Suspended in the silent atmosphere,
  As in Medina’s mosque Mahomet’s tomb,—­
  Up from the coppice, on exulting wing,
  Mounts, mounts the skylark through the clouds of dawn,—­
  The clouds, whose snow-white canopy is spread
  Athwart, yet hiding not, at intervals,
  The azure beauty of the summer sky;
  And, at far distance heard, a bodiless note
  Pours down, as if from cherub stray’d from Heaven!

  Maternal Nature! all thy sights and sounds
  Now breathe repose, and peace, and harmony. 
  The lake’s unruffled bosom, cold and clear,
  Expands beneath me, like a silver veil
  Thrown o’er the level of subjacent fields,
  Revealing, on its conscious countenance,
  The shadows of the clouds that float above:—­
  Upon its central stone the heron sits
  Stirless,—­as in the wave its counterpart,—­
  Looking, with quiet eye, towards the shore
  Of dark-green copse-wood, dark, save, here and there,
  Where spangled with the broom’s bright aureate flowers.—­
  The blue-winged sea-gull, sailing placidly
  Above his landward haunts, dips down alert
  His plumage in the waters, and, anon,
  With quicken’d wing, in silence re-ascends.—­
  Whence comest thou, lone pilgrim of the wild? 
  Whence wanderest thou, lone Arab of the air? 
  Where makest thou thy dwelling-place?  Afar,
  O’er inland pastures, from the herbless rock,
  Amid the weltering ocean, thou dost hold,
  At early sunrise, thy unguided way,—­
  The visitants of Nature’s varied realms,—­
  The habitant of Ocean, Earth, and Air,—­
  Sailing with sportive breast, mid wind and wave,
  And, when the sober evening draws around
  Her curtains, clasp’d together by her Star,
  Returning to the sea-rock’s breezy peak.

  And now the wood engirds me, the tall stems
  Of birch and beech tree hemming me around,
  Like pillars of some natural temple vast;
  And, here and there, some giant pines ascend,
  Briareus-like, amid the stirless air,
  High stretching; like a good man’s virtuous thoughts
  Forsaking earth for heaven.  The cushat stands
  Amid the topmost boughs, with azure vest,
  And neck aslant, listening the amorous coo
  Of her, his mate, who, with maternal wing
  Wide-spread, sits brooding on opponent tree. 
  Why, from the rank grass underneath my feet,
  Aside on ruffled pinion dost thou start,
  Sweet minstrel of the morn?  Behold her nest,
  Thatch’d o’er with cunning skill, and there, her young
  With sparkling eye, and thin-fledged russet wing;
  Younglings of air! probationers of song! 
  From lurking dangers may ye rest secure,
  Secure from prowling weazel, or the tread
  Of steed incautious, wandering ’mid the flowers? 
  Secure beneath the fostering care of her
  Who warm’d you into life, and gave you birth;
  Till, plumed and strong unto the buoyant