CCXXX. THE LATTICE AT SUNRISE. As on my bed at dawn I mused and prayed, To say we see not, for the glory comes His lustre pierceth through the midnight glooms; And, at prime hour, behold! He follows me With golden shadows to my secret rooms !' CCXXXI. THE BUOY-BELL, How like the leper, with his own sad cry In seamen's dreams a pleasant part to bear, And earn their blessing as the year goes round; And strike the key-note of each grateful prayer, Breathed in their distant homes by wife or child. CCXXXII. ON STARTLING SOME PIGEONS. A HUNDRED Wings are dropt as soft as one Yet ye are blest! with not a thought that brings CCXXXIII. THE OCEAN. THE Ocean at the bidding of the moon And semblance of retur: Anon-from home Mute listener to that sound so grand and lone- CCXXXIV. THE LAKE. O LAKE of sylvan shore, when gentle Spring And fragrant turf is thronged with blossoms rare- Of thy thick forestry, may I be there, |