The vast cathedral of Nature is full of holy scriptures, and shapes of deep, mysterious meaning, but all is solitary and silent there; no bending knee, no uplifted eye, no lip adoring, praying.

HYPERION.

Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
The arch beneath them is not built with stones,
Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
And carved this graceful arabesque of vines;
No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,
No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones,
No marble bishop on his tomb reclines.
Enter the pavement, carpeted with leaves,
Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!
Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,

Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
And learn there may be worship without words.
MY CATHEDRAL,

Charles Lever, 1806.

SLEEP.

LULL me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful sound Seems from some faint Æolian harp-string caught;

Seal up the hundred wakeful eyes of thought As Hermes with his lyre in sleep profound The hundred wakeful eyes of Argus bound; For I am weary, and am overwrought

With too much toil, with too much care distraught,

And with the iron crown of anguish crowned.
Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek,
O peaceful Sleep! until from pain released
I breathe again uninterrupted breath!
Ah, with what subtile meaning did the Greek
Call thee the lesser mystery at the feast
Whereof the greater mystery is death!