When it came full day, and the fathers, mothers, and other relatives arrived at the door, they all listened, and hearing no one speak, at first concluded that the unfortunate man was either dead, or mortally wounded by his ferocious bride. In this they were the more confirmed when they saw the bride standing at the door, and the bridegroom not there. But when the lady saw them advancing, she walked gently on tiptoe towards them, and whispered, "False friends, as you are, how dared you to come up to the door in that way, or to say a word! Be silent! as you value your lives, and mine also." And when they were all made acquainted with what she said, they greatly wondered; but when they learnt all that had passed during the night, their wonder was changed into admiration of the young man, for having so well known how to manage what concerned him, and to maintain order in his house. And from that day forth, so excellently was his wife governed, and well-conditioned in every respect, that they led a very pleasant life together. Such, indeed, was the good example set by the son-in-law, that a few days afterwards the father-in-law, desirous of the same happy change in his household, also killed a horse; but his wife only said to him, "By my faith, Don Fulano, you have thought of this plan somewhat too late in the day; we are now too well acquainted with each other."

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

SUMMER MORNING LANDSCAPE.—DELTA

The eyelids of the morning are awake; The dews are disappearing from the grass; The sun is o'er the mountains; and the trees, Moveless, are stretching through the blue of heaven, Exuberantly green. All noiseless The shadows of the twilight fleet away, And draw their misty legion to the west, Seen for awhile, 'mid the salubrious air, Suspended in the silent atmosphere, As in Medina's mosque Mahomet's tomb,— Up from the coppice, on exulting wing, Mounts, mounts the skylark through the clouds of dawn,— The clouds, whose snow-white canopy is spread Athwart, yet hiding not, at intervals, The azure beauty of the summer sky; And, at far distance heard, a bodiless note Pours down, as if from cherub stray'd from Heaven! Maternal Nature! all thy sights and sounds Now breathe repose, and peace, and harmony. The lake's unruffled bosom, cold and clear, Expands beneath me, like a silver veil Thrown o'er the level of subjacent fields, Revealing, on its conscious countenance, The shadows of the clouds that float above:— Upon its central stone the heron sits Stirless,—as in the wave its counterpart,— Looking, with quiet eye, towards the shore Of dark-green copse-wood, dark, save, here and there, Where spangled with the broom's bright aureate flowers.— The blue-winged sea-gull, sailing placidly Above his landward haunts, dips down alert His plumage in the waters, and, anon, With quicken'd wing, in silence re-ascends.— Whence comest thou, lone pilgrim of the wild? Whence wanderest thou, lone Arab of the air? Where makest thou thy dwelling-place? Afar, O'er inland pastures, from the herbless rock, Amid the weltering ocean, thou dost hold, At early sunrise, thy unguided way,— The visitants of Nature's varied realms,— The habitant of Ocean, Earth, and Air,— Sailing with sportive breast, mid wind and wave, And, when the sober evening draws around Her curtains, clasp'd together by her Star, Returning to the sea-rock's breezy peak. And now the wood engirds me, the tall stems Of birch and beech tree hemming me around, Like pillars of some natural temple vast; And, here and there, some giant pines ascend, Briareus-like, amid the stirless air, High stretching; like a good man's virtuous thoughts Forsaking earth for heaven. The cushat stands Amid the topmost boughs, with azure vest, And neck aslant, listening the amorous coo Of her, his mate, who, with maternal wing Wide-spread, sits brooding on opponent tree. Why, from the rank grass underneath my feet, Aside on ruffled pinion dost thou start, Sweet minstrel of the morn? Behold her nest, Thatch'd o'er with cunning skill, and there, her young With sparkling eye, and thin-fledged russet wing; Younglings of air! probationers of song! From lurking dangers may ye rest secure, Secure from prowling weazel, or the tread Of steed incautious, wandering 'mid the flowers? Secure beneath the fostering care of her Who warm'd you into life, and gave you birth; Till, plumed and strong unto the buoyant air, Ye spread your equal wings, and to the morn, Lifting your freckled bosoms, dew-besprent, Salute with spirit-stirring song, the man Wayfaring lonely. Hark! the striderous neigh! There, o'er his dogrose fence, the chestnut foal, Shaking his silver forelock, proudly stands,— To snuff the balmy fragrance of the morn:— Up comes his ebon compeer, and, anon, Around the field in mimic chase they fly, Startling the echoes of the woodland gloom. Farewell, ye placid scenes! amid the land Ye smile, an inland solitude: the voice Of peace-destroying man is seldom heard Amid your landscapes. Beautiful ye raise Your green embowering groves, and smoothly spread Your waters, glistening in a silver sheet. The morning is a season of delight— The morning is the self-possession'd hour— 'Tis then that feelings, sunk, but unsubdued, Feelings of purer thoughts, and happier days, Awake, and, like the sceptred images Of Banquo's mirror, in succession pass! And, first of all, and fairest, thou dost pass In Memory's eye, beloved! though now afar From those sweet vales, where we have often roam'd Together. Do thy blue eyes now survey The brightness of the morn in other scenes? Other, but haply beautiful as these, Which now I gaze on; but which, wanting thee, Want half their charms, for, to thy poet's thought, More deeply glow'd the heaven, when thy fine eye, Surveying its grand arch, all kindling glow'd; The white cloud to thy white brow was a foil; And, by the soft tints of thy cheek outvied, The dew-bent wild-rose droop'd despairingly.

Blackwood's Mag.

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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 12, No. 322, July 12, 1828

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SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS

SUMMER MORNING LANDSCAPE.—DELTA

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