out! 'tis dawning yet;
Why twilight's lovely hour forget?
For sweet though be the workman's sweat,
The wanderer's sweat is sweeter.

Up! to the fields! through shine and stour!
What hath the dull and drowsy hour

So blest as this-the glad heart leaping,
To hear morn's early song sublime?

See earth rejoicing in its prime !
The summer is the waking time,

The winter, time for sleeping.

O fool! to sleep such hours away,

While blushing nature wakes to day,

Or down through summer morning soaring!

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