There are strange mysteries in night,
Its silence and its sleep;
The pale moon, with the magic power
She has upon the deep.
What, though our common nature holds
No intercourse on high,
Though given not to common eyes
To read the starry sky;
There may be lofty sympathies
Allowed to lofty minds,
And it may be to such that Fate
Her shining scroll unbinds.
Alas, for them, save misery,
What can such knowledge give?
Had life no mystery, and no hope,
Oh! who could bear to live!
* Humaioon is the hero of a very interesting poem in Miss Roberts’ interesting "Oriental Scenes," a volume, whose vivid descriptions of eastern landscape, could only have been written on the spot.
† In Sir William Herschell's "History of Natural Philosophy," one of the most delightful volumes that ever had attraction for even so unscientific a reader as myself, there is a theory of the origin of dew, which is there stated to be an exhalation from the plant itself. The many similes which poets have found in "the falling dews," are therefore erroneous; mine may at least claim the merit of truth.
* "The Patans," remarks Bishop Heber, "built like giants, and finished like jewellers."
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