Have ye not all part in the soul's devotions,
To help it swell its anthem's happy height?
Spirit of Love, of God, of inspiration,
The poet's glad heart bursts in acclamation!
CHORUS OF SPIRITS.
Ring every flower-bell on the wind,
And let each insect louder sing;
Let elfin "joy be unconfined;"
And let the laughing fairies bring
A wreath enchanted, and to bind
Upon the Poet's worthy brow
Heartsease and laurel, and a kind
Of valley lily, white as snow;
And fresh May-roses, branching long—
Braid all these in a garland gay,
To crown the Poet for his song,
Sung in our haunts this summer day!
SUNSET AT THE MOUTH OF THE COLUMBIA.
There sinks the sun; like cavalier of old,
Servant of crafty Spain,
He flaunts his banner, barred with blood and gold,
Wide o'er the western main,
A thousand spear heads glint beyond the trees
In columns bright and long:
While kindling fancy hears upon the breeze
The swell and shout of song.
And yet, not here Spain's gay, adventurous host,
Dipped sword or planted cross;
The treasures guarded by this rock-bound coast,
Counted them gain nor loss.
The blue Columbia, sired by the eternal hills,
