A DAY REDEEMED.
I rose, and idly sauntered to the pane,
And on the March-bleak mountain bent my look;
And standing there a sad review I took
Of what the day had brought me. What the gain
To Wisdom's store? What holds had Knowledge ta'en?
I mused upon the lightly-handled book,
The erring thought, and felt a stern rebuke:
"Alas, alas! the day hath been in vain!"
But as I gazed upon the upper blue,
With many a twining jasper ridge up-ploughed,
Sudden, up-soaring, swung upon my view
A molten, rolling, sunset-laden cloud:
My spirit stood, and caught its glorious hue—
"Not lost the day!" it, leaping, cried aloud.
OUTREMONT.
Far stretched the landscape, fair, without a flaw,
Down to one silver sheet, some stream or cloud,
Through glamorous mists. Midway, an engine ploughed
Across the scene. In meditative awe
I stood and gazed, absorbed in what I saw,
Till sweet-breathed Evening came, the pensive-browed,
And creeping from the city, spread her shroud
Over the sunlit slopes of Outremont.
Soon the mild Indian summer will be past,
November's mists soon flee December's snows;
The trees may perish, and the winter's blast
Wreck the tall windmills; these weak eyes may close;
But ever will that scene continue fast
Fixed in my soul, where richer still it grows.
THE NEW OLD STORY.