SUNSET.

The Summer’s sunset throws a tender spell,
Along the hills, o’er ocean’s softened swell;
The God of day goes flaming down the sky,
And zephyr floats on perfumed pinions by. 
Oh! who can gaze upon this gorgeous sight,
Nor feel his bosom chain’d by deep delight,
This hour when beauty wears her richest dye,
And love o’erflows charmed ocean, earth and sky;
Till fancy, dreaming in her lovely bower,
Hears far off strains of deep, o’erwhelming power,
And, lifting up her pensive orbs above,
Spies Angels winging through yon vault of love,
And says that “they are wafting souls forgiven
On their bright pinions, to yon nameless Heaven.” 
On such an eve, so peaceful and so bright,
Two loved ones flee beyond yon failing light,
No more to droop within this gloomy world,
Their angel pinions next God’s throne were furled;
There now—­for aye forgot this earthly night—­
They lave those bright wings in eternal light.

IMAGINATION.

Now fir’d imagination soars on high, and shows
Magnific scenes.  The first—­a summer’s dawn—­
A sky of purest blue—­a golden sea
Beneath—­earth bright with lovely hues like Heaven. 
Yon orb of fire suspended o’er that sea
Of molten gold, burns like a throne in Heaven. 
His foaming, flashing radiance, floods earth—­sky—­
And throbbing sea, till each lies bathed in glory,
Which seems the break of a celestial morn. 
That scene has passed.  Another charms
The gaze.  The mighty orb of blazing flame,
Has run a curve of brightness o’er the sky,
And presently will cut the Western main,
With its bright rim.  We stand upon an isle,
One of the Hesperian, in the unknown seas,
Toward the setting sun.  The waves which gush,
And softly splash against the rocky shores,
Are dyed by richest, ever varying tints,
Like those, we fancy, tinge that sea that flows,
Around the throne of God, and, in whose billows,
The seraphs, as wing’d birds, embathe their breasts—­
Whilst heaven becomes another sea like that—­
And all is bright waves dashing o’er our hearts,
And making music sweeter than the songs
Of those we loved in youth, ere hatred grew. 
That scene has pass’d.  Imagination sleeps
To husband strength for more ambitious flight. 
But, soon restored, with native, heavenly might,
She soars beyond the sun high thron’d at noon—­
And, with her hand that flows with gold and gems,
Flings wide Heaven’s gates that flame with living beams. 
And lo! the scene of Heaven!  Oh! brighter far,
Than aught earth shows of beautiful or fair,
Is that bright heaven of our hopes and dreams. 
Yet even imagination’s piercing eye
Receives into its scope but humble part
Of all the glory that o’erflows that heaven. 
A boundless sea of love—­all hued like love,