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"I mark'd no frowns the world's smooth surface wrinkle, Its mighty space seemed little to my eye; I saw the stars, like sparks, at distance twinkle, And wished myself a bird to soar so high. "I saw the moon behind the hills retiring, And thought the while--'Oh! would I were but there!' Then could my eye examine, without tiring, That radiant thing, how large, how round, how fair. "Wond'ring, I saw the Sun of God depart, To slumber in the golden lap of Even; And, from the East again in beauty dart, To bathe in crimson all the field of heaven. "I thought on Him, the Father all-bestowing, Who made me, and that silver orb, on high, And all the little stars, that, nightly glowing, Deck'd, like a row of pearls, the azure sky. "To Him, with infant piety, I faltered The prayer my tender mother taught me: 'Oh! gracious God! be it my aim unalter'd Still to be wise and good, and follow Thee!' "For her I pray'd, and for my father, too, My sisters dear, and the community; The king, whom yet by name alone I knew, And mendicant that, sighing, totter'd by. "Those days were matchless sweet; but they are perish'd, And life is thorny now, and dim, and flat; Yet rests their memory--deeply--fondly cherish'd; God! in thy mercy, take not--take not that."[1] That the placid and serious beauty of Esrom Lake might be enjoyed, undisturbed, in intimate union and rare purity, some monks of the Cistercian order built, in days of yore, a monastery in the island, the ruins of which now alone remain; and it would do the eye good to see the beautiful spot where these monks raised their dwelling. On such an evening as the one of which I am now almost a part, a light might have been seen dancing strangely round the trunk of a beech, the oak of Denmark. It was no will-o'-the-wisp produced by exhalations of the earth; for, now it would shine brightly, and at the next moment vanish, as if it had mingled with the old tree's leaves. Reappearing, the light would assume an oscillating motion for a short time; then revolve with such rapidity, that it would seem a continuous circle of fire; and, at last, as if wearied with its gyrations, burn with the upward quivering glare of a candle. Suddenly, a slight puffing noise, like the ignition of a small quantity of gunpowder, stole on the night, and the beech, without noise, fell withered to the ground. In its stead st
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