THE ROCK OF CADER IDRIS.

[Ir is an old tradition of the Welsh bards, that on the summit of the mountain Cader Idris, is an excavation resembling a couch; and that whoever should pass a night in that hollow, would be found in the morning either dead, in a state of frenzy, or endowed with the highest poetical inspiration.]

I LAY on that rock where the storms have their dwelling,

The birthplace of phantoms, the home of the cloud;

Around it for ever deep music is swelling,

The voice of the mountain-wind, solemn and loud. 'Twas a midnight of shadows all fitfully streaming, Of wild waves and breezes, that mingled their

moan;

Of dim shrouded stars, as from gulfs faintly gleaming;

And I met the dread gloom of its grandeur alone.

I lay there in silence—a spirit came o'er me;

Man's tongue hath no language to speak what I

saw:

Things glorious, unearthly, pass'd floating before me, And my heart almost fainted with rapture and awe. I view'd the dread beings, around us that hover, Though veil'd by the mists of mortality's breath; And I call'd upon darkness the vision to cover,

For a strife was within me of madness and death.

I saw them the powers of the wind and the ocean, The rush of whose pinion bears onward the storms; Like the sweep of the white-rolling wave was their motion,

I felt their dim presence, but knew not their

forms!

I saw them—the mighty of ages departed—

The dead were around me that night on the hill: From their eyes, as they pass'd, a cold radiance they darted,

There was light on my soul, but my heart's blood was chill.

I saw what man looks on, and dies-but my spirit Was strong, and triumphantly lived through that hour;

And, as from the grave, I awoke to inherit

A flame all immortal, a voice, and a power! Day burst on that rock with the purple cloud crested, And high Cader Idris rejoiced in the sun;—

But O! what new glory all nature invested, When the sense which gives soul to her beauty was won!

HYMNS FOR CHILDHOOD.

INTRODUCTORY VERSES.

O! BLEST art thou whose steps may rove
Through the green paths of vale and grove,
Or, leaving all their charms below,
Climb the wild mountain's airy brow;

And gaze afar o'er cultured plains,
And cities with their stately fanes,
And forests, that beneath thee lie,
And ocean mingling with the sky.

For man can show thee nought so fair,
As Nature's varied marvels there;
And if thy pure and artless breast,
Can feel their grandeur, thou art blest!

For thee the stream in beauty flows,
For thee the gale of summer blows;
And, in deep glen and wood-walk free,
Voices of joy still breathe for thee.

But happier far, if then thy soul
Can soar to Him who made the whole,

If to thine eye the simplest flower
Portray His bounty and His power:

If, in whate'er is bright or grand,
Thy mind can trace His viewless hand,
If Nature's music bid thee raise
Thy song of gratitude and praise;

If heaven and earth, with beauty fraught,
Lead to His throne thy raptured thought;
If there thou lovest His love to read;
Then, wand'rer, thou art blest indeed!

THE RAINBOW.

"I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth."

SOFT falls the mild reviving shower

From April's changeful skies,

Genesis, ix. 13.

And rain-drops bend each trembling flower
They tinge with richer dies.

Soon shall their genial influence call

A thousand buds to day,

Which, waiting but that balmy fall,

In hidden beauty lay.

E'en now full many a blossom's bell
With fragrance fills the shade;
And verdure clothes each grassy dell,
In brighter tints array'd.

But mark! what arch of varied hue
From heaven to earth is bow'd?
Haste; ere it vanish, haste to view
The Rainbow in the cloud!

How bright its glory! there behold
The emerald's verdant rays,
The topaz blends its hue of gold
With the deep ruby's blaze.

Yet not alone to charm thy sight
Was given the vision fair—
Gaze on that arch of colour'd light,
And read God's mercy there.

It tells us that the mighty deep,
Fast by the Eternal chain'd,

No more o'er earth's domain shall sweep,
Awful and unrestrain❜d.

It tells that seasons, heat and cold,
Fix'd by his sovereign will,

Shall, in their course, bid man behold
Seed-time and harvest still.

That still the flower shall deck the field,
When vernal zephyrs blow;

That still the vine its fruit shall yield,
When autumn sunbeams glow.

Then, child of that fair earth! which yet

Smiles with each charm endow'd,