The Prose and Poetry of Europe and America, ed. by George Pope Morris and Nathaniel Parker Willis
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Title:The prose and poetry of Europe and America: consisting of literary gems and curisoities, and containing the choice and beautiful productions of many of the most popular writers of the past and present age … Comp. by G. P. Morris and N. P. Willis.

Author:Morris, George Pope, 1802-1864. comp.

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Print Source:The prose and poetry of Europe and America: consisting of literary gems and curisoities, and containing the choice and beautiful productions of many of the most popular writers of the past and present age … Comp. by G. P. Morris and N. P. Willis.

Morris, George Pope, 1802-1864. comp.

600 p. 26 cm.

New-York,

Leavitt & Allen,

1853.

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THE PROSE AND POETRY EUROPE AND AMERICA: CONSISTING OF IITERARY GEMS AND

CURIOSITIES, AND CONTAINING THE CHOICE AND BEAUTIFUL PRODUCTIONS OF MANY

OF THE MOST POPULAR WRITERS OF THE PAST AND PRESENT AGE; A RARE AND

VALUABLE WORK ]ODR TB LIBRARY OR THE BOUDOIRt, AND AN ELEGANT GIFT-BOOK

FOR ALL SEASON8 COI PILZD BY G.’.~ MORRIS AND N. P. WILLIS. COMPLETE IN

ONE VOLUME. NEW-YORK: L E AVITT & ALL E N. (8UoCzBSsORB To LEAVITT. Co.), NO. 27 DEY-STREET. 1853. Ur REM

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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1845, ,.* * YP XORRIS

AND WILLIS, ‘.‘fla,e Cierk’s Office of the District Court of the Southern i.srict of New York a

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* I P RE F AC E. IF you have ever looked with the feeling of paternity on the first green buds of a plantation of choice trees, dear reader, you can comprehend the pleasure with which we turned over the leaves of this voluine-the product of much care and pains-taking. The work is now completed, and fit for a choice cabinet, or fitter still for the occupancy of a centre-tabl)le, to b-, taken up in any mnood, and read at any length, or with any degree of abstraction. What rich variety in its contents! What more delightful than such a book, every word of which is part of a choice treasure of literature? What better idea was ever started than that of these sands of gold, sifted from the flood of English literature-a rescue of capital things, wastefully adrift, and giving a number of the most brilliant prose tales ever written? Here are gems from the master-spirits of the by-gone time-and here is sweet and earnest Barry Cornwall. What is there, in the way of lyric poetry, better* worth keeping by you? And here are Pinckney’s finished poems, that have been scattered over the world, untraceable to their author, till now; and the deathless efforts at invention, by the three magicians of fancy, Drake, Praed and Keats; and the poems which are the marrow of Moore’s immortality; and the long lost and splendid “Angel of the World,” by Croly, coupled with the enchanting narrative of “The Rimini,” by Leigh Hunt. And who will not rejoice in our bringing together the inimitable songs of the bard of poor Jack, immortal and heart-stirring Dibdin? Who that has feeling or taste, piety or love of purity, will not thank us for the incomparable sacred poetry embodied in this work-for Saturday evening and Sunday reading, inestimable treasures; and also for the beautiful selections from Goldsmith, Byron, Wordsworth, Scott, Montgomery, Hood, Campbell, Breton, Mrs. Hemans, Miss Landon, and a host of others, whose productions adorn this delightful volume? What book, published in this, or any other country, ever boasted I I i .,D I D

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PREFACE. so rich and novel a variety? Here we have succeeded in getting into presentable shape, such choice productions as we used to lend upon bond and mortgage, so precious were our copies of them, and so fearful were we that they would pever be returned. We have been years and years in making these selections, and this Library is our pride. With the assurance that the work contains nothing which is not amply worthy o)f preservation, it is submitted to the public as a tr,sure of rare story, poetry and moral, well worth every one’s owning. IL 4 *I

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THIS VOLUME CONTAINS SELECTIONS FROM THE WORKS OF THE FOLLOWING AUTHORS

AND MANY ANONYMOUS PRODUCTIONS OF STERLING MERIT, HERE COLLECTED FOR THE

FIRST TIME. Acton, Eliza Akenside, Mark Addy, Mrs. Ameiia,D Addison, Arne, Michael Ainsley, Hugh Aa(I.ms, Jean Auistin, Dr. Beckforth, WilliamD

[treton, Nicholas Barton B. Bryant, W. C. Bulwer, E. L. Bird, James Byron, Lord Brown, M. A. Bowering, Dr Bayley, I’. H Barrets, E. S Beaumont and Fletcher Boyse, Samuel Burns, Rober t Burleigh, William Buchanan, Rev. H

Bonna, A. R. Buchanan, John Brown, J. Barton, Bernerd Ballentine, James Blanier, Miss Keats, John Knowles, J. Sheridan Kappa, J. Keble, C. Moore, Thomnas Montgomery, Jamiies Malcolm, John Montgomery, Robe.t Mitford, Miss Milman, Dr. Milto n, John Mason, William Moir, D. M. Macaulay, T. B

Muller, F. Marriot, A. Marsden, John Macneil, HectoR’ Monk Lewis May, John Mackay, Charles Gregory, Dr. Goldsmith, Oliver. Gay, John Gillespie, Rev.

W. Good, J. M. Grant, Edward Grant, Mrs. Gilfillan, R. Grinfield, J.

Heber, Bishop Hauff, Wilhelm Hood, Thomas Itemans, Mrs. Hervey, J. K.

Hart, J. Hogg, James Herrick, Robert Howitt, William Huie, Dr Hodson, W.

Howitt, Mary Hall, S. C. Hamilton, R. Hallet, George Irving, Washington Imlah, John Ta ylor, Ernly Tennyson, Alfred Tannahill, Robert Townsend, H.

Thomson, James Taylor, Miss Jane Toplady Thomnson, C. W. Tucker, D. Thorn, William Walker, Mrs. Wordsworth, William White, Henry Kirk Wilson, Mrs. C.

B. Watts, Dr A A. Waller, Edmund Wolfe, Rev. Charles Wastell, D. Wilson, Professor Walton, C. Willard, Mrs, Wesley, Rev. ohn Walker, John Wilson, Alexander Wilson, W Praed, William Macworth i Percival, J. K. Pembroke, Earl of Peterborough, Earl of Prior, Matthew Pierpont, Rev. John Peabody Plauche, J. R. Pollok Paul, W. Percy Pinckney, Edward Coate I I I i I I i i Dale, Rev. T. Downin-, Mrs. Dibdin, Charles Dibdin T. Delta Dacre, Lady Daniel, Samuel Dryden, John Doane, Bishop Dickerson, E. Douglas D’Arfrey, John Dunlop, Dr. Ettrick Shepherd P:Iliott, E. East, William Johnson, Dr.

Samuel Jonson, Ben Jenyns, Soame ‘Jewsbury, Miss – Johnson, Miles Jeffreys, C. -Redding, Cyrus Rogers, Samuel Rochester, Lord Randolph, Thoma Roscoe, William Raffles, Rev. T. Richardson, C. H. Read; William’

Ramsay, Allan Riddle Rev. H. S. i I I Scribe, Eugene Smith, Horace Shakspeare, Williarn Spenser Swain, Charles Southey, Robert Shelley, P. B.

Scott, ir Walter Su(-kliii, Sir John St,-inley”T’homas Sc,nierv Ile, William Sedley, Sir Charles Slienstone, William S,,)i-ithw(-Il, Willihrn Sigotirriey, Mrs. Stewart, Mrs Dovale Spittall, Dr Landon, Miss E L. Lyle, Thoinas Lovelace, Richard Lyndsay, l,ady Aiiiie Laidlaw, Williai,i Fletcher, Miss Fitzadam, J. Florian Fletcher Phineas Fletcher: Gile.

Fraser, Robert Ferrier, Miss Groly, Rev. George Campbell, Thomas Cowley.

Williai-n Clare, J. Cornwall, Barry Cowper, William Campion,_ Thomas Carraw, Thomas Cowley, Abraham Cunningham, John Crabbe Coleridge Conde.-, Josiah Cherry, Andrew Cobb, James Cockburn, Mrs. Clurie, Rev. John Ci-awfo,d, Archibald Cramer, Julian Norton, Hon. Mrs. Neele, Henry –

Nicholas,.T. G. Noel, Rt. Hon. B. Drake, Joseph Rodman

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I

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*CONTENTS. Love Nursed by Solitude.. 292 A Girl at her Devotions….. 292

The Neglected One….. 293 When should Lovers breathe their Vows. 293 The Emerald Ring…... 293 A Night in May…........ 294 The S~ultana’s Remonstrance… 294 Warning…........ 295 The Nameless Giave…...... 295

Think of Me…...... 295 Song of the hunter’s Bride.. 296 The Woodland Brook…. 296 I Pray Thee Let me Weep To-ni;hit.. 296 The Wreath. 296 The Plea of the Midsummer Fairies. By TTomAS Ms HOOD....... 297 The Dream of Eugene Aram… 305 A Retrospective Review…..... 307 Fair Ines….......

308 What can an Old Man do but Die.. 308 Hytrin to the Sun…....... 308

To a Cold Beauty…....... 308 A Lake and a Fiir-y Boat….... 309 The Thankless Girl….... 309 Ruth… 309 The Sea of Death…... 309 The Exile….... 309 To an Absentee….....309 The Demon-Ship…...... 310 The Forsaken..,.. 310 The Stars are with the Voyager… 310 Ode to Melancholy…...... 311 To. 311 Sigh on, Sad Heart…... 312 The Water Lady…........ 312 1 Remember, I Remember..1l111 Silence.. 312 To an Enthusiast…..... 3‘2 The Beauties of GOLDSMITH3-containing The Deserted Village..l… 313 The Traveller, ora Prospect of Society.. 316 The Hermit.

A Ball ad…. 319 – The Captivity: an Orato rio….... 320 A’hrenodia Augustali s….. 323 The Haunch of V enison…. 325 TLhe Double’

transformation….... 326 The Logicians Refuted…..... 326 A New Sienile….. 326 A Prologue…... 327 On a Beautiful Youth…... 327 The Clown’s Reply…... 327 Epitaiph on Dr. Parnell….. 327 Lines….... 327

Prologue to Zobeide.. 327 The Gift… 32& Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog.. 328 On the Death of Wolfe. 328 Description of an A uthor’s Bed-chamber. 328 Elegy on the Glory of her Sex.’.. 328 Stainzas on Woman.

328 When shall I Marry me?.. 328 The Album of Love-containing Invitation.

ANON..329 Love. Bv COWLEY..... 329 To Love. By SPNSERm. 329 Love? I will tell thee, &c. BY CHARLES SWAIN..,...... 329 Dans uin delire extreme. By ELIZA., CTON. 330 IT,,ve should he like that, &c…. 330 T.,)ve is lilke( t’e gla:.s. Be MsI LAN’iJ,ON. 330 V oan’sn Lose. I3yr JOH.~ C~ARK.., 30

PAGE Judith, or the Opera Box. By EvUGENE SCRIBE.. 17 The BegFgar-Girl of the Pont-des-Arts. By WILHELM HAUF........ 26 The Pic-,\ic Party. By fiORACE SMITH.. 41 The Wife. By WASHINGTON. IRVIG..... 47 The Epicurean.

By THOMAS MOORE... 49 A Father’s Legacy to his Daughters. By DR. GGE oonaz…..........2.0 81 Trials and Tempt ations of Woman. ANON... 90

Lalla Rookh. By rT OMAS MOORE... 97 The Culprit Fa y. By JOSEPH TODMAN

DRAE. T n V s. 153 L illian. Bv By WI LLI AM. DCKW ORTH PRAED.. 158 The Eve of St. Aynes. B y JOHN KEATS.. 163 The Loves of tie Angels. By THOMAS

MOORE.. 169 The An,el of the World. By Rev. GEORGEo CROLY. 185 The Story of lirmini. By LEIG H HUNT... 189 The World before the Flood. ByJA.tES

CMONTGOM ERY..... 201 The Longing of a Biessed Heart. By NICHOLAS

BRETON.....,.. 223 Stanzas. Bv GREFrNFIZLD…... 226 flome. By B.

BARTON...... 227 Where are they? By JOHN MI*ALCOLM,... 227 The Village Funeral. ANON...... 227 The Dying Mother. ANON-..... 227 Evening Hymn.

ANON....... 228 Stanzas. By BISHOP HEBER. 228 A’lihought Suggested by the New Year. By THO MlAS (.‘AMIB”$Lr….... 228 Love Enduring. By B.

BARTON..... 228 The Pastor’s Marriage. ANON.... 228 Charity. ANO.......

229 The Sky-Lark. Bv WOltDSWORTm…. 229 Little Streams. ANON. 229 Lines to a Friend on his Marriage.‘By IOGERS.. 229 The Poet to his Wife.

ANON...... 229 April. ANON......... 230 The Return of Spring. By MALCOMB.... 230 The Hurricane. By BRYANT...... 230 On a Sleeping,, Boy.

ANON...... 230 The Voice of God. By EMILY TAYLOR.. 231 Right of the Poor to Education. By WOnDSWORTII. 231 MIercy. By HART....... 231 Invocation to Night. By J. F. HOLLINGS... 232 A Lament and fieply. By MRs. FLETCHER...

232 The Evening:Star. By Miss LANDON.... 232 Evening Prayer. By REv. T.

DALE..... 232 The Odes of Anacreon. By THOMAS MOORE... 233 Remarks on Anacreon…. 246 Rhymes on the Road. By’THOMAs MOORE... 247 Alciphr.n. A Fragment. By the Same.. 256 The Passion Flower. By Miss LANDO. containing The Irnprovisatrice…... 265 The Venetian Bracelet…... 275 l,ove, Hope and Beauty….. 279 The Lost Pleiad…... 280 Inex….283 A Summiner Evening’s Tale…. 284 The Painter’s Love. 285 love’s Last Lesson….. 286

A Village Tale….... 287 The Indian Girl. 288 Can Y’ou Forget Me…. 289

The Lily of the Valley… 289 Disenchantment….... 290 The Change….....

290 Love…... 290 Juliet after the Masquerade…. 291 The; Fairy Quiee-n Sleeoiig….. 291 A C lild S, reenitig a lDove fi om a Hawk.. 291 Cup d and. Sw-:fiiows Is lying from WJintt r.. 292,

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CONTENTS. Love’s last Eve ning. By J. K. E4uVE5. Le veritable amour ne, &c. By FLORIAN. Love’s Daring. By SHERIDAN KNOWLES. Love is a gift. By SCOTT. The Farewell. By ISHMAEL FITZADAM. Mercenary Love despised. By Sir E. L. BUL WER.. The Sailor Lover. By Sir E. L. BULWER. Domestic Love. By THOMPSON. Flowers Love’s Language. By. LANDON. Love’s Remembrance. By ELIZA ACTOR. Love. By J. BIRD. ‘Tis sweet to hear. By BYRON. The Sailor’s Farewell. By SCOTT. Love, like the grave. By NEELE. The lg etreat of Love.

By BYRON. Th.e Love of later Years. By B. BARTON. The Bridal. By ROGERS.

The Echo. From the German. Thy life was all one oath, &C. By SHERIDAN

KNOWLES.. Song of the Aged Minstrel. By SCOTT. Wilt thou be mine. By T.

MOORE. -. Bridal Greetings. By J. MONTGOMERY. I loved thee once. By SHERIDAN KNOWLES. It is the spirit’s bitterest pain. By LANDON A silver lute, a minstrel hand. By H. B. The absent lover. By DELTA. Ambitious Love. By SHAKSPERE. Unchangeable Love. By T. MOORE. Love Auguries. By LANDON. ~ The Wealth of Love. By Sir E. I,. BLILW!:’. * On Parting. By BYRON.. ~ Jamais nous ne verrions, &c….. The Reproach. By WORDSWORTH.

Love’s Artifice. By SHERIDAN KNOWLES. A Wife to her Husband. By MILTON.

The Trance of Love. From the Italian. Sonnet. By A. TENNYSON. Love is a thing. The Faith of Love. By Mrs. ~IEMANS. The Betrothed. Oh! cast thou not, &c. By Mr’. HEM aNS.. A woman’s heart By J. BIRD Give me but my love.

By DELTA. When the heart is full. By R. MONTGOMERY. Meet me at Sunset. By A. A. WATTS. Love’s Minstrel Lute. By Mrs. C. B. WILSO) What spirit e’er so, &c. By Lady DACRE. Love. By NEELE. A Husband to his Wife. By BYRON..

Love in Absence. By BARRY CORNWALL. Love’s sooner felt than seen. By PHINEAS FLETCHER. Beauty, Wealth, and Love. By MIrs.‘G. B. WILSON. Oh!

where is there the, yc. By LANDON.. Oh! Love hath spoken, &c. By J. K

HARVEY. Lady! sweet maid. A Solemn Conceit. By N. BRETON. An Ode. By SAMUEL DANIEL.. Sonnet. By SAMUEL DANIEL. Of Lingering Love. By ANONYMOUS.

My Mistress’ Face. By THOMAS CTMPION.. Sigh no more. By SHAKSPERE.

Conquest by flight. By THOMAS CARErW. The Primrose. By THOMAS CAREW.. Love is a Sickness. By SAMUEL DANIEL. Drink to me only with, &c. By BEN Jo0

SON..... Power of L_ove. By BEAUMONT AND FLETCH ER…. L~ove hath no P:hysician... hove in the Coulntry. By Earl of PEMB.ROKE. Inconstancy of Love. By Earl of PEMBRnoKE Still to be neoat BY BEN JONSON... Tell me, dearest, &c. By BEAUMONT AND FLE~TCHER.... To the Virgins. By ROBERT

HEnRICK.. The Bleeding Hand. By ROBERT H{EnRX(;K.. TO the *N,illow’lree.

By the Same. The Rose. By5 EDMUND) WALLER.. A Dialogue between a Nymph and ShEe~pierd. By 1THOMAS R/ANDOLPH.~. 1-[. o Trhe:Kiss. A Dlialogule. }By l-\OaT. ERRICK A Wedding. By Sir JOHN SUCKLING... The Change. By ABRAHAM

COWLEY.. To B. R., in return for a Bracelet From “WV~it Restored.”... PAGE

Amour! toi seul remplis, &c. By FLORIAN. 330 No telling how Love thrives By SHERIDAN KNOWLES................330 Love the Victor. By Mrs. HEMANS..

330 The Return. By Sir E. [,. BULWER. 331 How silver-sweet sound, &c. By SHAIrSPERE 331 The First Avowal. By LANDON.... 331 Passionate young Love.

By Miss LANDON. 331 Alas! how light a cause, &c. By T. MOOR. 331 Woman’s Constancy. By JAMES BIRD.. 331 Eastern Love-letter. By S. C. PERCIVAL..331

Still there clings. By Miss LANDON....331 To the Altar. By JAMES BIRD...

331 What is love. BIy SHELLEY..... 332 Love uncherished-dies. By Mrs.

DOWNING. 332 I love thee. By ELIZA ACTON... 332 Woman’s Love. By R.

MONTGOMERY. 332 If music be the food of love. By SHAKSPERE. 333 To Love.

By HouGG…... 333 A Lover’s Praise. By SHAKSPERE.. 333 Love’s Empire. By MOORE......... 333 Love Secrets. By CHARLES DIBDIN.. 333 The Supplication.

By Mrs. HEMANS.. 333 If in absence we can trace. By Miss LANDON. 333

Sonnet. By BARRY CORNWALL.... 334 The Diffidence of Love. By HENRY KIRCI WHITE....... 334 The Pride of Love. By Miss LANDON.. 334 The Proposal. By Mrs. C. B. WILSON. 334 Unrequited Love. By Mrs. HEMANS.. 334 Love’s Heralds. By SHAKSPERE.. 335 Love Sympathies. By BYRON... 334 Love’s Wishes..335 Oh! for some fairy talisman. By Sir E. L. BULWER.. 335 The Trystini Hour. By THOMAS LYLE. 335 Love. By M. A. BROWNE........ 335 Oh!

there are looks. By THOMAS MOORE.. 335 Love nursed by Solitude. By LANDON.. 336 Genius singing to Love. By Mrs. HEMANS. 336 It is the soft and silent hour. By Mrs. WALKER....... 336 Slighted Love. By N. P.

WILLIS.. 336 The Minstrel’s Love. By ISHMAEL FITZADAM. 336 Yes! so it is.

By THOMAS MOORE... 336 Lover’s Parting. By SHAKSPERE~.. 337 Hard is the heart. By COWPER... 337 Love’s Echoes. By THOMAS MOORE.. 337 Song of the Absent. By KAPPA.. 337 With thee for ever. By COWLEY.. 337 Love. By E.

ELLIOTT........ 337 They sin, who tells us, &C. By SOUTHEY.. 337 Amour, l’ont doit benir, &c….... 337 Woman is the Light of Love. By J. BIRD..

337 Song of the Forsaken. By Hon. Mrs. NORTON. 337 The Hour of Love. By BYRON... 338 Sonnet…......... 338 The Love born of Sorrow. By B. BARTON.

338 Perhaps I love. By Miss MITFORD.. 338 He who would stem a stream. By Sir W. SCOTT....... 338 Fragment. By ROBERT TANNAHILL.. 338 Where is the heart that, &c. By LANDON. 338 God gives us love. By TENNYSON.. 338

L’Absence et le Retour. By FLORIAN... 338 True Love Diffident. Bv DALE...

338 Power of Love. By H.‘OWNSEND:.. 339 Fain would I sing. By BOWR1NG…

339 The Vow. By Lord PORCHESTER.. 339 Song. By BAYLEY........ 339 The Prayer of Earthly Love. By Mrs. HE MANS......... 339 do love violets. By LANDON.... 339 Wedded Love. By CAMPBELL.... 340 O Love, first learned in, &C. By SHAESPERE. 340 The Confession. By E. S. BARR~ET… 340 A Royal Bride. By MII.MAN.... 340 The two Fountains. By T. MOORE.’. 340 Oh! if thou lovest. By LANDON.... 340 t.ove’s Bondage…....... 340 Love’s young Dream. By T. MOORE.. 340 Sonnet. By SHAKSPERE...... 340 Look through mine eyes. By TENNYSON.. 341 Woman’s Love…....... 341 Her name. By COWLEY........ 341 The Bride. By J. BIRD.... 341 5 he Honme of Love. By Mrs. HEMANS. 341 i,OVe. By LANDON......... 342 Wake, oh, wake! By T.

DAm:... 342 Ah me! fur aught that, &c… 342 a PAGN 342 342 342 342 343

343 343 343 343 343 344 344 344 344 344 344 345 345 345 345 345 345 345

345 346 346 346 346 346 347 347 347 347 347 347 347 347 347 348 348 348

348 346 349 349 349 349 349 349 350 350 350 350 350 350 350 350 351 351

351 351 351 351 352 352 352 35’S 352 352 353 353 353 353 353 353 353 354

354 35F

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CONTENTS. PA-GE’~ ~PAOs Good night! Good night I 379 Why does azure deck the sky. 379 To Rosa….380 Fly from the world…. 380 Fanny dearest…........ 380 Think on that look…. 380 The Catalogue…......

380 Mary, I believ’d thee true…. 380 Take back the sigh….. 381 To Cloe.-Imitated from Martial., 381 The wreath and the chain…..... 381 The sale of loves…........ 381 To a boy with a watch…..... 381 Remember him thou leav’st behind… 382 Reuben and Rose…... 382

Anacreontic…..... 382 That wrinkle, when first I espied it… 383 Is not thy mind a gentle mind?.. 382 When I lov’d you, I can’t but allow… 382

Why, let the stringless critic chide… 383 To Julia…... 383 The Shrine…........ 383 To a Lady…........ 383 To Julia…........ 384

Sweet lady, look not thus again.. 384 Nature’s Labels….. 384 To Julia…........ 384 A Reflection at Sea…..... 384 Cloris and Fanny…........ 384 The Shield….... 384 Dreams…. 385 To Rosa…........ 385 To Julia, Weeping…...... 385 The Wreathe you Wove..

385 The world had just began to steal.. 385 Never mind how the pedagogue proses.. 385 On the death of a Lady…..... 386 In witching slumbers of the night.,, 386 Inconstancy…........ 386 Elegiac Stanzas…...... 386

To the large and beautiful Miss..387 A Dream…...................... 387

With all my soul, then, let us part… 387 Anacreontic…......... 387 To Julia…...... 387 Hymn of a Virgin of Delphi…..... 387 Love and Marriage….. 388 To Julia. 388 The Snake…......... 388 To Rosa…...

388 Elegiac Stanzas….. 388 The Tear…........... 388

Anacreontic…........ 388 The Surprise….. 389 I’ll ask the sylph who round thee flies.. 389 The Wonder…......... 389 Lyin…......... 389 The Philosopher Aristippus…. 389i To Rosa…......... 390 This tribute’s from a wretched elf.. 390 Light sounds the harp…..... 390 Fill high the cup with liquid flame… 390 The Ring…..... 390 The Resemblance….. 391

To the Invisible Girl…..... 391 They say that Love had once a book.., 391 Here is one leaf reserv’d for me… 392 Put off the vestal veil….

392 How oft a cloud with envious veil… 392 Mc n h tsa ttl3 Peace and Glory…........ 392 The Kiss…........ 392 To a Lady, on her Singing..-... 392 NATIONAL AmIs. By THOMAS MoorEt-contain ing A Temple to Friendship….. 393 Flow on, thou shining River…. 393 All that’s bright must fade…..... 393 So warmly we met….......... 393 Those Evening Bells….....,. 393 Should those fond Hopes…...,. 394 Reason, Folly, and Beauty… 394 Fare thee well, thou lovely one!... 394 Dost thou remember…..... 394 Oh, come to me, when daylight sets… 394 Oft. in the Stilly iNight…............ 394 Hark! the Vesper Hymn is stealing.. 395

There comes a Time…. 395 Did n.3l[oveaand Hope….. 395 !ed ofmy Harp has one unchanging Theme.. N91 PAGE To Althea, from Prison. By RICHAltD

Lovz LACE........ 355 On a Girdl. BY EDMUND WALLER... 355 Fond Lover. By Sir JOHN SUCKLING... 355 To Amoret. By EDMUND WALLElt.. 355 To a fair Young Lady. By JOHN DRYDEns.. 355 The Ell raptured L over. By THOMAS STAN

LEY....356 Speaking, and Kissin’g. By the same… 356 ‘rhe Resolve. By the same….. 356 ilhe Superannuated L over. By W,. SOMER VILLE....... 356 The Rclapse. By THOMAS STANLEY... 356 Fair, sweet, and young. By JOHN DRYDEN.

356 Amatory Lines. By THOMAS GRAY.. 356 How sweet it is to love. By JOHN

DRYDEN.. 357 Indifference excused. By CHAS. SEDLEY. 357 Evening Ode-To Stella. By SAM. JOHN SON..’..... 359 l said to my heart.’ By Earl of P’ETERBO 1’OUGI... 357 The Dissemblers. By MATTHEW PRIOR.. 357 ‘Twas when the seas, &c. By JOHN GAY.. 358 Chloe Hunting. By SOAME JENYNS... 358 On Platonic Love. Bv SAMUEL BOYSE. 358 Unless with my Amiianda, &c. By JAMES

THOMSON.. 358 ‘The shape alone let, &c. By MAIKAKKE: SIDE.. 358 For ever fortune.. By JAMES THOMSON.. 358 The Scholar’s Relapse. By WILLIAM SHEN

STONE.. 358 When first I dared. By WILLIAM MASON.. 359 Holiday Gown. By JOHN CUNNINGHAM. ~ 359 Address to the Woodlark. By ROBT. BURNS. 359 Where shall the lover rest. By Sir WALTER SCCTT. 359 On a Faded Violet. By P1ERCY B;S’SHE SHELLEY.... 359 Love’s Philosophy By the same.. 360 Mourn not, sweet maid. By HENRY N.EPLE. 360 Go, forget me. By REV CHAR:LES

WOLFE.. 360 I,ove. By Lord BYRON.. 360 Lines to an Indian Air. By PERcy BYSSHE S-r, LLZV...... 360 Stanzas for Mlusic. By Lord BYRON.. 360 Trhe Farewell… 360 E,.NINGS IN G.REcE:. By THOMAS IMOORE.. 361 As o’er her loom the Lesbian Maid.. 362 Weeping for thee, my love….. 362 When the Balaika.. 363 Raise the buckler-poise the lance… 363 As by the shore, at break of day…. 364 I saw, from yonder silent cave… 36;4 The group that stood around, to shade.. 364 Oh. Memory, how coldly….. 364 Ah! where are they?...7 365 Here while the moonlight dim…. 365 SECONI EVENING. When evening shades are falling…. 365 As once a Grecian maiden wove. 367 Up and march! the timbrel’s sound… 367 No life is like the mountaineer’s…

368 Thou art not dead-thou art not dead I.. 3644 Calm as, beneath its mother’s eyes… 369 As love, one summer eve, was straying.. 369 Wcho comes so gracefully 7…. 370 Welcome, sweet bird…... 370 Up with the sparkling brimmer.. 370 March! nor heed those arms that hold.. 371 ‘T’is the vine…’ 371 THlE SUMMIER FETE:. Array thee, love, array thee, love….. 373 Some mortals there may be…... 374 ()ur home is on the sea, boy…............. 375 Smoothly flowing through verdant vales.. 375 Waltz Duet…..... 376 Bring hither, bring thy lute….. 3?6 On one of those sweet nights that oft… 377 Oh, where art thou dreaming…... 3177 W’no 11 buy?-‘tis Folly’s shop….. 377 The Luevee and Coulchee…... 378 If to see thee be to love thee….............. 378 lSISCELLAN’EOUS POEMS. If l swear by that eye….... 318 ~,X hen timne, echo steals our years away..

379 Hlave you not seen the timid tear….............379 Did not…....., 379 Friend of my soul…..... 379 9 de

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CONTENTS. PAGIC PAei Oh, no-not even when first we loved. 395 Nights of Music….... 409 When Love was a Child….. 395 Shine out, Stars!.....409

Hear me but Once…... 395 From Life without Freedom… 409 Common Sense and Genius….. 396 Here’s the Bower. 409 Joys of Youth, how Fleeting!.

396 I see the Mo(,’- rise clear… 409 Gayly sounds the Castanet….. 396

Love and the Sun Dial. 400 Then, fare thee well…... 396 Love and Time..

41C Peace be around thee…... 3Love, wandering through the golden Maze.

41C Love is a Hunter- Boy…........... 396 Merrily every Bosom boundeth… 410 Oh, Days of Youth…... 397 Love’s light Summer Cloud…

410 When first that Smile….. 397 Remember the Time…... 41C Peace to the Slumberers!. 397 Love thee 7….....410 Conic, chase that starting Tear away. 397 Oh, soon return…... 410 Who’ll buy my Love knots?.... 397

One dear Smile….....411 H,ow oft, when watching Stars. 397 The Day of Love…... 411 When thou shalt wander… 397 When T’wilight Dews…. 411

Say what shall be our Sport to-day 7 398 Lusitanian War-Seoag…. 411

Farewell, Theresa!......398 The young Rose… 411 Sce, the Dawn from Heaven.. 398 How happy, once…. 411 Nets and Cages….. 398 I love but’l’hee…. 411 The Crystal-Hunters…... 398 Yes, yes, when the Bloom.

412 Row gently here…. 398 When midst the Gay I meet…. 412 Bright be thy Dreams…... 399 Young Jessica….412 Go then-‘tis Vain….... 399 Let joy alone be remembered now. 412 When through’the Piazetta.. 399 Love thee, dearest q love thee’. 412 Go now, and dream. 399 My Heart and Lute.

412 ITake hence the Bowl… 399 Peace, peace to him that’s gone… 412

When the first Summer Bee… 399’Tis all for thee….. 413 [boup i’tis all but a Dream-... 399 The Song of the Olden Time….. 413 Where are the Visions. 399 Rose of the Desert….... 413 Wind thy Huon, my Hunter-Boy.

399 Wake thee, my Dear….... 413 When the Wine-Cup is smiling. 400 The Boy of the Alps….. 413 Where shall we bury our Shame? 400 The young Indian Maid…. 413 Ne’er talk of Wisdoin’s gloomy Schools. 400 For thee alone…...414 Here sleeps the Bard…....400 Her last Words at parting.

414 Do not sav that Life is waning. 400 Song of Hercules to his Daughter..

414 The Gazelle….... 400 Love’s Victory….414 No-leave my Hear/ to rest….. 400 Let’s take this World as some wide Scene. 414 Oh, Guard our Afibction….. 400 The Homeward March…... 414 If in loving, singing…... 400 The Dream of Home…415 Slumber, oli lumber…. 401 They tell ine thoti’rt the favored Guest. 415 Bring the bright Garlands hither.

401 Wake up, sweet Melody…. 415 Thou lov’st no more…... 401 Calm be thy Sleep….. 415 Like one who, doomed…... 401 The Exile… 415 When abroad in the World….401 Still when Dayiight.:... 415 O say, thou best and brightest.. 401 The Sumnier Webs…... 415 When Night brings the Hour.

401 The Fancy Fair…. 416 Keep those Lyes still purely mine. 402 If thou wouldst have me sing and play. 416 Hlope comes aabin….. 402 Mind not though Daylight. 416 lear not that, while around thee. 402 They met but once. 416 ‘Vihen love is kind….. 402 With Moonilight-beaniing. 416 The G irland I send thee…...402 Beauty and Song….. 416 Spring and Autumn…... 402 Child’s Song. From a Masque… 417 Love Alone….... 402

The Halcyon hangs o’er Ocean… 417 How shall I Woo? 402 The World was hushed…... 417 l.ZOgE,,NDARY’ BALLADS. By the same-containing’[he two Loves. ~.417 The Voice….... 403 The [Legend of Puck the Fairy… 417

Cupid and Psychie…. 403 When thou art nigh…...417 The high-born Ladye…... 403 Song of a Hyperborean…...418 Hero and Lecander….. 404

Thou bidst me Sing…... 418 The Leaf and the Fountain… 404 Cupid Armed.. 418 Yo’ith and Age….... 4041 Round the World goes.‘‘418 Cephalus and Procris. -... 4041 Oh, do not look so bright and blest.. 418 The Dying Warrior….... 404 The l,angua:.,c of Flowers… 4. The MIagic Mirror…..

405 The Musical Box. 419 The Stranger…......405 When to sad Music silent you listen.. 419 The Indian Boat….... 405’he Da wn is breaking o’er us… 419 The Pilgrim. M… 405 Young Love…......419 SETr or GLt.EE:s_

By the same-containing TIo sibh, yet feel no pain….. 419 The Mecting of the Ships… 406 Spirit ofSjoy….....419 Say, whait shall we Dance?...........406 Wheni Leila touched the Lute… 420 Hush, Hush…............406 Boat Gilee…................420 The ~ v~nina Gun….. 406 Oh think, whun’a Hero is sighing…420 The Watichma i….............406 Song…....................420 The Partin= before the Battle….- 407 Cupid’s Lottery…...........420 Hiphiphitra.407{

Gazel…....................420 BALL.ADs, SONOS AN M5IISELLA~NEOtrS

POE:Ms’ By Love and H-ymen…..........42 Toheay dea cent’lningu s…!

SonOs lRNo THEq GRgEEK ANTHOL,OGY. By the’same To ~v dcrest s ours -. -407

 containing Dea Fanny…............. 47 Here at thy Tomb…............2

Poor brok~eu [,‘lower.’...............407ti My Mopsa is little…...- 421

Tell her, oh, tell her. -... 407 i[ To weave a Garland for th~e Rose. -..

421 Poor wounded Heart…..- 407 Sale of Cupid… 421 When on the Lip the Sigh~ delays ~. 408: Twin’st thou with lofty wreatha ihy’brow? 42 The East Indian…..- 4081 When the scad World…............422 Oh, call it by some better’name. -... 408i Still, like itie Duw in silence falling.. 42

Itere, take my Heart….... 408i Up, Sailor Boy,‘tis Day…........2 Black and Blue Eyes…........ 48 IMrt.WeSth…............2. Thu ottg Mletcreof renda. 408 Why’it-c s s~‘o ~o Ion?’ delay?...........42’? Our first youngt love….............4086. lUrt’nLIC.‘u,;;(I:;c,s &... By th. eat..  o itaini: The Pretty Rose Tree…............409 i Not!’,:;: tie 10…...............1. to

Page 11 view page image aONTENTS. PAGIB Dear Harp of my Country. 439 In the Morning of Life…..

439 As slow our Ship… 439 When cold in the Earth….... 439 Remember Thee… ~. 439 4Whene’er I see those smiling Eyes.. 439 Wreath the Bowl…... 440 If’Thou’lt be mine. 440 T’lo Ladies’ Eyes…. 440 They may rail at this Life. 440 Forget not the Field…... 441 Sail on, sail on….. 441 dSt. Senantis and the Lady….. 441 The Parallel…. 441 Drink of this Cup….. 441 Oh for the’Swords of former Times.. 442 Ne’er aslk the Hourr….. 442 The Fortune-Teller….. 442 Oh, ye Dead!.......442

O’Donohue’s Mistress…... 442 Thee, Thee, only Thee….... 442 Echo…...

443 Oh banquet not….. 443 The Mountain Sprite…... 443 Sweet Innisfallen. 443 Quick! we have but a Second.’.. 443 Fairest! put on a while…. 444 Oh, the Sight entrancing. 444 And doth not a Meetinglike this… 444 Ti’was one of those- Dreams… 444 As vanquished Erin.. 445

Shall the t arp, then, be silent… 445 Desmond’s Sung…. 445 E4 Though hutimble the Banquet.. 445 They know not my Heart…. 446 I wish I was by that dim f~ake… 446 Sing-sing-Music was given… 446 She sting of Love…. 446 Sing, sweet Harp….... 446 Song o: the Battle Eve…... 447

The wandering Bard…. 447 Alone in Crowds to wander on… 447 Song of Innisfail….... 447 The Night Dance…... 447 I’ve a Secret to tell Thee…. 448 There are Sounds of Mirth…448 Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore.. 448 Lay his Sword by his Side…. 448 Oh, could we do with this World of ours. 448 From this flour the Pledge was given.. 448 The WNine-Cup is circling…. 449 ‘I he Dream of those Days….. 449 Silence is in our festal Halls…. 449 SACarF,D Soz,as. By Thiomas MooRe.. Thou ait, oh God…... 449 This World is all a fleeting Show… 449 The Bird let loose…... 450 Fallen is thy Throne…. 450 The Turf shatll be my fragrant Shrine.. 450 Who is the Maid?....450 Oh, Thou! who dryest the Mourner’s Tear. 450 OeWeep not for those…451 Sound the loud Timbrel-Miriam’s Song. 451 Go, let me weep…..451 Come not, oh Lord…..

451 S.Were not the sitiful Mary’s’Tears.. 451 T As down in the sunless Retreats… 451 Angel of Charity… 451 But who shallftsee…. 452 By tht Lak, whoe glomy Sore. 434 Almighty God Chorus of Priests.’.. 452 Aveneng aid bight…..............435 Behold the Sun…...........452 Lebi btha eaig ye.. 45Sister…...............452 One Bumpr at pating…. 435 Lord, who shall bear that Day?...452. Fareell!-bu whneve yo welometheOh, teach Me to love Thee….. 453 Hour….. 436 ~~~~~Weep, Children of Israel…..~....... 43 Has Sorow th youngDays saded . 436 Like Morning, when her early Breeze… 453 No,no moe elcme…............36 Come, ye disconsolate…............453 Oh! dubt m’lo….................436 Awake, arise, thy Light is come… 453 Youremmbr Elen….............36 There is a bleak Desert…...........454 When frst I et the. 436 Since first thy Word….............454′ Come o’er the Sea…... 437 Hark!‘tis the Breeze….........454 WhileHistoy’s Mse…...............437 Where is your [;welling,‘ye saintedi?. 454 The Tue I’v lostin woong… 437 How lightly mounts the Muse’s Wing..454 I sawfrom he Bech…...............437 Is it not sweet to think, hereafter.. 454 Whee s he lae?................38 War against Babylon…............454 Com, estinths Bso…...........38 Go forth to the Mount…. 455 ID il te Buperfair…..............438

NOTES........~.......... 455 ~~.y g~~Tet tle Hr…~.. 43 lhSn… 451, PAGE. (Juess, guess…. 423 Ask not if still I love 42oLo. 3 De,,,,?

Yes…. 423 Unbind thee, L i ove.. 423 The Russian Lover…... 423 Bright foonr.. 423 Long years have passed:. ]. 423 Wh’~en Love, who ruled…. 424

Still thiou fiiest…. 424 Thei,-n first from Love…. 424 flusii, sweet Lute…. 424 Dreaming for ever.. 424 ‘l;oi,ough liglhtly sounds th~e Song I’sing. 424 21sH INE;LODIES. By the Same-cortaining Go where glory waits thee… 425 ()hi! b,‘eathe, not his Name..425 Erin, the Terand the Sm~ile, in thine. Eyes.. 425 Reinem-ber the glories of Brien the Brave.. 425 When lip who adiores l hee. 426 q hle Harp that once, through T’ara’s’

Hall’s..426 Fly not yet.. 426 Think not my spirits are always as’light.

4261 Thoughi the last glimpse of Erin with Sorrow I see.. 426 As a beamp o’er the F’ace of th~e Waters’ may glow…. 426 The Meeting of’the WVaters… 426 Rich and rare were the Gems she wore..427 How dear to me the Hour… 427 Take back the Virgin Page…427 The Legacy… 427 We,nay roan, tlhrough this world…427 How oft has the Benshee cried… 428

Eveleen’s Bower… 428 Come, send round th~e Wine… 428 The Song~ of Fionnuala.. 428 Let Erin rememubrr the Days of Old. 428 Believe me, if all those endearing young Charms… 428 Sublime was thae Warning… 429 Erin, oh Erin…. 429 Oh! blame not the 13ard’.. 429 III Omnenis….. 429 Drink to Her… 430 While’g~iziug on the MIoon’s L_ightJ.. 430 Before the Battle….. 430 After the Batlei.. 430 The Irish Peasant to’his M[istress.. 430 ‘Tis sweet to think….. 431 Of] Music…. 431 Weep on, weep on… 431 It is not the TIear at this M,‘oment shed.. 431 The Orig,in of the Harp… 431 I saw thy Form in youthful Prime…431 What the Bee is to the Floweret… 432 “[‘is the last Rose of Summer… 432 At the mid flour of Night… 432 Love and the Novice. 432 This Life is all chequieredi with~ Pleasures andi Woes…. 432 Oh the Shiamrock..432 Oh!

had we some bright little Isle of our-own. 433 The Song of O’Riiark.,..433

The young May Moon…. 433 I’d mourn the Hopes…. 4S3′ She is far from the Land… 434 The Prince’s Day…. 434 Love’s young Dream…. 434 Nay, tell me not, dear…434 .I I II

Page 12 view page image

CONTENTS. PAGI Vision of Belshaz zar… 471 Were my Bosom as false as thou deem’st it to be….... 471 Herod’s Lament for Mariamne…. 471 Sun of the Sleepless…..... 472 The Destruction of Jerusalem by T’litus.. 472 ‘I’he Lament by the Rivers of Babylon.. 472 The Destruction of Sennacherib…

472 From Job…..... 472 T’he Prayer of Nature….................472

SACRED ROSARY. By various authors. God. By BOWRiNG…..... 473 Hymn of P’raise. By MILMAN.. 474 On the Death of a Younig Girl. iBy V. H.

BURLEIUtA.. 474 My Child. By -{ev. J. l’IERPONT.. 475 Weep not for her! By D. M. Mol a… 475 Hymn to, the (universe. Paraplhrased fromn GOETHE....

475 i’yre. LYRA APOSTOLICA..... 475 A Poet’s Prayer. By BERNARD BARTON..

47(; The Mother and Chilt. By Bishop DO,n-E. 476 lThle Misisionary. By W\ILLIAM E OWITT.. 476i A’re)ary et ive to Prayer. By SOUTHWELL.. 477

Consohltti)n,s of Rligion to the Poor. By PER ClTAL… 477 Hymn of N\aitilre. By’EABODY... 477 Mortality of Man. By WASTE:LL. 477 Who is }iy Neighbor? ANONYMoUS… 478 Paul and Silts it Philippi. By PlERPON-,r 478

Missions. By SGiOURNEY….. 478 TThe lPilgriti’s Song Bv KEBLE.. – 478

Excellency of Chrilst. 3y GILES FiLEI’CHiER. 479 Distant Church Bells. THE

CATHEDRAL.. 479 The Christian Martyr. By Rev. HAMILTON BUCHANAN. 479 The Cloud. By WILSON..... 479 Sabbath T’houghts. By MIANT... 450 A Cottage Scene. By Mrs. SIGOURNEY.. 480) Where is Lie? By NEELE........ 480 Jacob’s Dreani. By CROLY...... 481 The Martyrdom of Cranmer. By ANDREW R. BONAR...

481 Hymn for Children. By’JANE TAYLOR.. 481 Morning in Judea. By KNOX...

431 Nature By Rev. W. GILLESPIE.. 482 Consolation. By CRABBE...... 482 Too late. By Mrs. ABDY..... 482 Pilate’s Question. By Dr. HUiE.. 482 Address to Poets. By KESLE... 483 The Meteor. By BARTON..... 483 ‘ Saul journeying to Damascus. By ROScOE. 483 Hymin for the Opening of a Church. By PIER

PONT,~..-..... 483 Character of a happy Life. By WOTTON. 483 The Huguenot’s Battle Hymn. By T. B. MACAULAY...... 484 Laborers’ Noon-day Haymn. By “‘oRDs WORTH. 484 Christ in the Garden. By DALE... 485 The Dying Christian. By’TOPLADY. 485 ‘The Restor-ition of Israel. By T. G. NICHOLAS.

485 ‘I The Crucifixion. By MILMAN.... 485 An Alpine Hymn. By COLERIDGE.

486 Hymn. By HEBER.... 486 Stanzas. By JOHN BUCHANAN.. 486 Song of the Stars. ANONYMOUS... 486 Christ stilling the Tempest. By Mrs. HEMANS. 487

Messiah’s Advent. ANONYMOUS... 487 Best Wishes. ANONYMOUS...... 487 The Mercies of Redemption. By HODOSOn. 487 Christian Warfare. By C.

ELIZABETH.. 488 A Church-yard Scene. By JOHN WILSON. 488 D Pulpit Eloquence. By AMELIA.... 489 The Daisy. By J. M. GOOD......... 489 S Power and Benevolence. By BARTON... 489 To the Rainbow. By T. CAMPBELL... 490 –

The Dead Sea. By Rev. G. CnOL~... 490 Parted Frienids. By C. W. THOMPSON..

490 The Stars. By F. MULLER....... 490 The Aspen Leaf. By Miss JEWSBUrY…

491 JIha DThe Maniac. By BARTON.... 491 0I s aThe Critninal. By SWAIN....

491 | Verses written after recovering from. dl(angferSong oSlfesous Illness. By MARRIOT... 492 lw Christ’s Nativity. By CAMPBELL... 492 S}4

Christian l’riumphs. By JOHN BowRsINO. – 492 |llis VRecollection. By JAMES

EDMESTONE... 492 Thy Dnfant’s Prayer. By \EELE........ 49? Wrr The Pilgrims of E’itimaus By Cowrres.. 493 PAGE Christ stilling the Tempest…. 457 The Israelite’s Lament…. 457 Or ascending a Hill leading to a Convent. 457 Evening Song of the Weary….....457 Paraphrase of Psalm cxlviii…. 458 The Hour of Prayer. AD458 The Hour of Death…... 458 Hymn for Christmas O f. 459 Night Hyml’l-at Sea.. 458 Chr’st’s Agony in the Garden… 459 The Minister…. 459 Hymn of the dNouintain Christian.. 459

Mother’s Litaniv by the Sick-bed of a Child. 459 A Prayer of Aflfection…... 460 Invocation…... 460 Invocation Continued…... 460

The Song of Miriam…... 460 Ruth…... 460 The Vigil of Rizphli… 460

The Reply of the Shunamnite Woman.. 460 The Annunciation…... 461 The Song of the Virgin. 461 The Penitent anointing Christ’s Feet.. 461 Mary at the Feet of Christ. 461 The Sisters of Bethany after the Death of La zarus…... 461 The Meimorial of Alarv… 461 The Women of Jerusalem at the Cross.. 461 Mary Magdalene at the Sepulchre. 461 Mary Magdaleie, bearing’lTidings of the Re stirrection….... 461 The Sacred Harp…....

461 To a Family Bible…. 462 Repose of a Holy Family.’. 462 Picture of the Infant Christ with Flowers. 462 On a Reiiir. itbered Picture of Christ… 462 The Children atwhonm Jesus blest…. 462 Mulntatin Sa-nctiaries…... 462 The Lilies ),f the Field….. 462 The Birds of the Air… 462 The It;rising of the Widow’s Son… 462 The Olive‘‘ree…. 463

Thie D)arkness Of the Crucifixion…. 463 Places or Worship….. 463 Old Chlurch in an Eii,glis!i Park….. 463 A Clhuirch in North Wales….. 463 l,ouise Schce)ler. 463 Lines to a Buttt,rflv r sting on a Scull… 463

Church Music… 464 Thoughts prom an Italian Poet… 464 A Father reading the Bible….. 464 Hymn by the Sick-bed of a Mother… 464 A Dirge…....

464 The Penitent’s Offering…. 464 Come to Ale, Dreams of Heaven… 465

The, Angels’ Call….. 465 The Fountain of Marah….. 465 Things that change…... 465 The Poetry of the Psalms….. 465 The Sabbath…..... 465

The Voice of God….... 466 A Prayer….... 466 Prayer Continued. 466 He walked wvith God…... 466 The Rod of Aaron. 466 A Prayer. 466 The Ocean.

466 The Trumpet. 467 The Stars….... 467 Dirge of a Child..l…. 467 The Landing of the’Pilgrim Fathead… 467 The Hebrew Mother….. 468 Spanish Evening Hymn….. 468 Death of an Infant…... 468 SSYKEw MELODIES. BY

LORD BYRon. She walks in Beauty…... 469 The Harp the Mona~~h – instrel ~Wept.. 469 If that high World….... 469 Tpe W~ild Gazelle…..... 469 O weep tbr Those….... 469 On Jordan’s Banks…... 469 Jephthah’s Daughter…... 470 O! snatched away in B~eaulty’s; Bloom… 470 -My Soul is dark….... 470 Song of Saul before his last B3attle… 470 I saw Thee weep…..... 4’/0 Saul.~ 470 ” All is Vanity,‘saitlh the P)reacher.”;’. 47

Thy Days are done.., 471 Then Coldness wraps this Suffering Clay. 471 n

Page 13 view page image

CONTENTS. The Happiness of the Godly. Wisdom.. The Welcome Sabl)ath…

Youth and Age… Sabbath Evening…. Is there an Unbeliever.. Oh, Judah!.... Sound an Alarm! Angels ever Bright and Fair. Hagar in the Desert.. Rocked in the Cradle of the Dee5p. Friendship which never shall Fade. Charity….. s Hymn of the Hebrew Maid…. The Star of Bethlehem..

The Heavenly Jerusalem.. The Day of Wrath…. The Burial Anthem…. The Day of Judgment.. The Hour of Prayer…. The Nativity….5 God Glorified in all his Works The Rainbow. T’he Communion of Saints… The Exemplary Wife…. Hymn before the Sacrament. Hymn of Praise… God Visible in his Works. A Domestic Scene… The Sabbath…... A Prayer to Jesus….. The Rest of the Grave.. Saturday Night…. Christ a Present Help…. Mary Magdalene.. The German Watchmen’s Song. Missionary Hymn…. What is Time?.... The Better Land. SONGS3 AN’D BALLADS. BY CHiARLES blBD’IN. Poor Jack. The Good Ship the kitty. The Jolly Young Waterman.. Farewell and Return. Poor Tom. The busy Crew. The Signal to Engage. Jack Rattlin. Yo, Heave; Ho! When last from the Straits. Life’s Troubled Sea. The Heart of a Tar. Each-Bullet has its Commission. Sweethearts and Wives. The Soldier’s Gravee. Saturday Night. Bonny Kate. Ben Backstay. Little Ben. The Sailor’s Maxim. The Anchor Apeak. Soldier’s Adieu. The Soldier Dick. The Tar for all Weathers. Happy Jerry. Tack and Tack. True-hearted Sailor. Grieving’s a Folly. Bleak was the Morn. Poor Shipwrecked Tar. Tom Tackle. Lovely Nan… Tom Bowling….. True Courage…~~ Forging the Anchor…. Love me evermore…. Honesty in Tatters.. Con stancy… Jack come Home…

Nancy…..-. Nature and Nancy. Anna, Annie, Nan, N ance: or Nqancy.

Brother Jack… The Manes of the Brave… Sailor’s Journal… The Nancy…. Ben Block… The Canary-Bird.~~ The Lm~ly’s Diary.. Rational Vanity….. PAGE The Hour of Prayer. By Rev T. RAFFLES. 493 Pra~ er. By J.

MONTGOMsDRY.. 493 The Grave. By MARY H OWITT... X 493 The Death of the Righteous. By J. HABRIS. 494 The Sabbath. By WILLIAM HOWITT... 494

Spiritual Worship. By BARTON... 494 Heynn to Virtue. ANONYMOUS... 495 The Budding Leaf. ANONYOS..................... 495 The first Grave. By Miss LANDON... 496 Stanzas. By TucV5 Y…............ 496 There is a Tongue in every Leaf. ANoNYMoUs. 496 P rayer B N s. B…. 496 O de t o Duty.‘By WORDSWORTH... 406 The Tomb of Cyrus. ANONYMOUSso. 497 Who loves me best.

By MARY ANN BROWN. 497 The Sister’s Voice. By BROWN.... 498 G od an unfail ing Refuge. By WOTDSWORTH. 498 1 The Christian Poet. By [‘OLLOK... 498

To-morrow. By J. BROWN..... 499 The Offb ring. By JOSIAH C,ANDDEI.. 499 O n the New Year. By F. DICKINSON. 499 Farewell to a departed Friend. By HEBE,B. 500 The Crucifixion ANONYMOUS.. 500 Th e Offering By L. I. L…T..

501 The parted Spirit. By MAL COLM... 501 Earth and Heaven. By RICHARDSON... 501 The Wizard. By JEWSURY...................501 Adven t Hymn. By MILLMAN.., 502 The Pilgrim’ s Home. ANONYMOUS.. 5 602 The Mother’s Grief. By DALE... 502 The Raising of Lazarus. By DAE.. D. 502 The Clouds. By HALL......................503 The Land which no Mortal may know. By BARTON...... 5603 A Mother’s Love. By EMILY TAYLOa.. 604 Eveninm Ti.ne. By MONTGOMERY. 6o~04 Night. By IONTGOMERY.... 504 ” VVatch ye.”

ANONYMOUS..... 504 The Celestial Sabbath. RUSSIAN POETRY. 604 3 S rns s FOR THE SA iHATH. By many auth ors. The W orks of Creation H n. 605 Th e W orl d…...... 505 Life Fading. 505 C hristia n Hope…......605 Early Piety….. 505 He aven and Earth…................505 The Day of Judgment. 505 Frailty of Man… 506 Man is Vanity….... J. 606 The Star of the East. 6506 Rachel Weeping…... 506 The Guidance of Go…........06

The Works of God…...................606 Man’s F railty… 507 Emblem of a Departing Saints ].. 507 Superiori t y to th e W orld.. 507 The Providence of God…... 607 The Christian Warrior Triumphant in Death. 607

Heaven….... 608 Longing for Heaven. 608 God’s Preventing Grace.,... 508

Uncertaintt of Life. 608 Jacob Wrestling with the’Angel. 608 A Father Leaving his Family to God… 509 A Reflection at Sea. 509 The Heavenly Jerusalem….. 509 Self- Examination. 509 Litany.. 509 What are Meetings, here, but Partings?, 510 The Brevity of Life…... 510 A New Yhear…...... 510 The Law of Love…..... 510 Tine…..,...10 Frailty of M~an…..... 610 ‘Shortness of Time….... 610 Innocent Earthly Pleasures…... 511 Resignation…..... 511 Dependence on’God…... 511

Family Hfarmony…... 511 Watchman! What of the Night?... 511 The Seasons….... 611 The Harmony of Love….... 511 What is Life?...... 512

The Waves…...... 512 Morning…...... 612 God Unsearchable…..... 512

M’y Dying Mother…... 513 Blessed be Thy Name for’Ever.. t 1 C:ommnitting our Ways unto the Lord.. 5 13 Prayer…....... 513 I is’ . 613 . 513 . 614

. 514 . 614 . 614 . 514 . 514 . 514 . 514 . 514 . 515 . 515 . 515 . 516

~!5 . 516 . 516 . 616 . 516 . 517 . 617 .- 517 . 517 617 . 518 . 518 . 518

. 518 . 518 . 519 . 519 . 519 . 519 . 619 ~ 520 . 520 . 520 . 521 . 521 .

521 . 622 . 522 522 522 522 . 522 . 523 . 523 ~ 523 . 623 . 523 . 523 .

524 . 524 . 524 . 524 625 . 525 . 525 . 525 . 526 526 . 526 . 526 . 527 .

527 . 527 . 528 . 528 . 628 ~ 528′ . 529 . 629 . 529 . 530 . 530 . 530 .

530 . 531 . 531 . 531 . 532 532 . 632 . 53~

Page 14 view page image uaer tile -.lTer to C;i1arile. ANONYMOUS.. 5JS I The Tears I shed. By, MIrs. DUGALD STEW ART.............. 539 Thou art gaine awa’. ANONYMOUS.. *

540 hi he aeather Ball. By Dr. SPITTAL.. 540 Connel and Flora. By ALEXANDER WILSON. 540 T l,nmd o’ the Leal. By RORERT BURNS.. 540 The Lass o’ Gowrie. By WYLLIAM REID.. 541 Annie Laurie. By DOUGLASS.... 541 | Mary Dhu. By D. MI. MIota…............. 541 The Harper o’ Mull. By I A,aAIrIILL.. 541 Within a Mile of Ldinbu rgh. By JOHN D’ URFEV.... 541 On wi’ the Tartan Es HIUGH AINSLIE.. 542 Lolihaber. By ALLAN I~AMSAY.... 542

I’ll lo’e thee, Annie. By R. HAMILTON.. 542 Bonnie Prince Chitlie. By JAMEs HoGe.. 542 Jenny Danig the Weaver. By Sia ALEXAN DER BOSWEL.. 542 O

Saft is the blink o’ thine E’e. By JAMEs BALLErTYNE…..... 543 The e’s nae luck about the House. By JEANT A DAMS......... 543 For Lack of Gold.

By Dr. AUSTIN.. 544 Draw the Sword, Scotland. By J. R. PLANCHE. 544 Whit’S a’ the Steer, Kimrner? ANONYMOUS. 544 Ohi I lo’ed my Lassie weel. By ROBERT FR4aZER…...... 544 Highland Mary; By Hon. Mrs. NORTON.. 544 W hen I roved a Young Highlander. By LoRD BYRON......... 544 Roy’s W\ife o!

-,ldivalloch. By Mrs. GRANT. 545 Logan Braes. By JOHN MAYNE....v. 525 Oh, dinna ask me. By DUNLAP... 545 Elird of the W ilderness. By the ETTRICK

SHEPHERD. ~ 545 What ails this Heart o’ mine., By Miss’BLA’ un.t will a’

the Lads do? By the ETTRICK To6 SHFPiIERD… on.. 546 Earl March. By THOMAS CAMPBELL... 546 Logic o’ Buchan. By GEORGE HALKET.. 546 The Banks of Allan Water. By M. G. LEWIs. 546 Sonei love to roam. By CHARLES MACKAY.

547 Bonnie Jeannie Gray. By W. PAUL... 547 Laddie, oh! Leave me.

ANONYMOUS.. 547 Jock o’ Hazeldean. By Sia WALTER SCOTT. 547 Donald and Flora…..... 547 ‘the Flowers of the Forest. By Mrs. COCK-T BURN.

5…..... 548 l The Bonnie House o’ Airlie. Old Ballad.. 548 a Tak yer auld Cloak about ye. Old Ballad. 548 I I lo’ed ne’er a Laddie but ane. By Rev. JOHN II CLUNIE............. 549 Sl There lives a Young Lassie…...

549 lel Bonnie Mary Hay. By ARCHIBALD CRAW- M5 FORD.............. 549 B

Saw ye Johnny conmin’. ANONYMOUS... 549 Laird o Cockpen. By Miss FERRIES~.

550 A5 Is my Lover on the Sea? Constancy…. The Mistletoe.. A Bacchanalian Song. ] ]:: The N ights…... rhe Stormy Pe trel….. Song of the Soldier to his Sword.. To a Nightingale at mid-day… Earth and Air.

Hurrah tor M~erry England. q he Happy teups…. Peace! what do Teals avraill The Wood-Thrush….. Counst Baitbazar. Why doth the Bottle’stand~?~ WVhen Frienlds look dark and cold. The Night is closing round, Mother.. Midnight Rhymnes…. A Love Songr…......... Song in praise of Spring… Belshazzar…... The Blood Horse….. The Stranger…..... The H eart-Broken….. Song of the Outcast….. A Phan tasy…. Life….... A4n Irish Song….. Home a Duett…. The Evening Star….. 1 he V{intage Sog…... . a. The Return of the Admiral…. Love and Mirth…... Song offer a Child…...... The Night before the Bridal…. A Deep and flighty Shadow.. The Landsman’s Song….

Perdita…... The Weaver’s Song.’’.. Sleep on…....... Love the Poet, P’retty One…. Lucy….... The Wooing Song….......... Hermione…....

The Owl….. The Humber F~erry.’.... Marion….... A Repose…... The Remonstrance…........ Sing, Maiden, Sing….. M~/aureen,..... Wine…...

Unequal L~ove.’’’ Sing! Who mingles withl my’Lays? I love my Love, because he loves me.. Miriam….. Babylon…. Tallk not to mec of Love…. A Dilemma…. 556 . 556 . 557 . 557 . 557 ~557 .557 558 558 558 . 568 .558 .

558 ~559 569 . 559 . 559 ~559 . 560 . 560 . 560 . 560 . 560 . 560 . 561 .

561 561 561 * 561 . 561 . 562 . 562 . 562 . 562 . 563 . 563 . 563 . 563 .

563 .563 . 564 . 564 ~564 . 564 . 564 . 664 . 565 . 565 . 565 . 565 . 665

. 565 . 566 . 566 . 566 . 5i66 . 566 . 567 . 567

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CONTENTS. PAGE I die for thy sweet Love…. 580 What use is all the Love I bear thee’.. 580 Song for our Father Land….. 580 To the Snow-Drop…........ 580 Wilt thou leave me?...... 581 In commemoration of Haydn.,. 581 On the Portrait of a Child,..,. 581 Inscriptions….........

581 She sate by the River Spring…. 581 Wilt thou go ].....,...,...581

Golden-Tressed Adelaide…..... 582 Love Flying….,........ 6582 A Dreamer’s Song…........ 582 A Poet’s Thought…........ 582 Wishesr m…..6 Wi.h.. 582 To a Lady Attiring Hierseif…..... 582 Wilt thou remember me?... 582 I go, and she doth miss me not!.. 582 A Petition to Time…........ 582 Napoleon…..... 583 A Prayer in Sickness…... 583 To a Voyager….. 583 On the Death of a Child…..... 583 Song from a Play…........ 6583 To a Poetess…...... 583 A Night Song….. 584 To Adelaide….....,..... 584 A Conceit….... 584 Seashore Stanzas…........ 584 A Question and Reply…....... 584 – An Epitaph…..... 584 A Parting Song…......... 584 A Farewell…. 584 THE

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS OF EDWARD COATE PINKNEY............. 585

Italy…............587 The Indian’s Bride…... 587 A Picture Song,....... 588 The Voyager’s Song…...... 588 Lines from a Portfolio.-No. 1… 589 Lines from a Portfolio.-No. 2… 590 On Parting….......... 590 EFlysium…......... 591 Evergreens…... 591 We break the glass…....... 591 Look out upon the Stars…... 591 I need not Name thy thrilling Name.. 591 A Health…........... 592

Prologue…......... 592 The Widow’s Song.. *.. 592 To, with Wordsworth’s Poems… 592 ‘Twas eve; the broadly shining Sun.,. 593 Those starry eyes…........ 593 Day departs the upper air…..... 593 The old Tree.

-... 593 Rodolph A Fragment… 594 BR OGRAPH1C oaL NOTICE OF EDWARDA COLE

TE. )][ 599 Nzv. By WI1LLIAM LEGGE:T?............. 9 . ~~PAGZ ” The Lake has burst…..,.,.. T67 Her large dark luminous eyes are on me. 567 Sill the Love that winds around Thee…. 567 The Beggars Song…....... 5678

The Bloodhound…,... 568 The Farewell of the Soldier..,.. 568 The Night-Shade….... 568. The Poet’s Songf to h~is W~ife…........... 568

To Sophie…..... 568 What say the Clouds’on the Hill and Plain X 568! To a Flower…...... 569 The Leveller…..... 569 Softly Woo away her Breath…............ 569 Hidden thoughts…..... 569 The Fisherman…..... 569 True Love…..... 570 Forbidden Love. -...... 570 A Bridal Dirge…..... 570 The Rhine..~ 570 Sweet Friend, where sleeps thy Song.. S70 Song of the Wood-Nymphs….. 670 The Convict’s Farewell…............571 The Secret of Singing…... 571 The Hidlas Horn….... 571 An Epistle to Charles Lamb…............. 572 The Falcon’. 572 Build up a Column to Boliivar.’.. 572 The Fire-Fly….....

573 To the Sinlger Pasta…,.. 673 Come! let us go to the Land….. 573

Fuller’s Bird.’....... 573 The Sea in Calm…....57 A Chamber Scene….... 573 The Past….......... 5741 The Pauper’s Jubilee…... 574

A Thougfht on a Rivulet…... 574 A Storm….... e 575 The Song of a Fielon’s W;ife….. 575 1 loved her when she looked from mea.. 575

Parents’ Love…..... 575 The Vain Regret…..... 575 His love is Hidden….. 575 The Flight of Ravenna…... 516 Courage…......5… 77

Sit down, sad Soul…........5 77 A Hymn of Evil Spirits….. 578 The Violet….... 578 A Reproach…...... 578 Beauty…...... 578 Sybilla…, 578 Thou hast Love with~In thine lEyes… 518 A Midsummner Fancy…,....

579 Past and Present….... 579 On some Human Bones..,... 579 ‘Tis better we Laugh than Weep….. 579 A Drinkingf Song….. 579 Sister, I cannot read’to-day….. 579 River of the Morn…..... 580 Song should Breathe…..,5 80 lb

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Page 17 view page image rTHE MIRROR LIBRARY. JUDITH, OR THE OPEiRA BOX, BY EUGENE SCRIBE. who remained still motionless in the same pIawe. e I ex pressed my regret that I had accepted his offer, cacd my gratification if I could do any th in g to oblige him in ret turn. ” You con do so quite easily,” he replied; “Ir havw just gat hered that l you ar e M. M eyerbeer.” ” I have not that honour ” “At any rate, you arc one of the authors of Rober t lr Diable?”

“‘After a sort,” I said; “tI wrote t he words.” ” Well, then,” ha rejoined, “tlt me b e present a t tho rehe arsal t o morr ow.” “We are so little prepared as yet, tha t I can only yen. ture to a sk my ffriends.”

“That is one reaso n more for my repeating the re. quest.” “tAnd,” I said, “eI am tlighted you have repeated it on those terms.” He shook my hs and wnd t he hour was mured f or the fol lowving day. Itce was exact to his appointmlent. We swalked for p fecw minutes about the stage before the rehearsal commenced. He spoke gravely, yet pleasantly and cleverly; lout it was easy to pericinoe tha i t needed an effort ted keep up t he convwrsation, and that he wa s pro-occupied a with othe r thoughts. Our goddessc s of the d an ce an d of tile sonlg began to arrive one after another. Several times I perceived him trcrnble, and once his agitation was 80 great that hc hadl to support himself on the side scenes. I began to suspect he was a rejected lover of one of our Clios or Tcrpsichlores a suspicion which his extreme hand somcncnss and hois style altogether rendered by no means probablc; and in rcality I was mistaken. He spoke to no onc-wcnt near no one and no one knew who he was. The rehcarsal began.

I looked for him in the orches. tra amnong thle amlateurs. He was not there; and though ithe body of the house wvas somewhat dark, I thought!

1saw him in the front box which he had gazed on so con Istantly the night beforc. I was anxious to make sure of this, and at the end of the rehearsal, after the admirable |trio of the fifth act, I ascended to the second tier. Meyerbeer, who had something to say to me, accompanied me. We arrived at the box, of which the door was half open, and saw the unknown with his head resting on his hands. At our approach, he turned quickly round and rose up. His pale face was covered with tears. Meyer. beer w\as overjoyed; and, without saying a word, shook his haned most kindly, as if to thank him. The unknown, trying to conceal his emnbarrassment, mluttered some words of compliment in such a vague and unconnected manner, tha~t he saw he had not listened to the perform. anlcc, and thlat for twso hlours he had bean t-linlking of an~ ONE evening if I remember rightly, it was at the end a! 1831-there was a great crowd at the Opera, for Taglioni was to dance. The spectators had crowded themselves on the steps of the orchestra, and the extra stools fronishecd for the friends of the conductor formed a sort of M.irricade which I found it difficult to surmount, amidst rie(s of “iush, hush! silence, silence!” from the enthusiastic amateurs whom I disturbed. For when Taglioni dalC.:s. onc not only gazes but listens. It seems as if the cv4 were not sufficient to admire with. I found myself ai; allwlkwsard p~osition, forced to stand amidst a group (f my friends whom I met there by appointment, and who were too much crowdcd to make room for me, when a y-oung man rose and offered me his seat, which I declined, not wvishing to deprive him of the pleasure of the spect’icle.qut. ‘“It is no dleprivation,” he said-” I am going out.”’ I accepted his offer with thanks; and my obliging neighboar cast a last look at the stage before taking his departure, stopped an instant, and leaning his back against the box of General Claparede, seemed to look for some one in the distance, and then, sinking gradually into a profound revery, thought no more of retiring. lie was right in saying I did not deprive him of the view; for, turning his back to the stage-see ing n o thing -hearing nothing-he appeared entirely to forget where w lie was. I examined him attentively. It was impossible t to imagine a face more handsome or expressive. Dressed simply and elegantly, there was something noble and dis. tlnguished in all his movements. He seemed about five I and-twenty. His fine black eyes were fixed incessantly on a front box of the second tier with an indefinable cx. Cression of melancholy and despair. Involuntarily I turned in that direction, and I saw that the box was emnpty. ‘ Ite expects somebody who has not come,” I said.*‘yShe hess deceived him-she is ill-or her father has pre vented her, and he loves and expects in vain. Poor young wean!” And I watched as attentively as he. I pitied, .liii, and would have given the world to see the door of the box opened; but it remained closed. Thle balllette wtais about to end; and while the inferior dancers were performing, conversation as usual proceeded almost aloud. Among other things, we talked of Robert le Diablo, whi1ch wlas then in rehearsal, and was about to appeal in a few dalys. My friends made all sorts of inlquiries-about the music the ballettes the situations, etc., and begged very earnlestly to attend the last rehea,rsals. A rehearsal seents so strange anld wonderful to those unacculstomedl to it! I promised to introduce them, and~l ire a, I rose up to ~o awa,il’ for the curtain wals about to,! fall: bald as I fouled mvsdW f near mly umlknlown friel;d.[

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TIIE MIRROR LIBRARY. o I’ and many failures have occurred. I saw no more of M. Arthur-I thought of him no more. I had forgotten e him. e A night or two ago, I found myself once mnore in the t orchestra, at the righit side of the Opera. It was nlot to see Robert-it was to see the Huiguenots. rive ycai. e had passed away. ” You come late,” said one of my friends, a profcssoi of civil law, who has as much “esprit” at night ais eru s dition in the morning. And you are very wrong in so doing,” added a little man dressed in black, with a sharp voice and a powdered e head, as he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned round, ‘ and saw M. Baraton, the notary of my fanlily. ” You here!” I cried ” and you r office-” ” Sold it three months ago-I am rich-I am a wid ower-I am sixty years old-I have been twenty years t married, and thirty years a notary-I think I am entitled – to a little enjoyment.” ” And he has now been a subscriber to the Opera for eight days,” said the professor o,f civil law. “Ay, to be sure; I like to l1tugli; I like comedy, and so I have bought an admission here.” ” And why beat at the Frani ais?” “Oh! not half so amusing as here-one sees and hears the most extraordinary things in the world. These gen * tlemen know every thing-theire is not a box of which they do not know the history.’’

“Indeed!” I cried and mechanically turned towards the box on the secondl tier, which had so excited my curi. osity some years before. What was my amazement! That night it was empty as before; and the only empty one in the whole house! I was delighted to have a history to tell, and in a few words related all that I have now told you. I was listened to with attention: my friends were lost in conjecture the professor tried to recall some ancient recollections the little notary smiled most maliciously. “Well, gentlemen,”’ I said to them, “which of you (who know everything) can unriddle this enigma for us; who can tell us the story of that mysterious box?” They were all silent, even the professor, who passed his hand over his brow as if to refresh his recollection of some alnecdote, and would probably have finished by inventing lone appropriate to the occasion, if the notary had given him time. “W ho will tell you that story?” he exclaimed, with an air of triumph, “who but I?-I know the whole particu lars.” ” You, Al. Baraton?” “‘I’o be sure.” “Go on, then-go on,”-and we all drew near to listen. “Go on, M. Baraton.” I “Well, then,”

said the little notary, with an important look, and taking a pinch of snuff, “which of you wvas acquainted with ” But at that moment the first crash of the overture be gan-and MN. Baratoni, who piqued himself on not losi;ng a single note, stopped immediately, and said-” After the first act, gentlemen.” thing rather than the music. Meyerbeer whispered to me in despair-” The wretch has not heard a note!” We all three descended the stairs; and crossing the ,arge beautiful court which leads to the Rue Grange Bataliere, the unknown bowed to M. Sausseret, who a that time had the letting of the seats. I went to M. Sausseret. “You know that handsome young fellow who has just left me?” ” M. Arthur-Rue du Helder-No. 9. I know nothing more. lie has engaged a box on the second tier for this winter.” ” Ile was there this moment,” I said. ” Then he seems to use it in the morning only, for he never goes near it at night. The box is always empty.”’ And in fact, the whole week the door was never opened. The box remained deserted. The first appearance of Robert was now near, and on SuCh oCCas O:is a poor devil of an author is overwhelmed with applications for boxes and tickets. You may imagine whiat time he has to attend to his play, and the changes and curtailments that may be required. Ile has to answer letters and claims that pour in upon him from all quarters, and it is invariably the ladies who are mnost exacting on such nights. “You were to have got me two boxes, and I have only got one.” ” You promaised me No.

1, next to the General’s, and they have sent me LNo. 15, next to MIad:-me D, whom I detest, and w ho casts me into the shade with her diamonds.” A first nighlIt is a time when you get into scrapes with your best friends, who, perhaps, overlook it in a few days if your piece “1 takes,” but who nurse their indignation a long time if you are damned; so that you are punished both by them and the public at the same time. Misfortulles never come alone. Well, then, on the morning of the first nig,ht of Rober-t, I had promised a box to some ladies; but the manager took it away from me to give it tea journalist. I complained. He replied, “‘Tis for a journalist.

You understand? A journalist who hates you, but who has promised-thanks to my politeness in giving him your box-to speak favourably of the music.” It was impossible to resist an argument like this, and the box wNas given up.

But where was I to bestow my fair friends, whose wrath was a much more serious matter to me than that of the journalist? I luckily remsiere.

bered my unknown acquaintance, and went to his residence. H-is room was very simple and unostentatious, particularly for a man who had a box at the Opera. ” My dear sir,” I said, ” I come to ask you a great favour.”

“Say on.” “Do you intend to be present at the first representation if Rober-t le Diable? In your box, I mean.” He appeared embarrassed, and replied with some hesi- ation, ” I should be very happy-but-it is impossible.” “Have you disposed of it?” ” No.” ” Will you give it up to me? You will get me it of an awkward predicament.” His trouble seemed to increase every moment. He could not refuse me; and at last, as if making a great effort to command himself, he said, “I agree, but upon one condition-.that you put nobody into that box but mqen.” ” Gnpossible, my dear sir, I ask it expressly to accomf modate some ladies.” He wvas silent for a while. ” And among those ladlies,” he said, ” is there any one you love?” ” Undoubtedly,” I replied. “Then take the boxm” he said, “for I leave Paris to da “made a motion expressive of interest and curiosity, and he seemed to divine my thoughts; for he took me by the hand, and said, “You no doubt perceive that certaii fend and sad remembrances attach themselves to | that box. I can communicate them to no one. Of what 1 use is it to complain when one is miserable ano hopeless, e and when it is all by his own fault?” Th~,t night the first representation of Robert took place, and my friend Meyerbcer achieved a triumph which resounded all through Europe Since that time, many othn events, literary and political-many other successes l ” GCentlemen,” s lid the notary, when the first act of the IHuguenots was finishedl, ” Queen Marguerite has to be dressed with all her maids of honour-the castle and,ardens of Chenonceaux have to be got ready; and the interval will be long enoug,h, I think, to enable me to tell you the story you Wish to hear.” And after a placid pI)ncii of snuff, which gave liuii time to collect his tliouhlits, 5[.

Baraton commenced in these words: “Which of you, gentlemen, was acquainted w.th the little Ju dith?” We all looked at each other, and the oldest frequenter of the orchestra was I)mizzled. 1″ The little Judith,” lie went on, ” who some seven or eight years ago was brought out as a figurante in the ballette ”’ “Stay,” said the professor-of civil law, with somewhat of a pedaTntic air, ” a little blonde who was oniC of the pages in the MAiette7″ “She was dark,” said the notary; “as tio. the part bot. is

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TIHE MllRROR LIBRARY. attribute to her, I have no positive document on the sub- Ilad,ame Bonnivet or her niece. Ambition grows or. us teet.;nI lRIefer relying on your immense erudition.” by degrees.” T’rie professor bowved. “But Judith,” I said-” what became of Judith?” for Bqit. whether dark or fair, there was one thing that I sanw the curtain about to rise.

n’,I)o(ly (isnut(ed, and that was, that the little Judith was “Judith! I’m coming to her directly. Madame Bon,l cei iriii creature. And another point, which appeared nivet, in spite of all her caution, could not hinder her u l.icnialtl, wis, that her aunt, M,adame Bonnivet, was niece from talking with her companions. In the mornpeorte cess in the Rue E’helieu, in the hun)se of an old ings in the green-room, and, above all, at night when g’entlcm-iiu, whlise confidential manager she had one tlhcy were on the stage-a region where the aunt found it been; s e said his cook: lbut Madame IBonnivct dis- impossible to follow-Judith heard some things that asdained the impeachment, and went on, quietly plyiiig helr tonishled her.

knitting-needles, and managing for the different lo gl(rs, One of the nymphs or sylphides, her companions, whiswhile her niece even already began mnaking conquests. pered in her ear-” See, Judith, look in the orchestra-at F’or it was impossible to pass the porter’s lodge without the right-how hard lie is looking at me.” bciti struck with t!ie extraordinary beauty of little Ju- ” Vho?” said Judith. (lithl, whe was scarcely twelve years old. Her eyes even “That handsome young man with thercashmere vest then were the finest in the w orld;he teeth like pearls don’t you see him?” her iorn exquisitely rraceful; and in whatever dress she ” Vhat does it all mean?” wore, she had the nmost distinotie air imaginable; and, to “I’ve struck him.” crown Ell. an expressive, clear, and open colunteiasnce, ” Struck him?” said Jlidith, astonished. with something radiant and coquettish in its very inno- ” Ha, ha!” said the nymph, ” wtat a simpleton you cenee. In short, slie gave promise of one of those glori- are! Girls, here’s a curios;’  she has never had an adous combinations of grace and( beauty, enough to turn mirer!” people’s heads, and, as a poet would say, to chanire the “All her aunt’s fault,” said another of the sylphs. fate of empires. “Indeed! Well, if I haid an aunt so ridiculous, I People paid Madame Bonnivet so many compliments would-” every day on the loveliness of her niece, that she deter- “Hush, hush; you know nothing about it,” replied the mined to make considerable sacrifices for her education. other, who seemed a few years older; “she perhaps has She sent her, therefore, to a charity school, whe re Ittl serious intentions about little Judith, and, to keep her ferious itedngerns aoft lovte, Juish and, to giee hertoapo girls were taught to read and wirite-aan enormous amount fro the dangers of love, is goig to give her to a pro I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~fo tednes oflv,i0on ogv e oapo of instruction, the advantages of which were soon felt by tector.” Madame Bonnivet herself ho, in her capacity of por “She!” rejoined the other, “she hasn’t wit enough to get teress, had found it rather difficult to make out the dif- herone. Suchgoodfortune wouldbetoomuch to expect.” ferent addresses, and to send the letters and parcels to Judith did not lose a syllable, but had not courage to their respective destinations. Judith took this duty on ask anybody for an explanation. But she understood herself, to the universal satisfaction of all concerned; enough to see she was looked down upon, and she natuand Madame Bannivet being now persuaded that with }rally had an intense desire to avenge herself, to humble such an education, superadded to so much beauty, her her companions, and fill them with rage and envy. Ac Ih ter companions, and fill them with rage and envy. Acniece was sure to make a sensation in the world, sihen adae Bonnivet informed her on their waited impatiently for an opening. It was not ulon be- return, with a solemn face, that she’would introduce her fore an opportunity presented itself.

M. Rosamba the to a protectora noble and rich protector-her first sen to a protector  noble and rich protector her first senallette-mster, waho resnted one of the attics, offered to sation was one of joyful surprise; and her aunt, who had give little Judith some lessons; and, in a few days after, ot expected such a reception for her news, proceeded i rapture.

Madiame Bonnilvet communicated in confidence to all theYes, my darlin niece, an admirable person in a ladies of her acquaintance, that her niece had been ac- Ys my darling niece, an admirable person in all cepted as one of the corps de ballet of the Opera-a piece respects-a person, who will secure your hap)piness, and a of news which of course was spread far and wide, anl provision for your aunt; and indeed Ile can’t do less, after of neswhich of course was sfread far and wide, and~l Aewi, rapidlv fiom door to door along the whole extent of iall the trouble and expense your education has cost me.” ~~~the Rue lzR~ich~elieut here the good aunt wiped away a few tears; and Ju tile, then, was littleJudit intlletteOea ere then a little Judith installed at the Opera, dit, who was moved at the appearance of so much tentakil’n’r lessons every morningf of M. Rosambeau, and derness, only ventured to ask who was the protector, and com on at nfight-totally nnohow she had deserved such generosity. of young girls, niaiads, or pages, as the professor justly You shall know in good time, replied the aunt unnticd aids th grups “You shall know in good time,”

replied the aunt; of ob1saas,erv ae d as tepfewo jutes ao”but in the meanwhile your companions will die with observed a few minutes ago.”

Judith was innocence itself, thou,gh belonging to the spite., This was the very thing Judith wanted; and great instage; for she had been brought up in a respectable was the spr hn th nte n ea nn ‘deed was the surprise when the intelligence became known house, where all the lodgers were decent Benedicks. in the greenroom. Her aunt, who was as watchful as a dragon, never left i ret ” Is it possible? a creature like that! a figurante-a her; accompanied her to the theatre in the moriling, chorus-girl, and I a first dancer-‘tis disgusting!” brought her home at night, and even remained whole Quite right said the others: “she is so good she days in the green-room knitting her stockings, while her ders he ooluk is so g t d e ” ‘ I ~~~~~deserves her good luck, she is so sweet and pretty” niece took lessons and practised her steps. You wonde r gd i sen a marriage to a duke the .. ~~~And, in short, if it had been a marriage to a duke, they what became all this time of the large house in the Rue Richelieu. I can’t exactly say; but people believe that could not have made more exclamations, or enved her > * In no I en * v * 1 s 1 *advancement more sincerely. And there could no longer a friend of Madame Bonnivet undertook all her duties > w i… ~~be any doubt upon the subject, when her aunt appeared there, in the expectation of the little Judith making abeaydutuothsujc,we heautapae thee,:1til execatin l te ltte Jdit mkin athat evening in a magnificent shawl of Ternaux. But catch; for you are aware, gentlemen, that no one goes that eveningtin prmagcifice? shawl of Ternux B on the Opera boards unless with the hope of making a .. D p~~~~~~~~eon some gouty old bachelor, or worn-out old roue? catch-gaining a settlement, or however you choose to ton-some qutiold bach worntained ruent thatgret ojectof n atres’s mbiion InBut to all these questions Judith maintained a prudent express that great object of an actress’s ambition. In reserve; one great reason of which probably was, that this way they leave the stage-they are rich-they re- s o form; and the good aunt-for all pretty dancers, you In a few days she had quitted the porter’s lodge to live may have remarked, have invariably aunts of the highest with her aunt in a charming suite of rooms in the Rue de resprc~talbility-marries her niece, now weaned from the Provence-a bed-room furnished splendidly, and a boudoir vanities of tin spangles and paste diamonds, to a flour- s tasteful so elegantly fitted up that the aunt never ven. ishingr stockbroker, or-“,.X…....... ishing stockbroker, ur-” ttred to approach it; she preferred sitting in the dining. “A retired notary,” added the professor. parloer, or indeed in the kitchen; she felt so much more 5I. tsar-~tc.: shrugged his shoulders. “Of course,” at her ease there than elsewhere. But (lay after day he srit!’ ” but a’ thit time thoughts of such prodigious!,passed on, and nobody appeared, which struck Judith as a,dva.:.,..c’t: head never entered intQ the heads of either somnething rstlier strange; for Judith was without educa. 19

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. tion, but not without sense. Her candour and naevete I the direction of the opera-” Will you allow me the honproceeded from innocence, not from stupidity; and after our of conducting you home?”

thinking over her position for some time, she would have “‘Tis too much honour for me,” stammered Judith, given the world for somebody to consult-for some one to without perceiving what a laugh her answer excited. defend her against this protector whom she did not know, ” Make haste, then. I wvill wait for you on the stage.” and whom she feared and hated. It is true, the only idea She lost no time, you may be sure, in changing her she had formed of him was of an ugly old man; for her dress; and, on returninig, she found Arthur in conversa. companions had prepared her for nothing else by their con- tion with a group of fashional)les, and with M. Lubert. ver’-tions. She accordingly trembled, and had almnost the manager, to whom hlie recommended Judith very f – d with agitation, when, on the fifth -day, her aunt warmly, and then gave her his arm before them all, and threw open the door anid announced the expected visitor.

conducted her down the performers’ staircase. At thb Judith would have risen to receive him with proper re- door his carriage was ready to receive them; they got in, spect, but her limbs shook, “oid she sank back again upon and, as it was cold, he pulled up the glass, and put hei the sofa. When at length she raised her eyes, she saw shawl over her sloulders. Ilow beauliful she was-so saloeheshuerrs wbautifilsed ws-s standing before her a handsome young man of twenty to glad-so gratified but the gladness did not lust long. glTedsanceisso sgratiid betwe t!he Ruedcs Gra nge lastlng or twenty-three years old, of a noble and ele(gant appear-t bete the Rue Grange Bats ance, who looked at her with a kind and benevolent cx i liere and the Iue de Prove ce, and the horses went so pression. In one instant she fclt she was safe. A person fast! The carriage stopped; Arthur got out and offered who looked at her with so soft a smile would be her d(le- his hand to Judith.‘I’lihcy went up stairs together, and fender from all evil, and from him she would have nothing arrived at the door of her apartments. HIe ranig the bell to fear.

respectfully took his leave, and disappeared. Mademoiselle,” he said, in a calm and respectful Judlith coul(d not sleep). The conduct of the count ap tone; but perceiving that Miadame Bonnivet w’a’s still in pearcl so rude.

Ie ighlt at least hv,e entered hel the room, hlie mnade her a sign, and she immediatelv re-I room, and sat down for a moment. She knewvery little, membered she had orders to give about the dinner-” Ma- to be sure, of the manners of high society; but she thought demoiselle, you are here at home; I hope you will be that would have been inore polite tlan to leave her sc happy; but pardon nme if I have the honour of seeing you suddenly at the door. She was feverish and disturbed but seldom-other engagements will prevenct me the plea- and at daybreak got out of bed, and.went to the window sure. I therefore lay claim to but one titlc-that of your to get cool. There, before her door, still stood the car. l~Ito rae tcol.l There bfasoray herdorse, stil y pawed the carou. friend; to but one privilege-that of satisfying your slight- riage with the fast gray horses; they paed the gound est wish.” |with cold and impatience; the coachman was asleep on Judith did not reply,; but the beating of her heart lifted his box. up the light muslin of her pelerin. i” Excuse me, gentlemen,” said the notary, when lie “As to your aunt,” and this he said with a scarcely had reached this part of his story; “the next act is just perceptible tone of contempt, “she w;ill hereafter be at beginning, and I don’t wish to lose a word of the opera u l command here atfhome- I hpyowillsbe that wushould’ w hen the curtain falls-” your command; for I wish that you should give your wen cr commands to every one here, commneneing with myself.” He then went near lher, and took her hand, which he ‘h thenowent near, he, aid, in hand whichfli ThIet morninot and t he next again, Judith opened lifted to his lips, and seeing that the hand still trembled ig a t let i,i etered “Have I alarmed you?” a sign,“h ansrd he Ird wie andow at daybreak. The count’s carriage was aldeosl, youare her atlhome;dhp you” w ilhe tsatioud; “abee assuredlt thanto lIv irs ha n rpea y vut eepa n weyou desirheho f it ways at the door! It was evident that he sent it in the bu.edmoheenagmnswll n revver theplea-adat daybra gost oucet ofhedand y. ou thsie window uhadieveu,repeatmy visditexc wh tsane manner almost every night, and she could not imaadieu, Judith!” And he went away leaving tche poor girl in a state of ge t reason of uch a proceeding; and, as to asking And ~~~~~~~~~~~~h ctaa,aigtepo ili tt f}im for an explanation, she could not have ventured 01) emotion which she could not comprehend. All day long s re ption he old n h e hrd she thought of nothing but the handisomle stranger with |:such prcsumption for the world. And, besides, she hlardly Judthout di not hing, ecbut the hang ofrher h ea nights in a box on the his beautiful black eyes. She had not ventured to look sever tim, except on opera theseason I he upat highandyetnotinghe ad one no a oveentsecond tier, which he had taken for the season. Ic eeve r at him, and yet no thing l e had done, notracmovemhnt part of he story he neve at io e enut had escaped wl heret er e. Sahen was uneasy, antio lost hr spirits a; her complex ion grew palet and her aunt smiled ls”. he cmleio re pl, adhransml. Luckily for her, her companions did him an injustice, When the stranger was spoken of, she blushed the and accused him of treatlig her ill. She was delighted, deepest scarlet, and her aunt smiled again. for she had now an excuse for writing to him; oand ac. But he returned no more, and she could not ask him to cordingly she indited an epistle, beseeching him to come return. What had she to complain of?-apartsnents to her apartments. It was by no means an easy task to beautifully furnished-servants and carriage at her corm – wreite a letter; so it took poor Judith the whole day. She mandyshe wednot a way. lain the poorgrld inasa! f 1g mand-she had not a want in the world! began it over again, and made fifty foul copies before she On the other hand, her companions in the theatre, see- achieved one o to her mind. One of these must have drop. ig her so brilliantly dressed, and so radiant in beauty, ped out of her bag; for, in the evenig, she heard the his~~~~~~~~~~~~~ bea utiofulc blackf i h eyes.ng she hanoventred tohooe overwhelmed her with questions. But those very ques- young authors and others who were free of the orchestra tions made her have suspicions that there was something laughing immoderately at an ill-spelt, ill-written note, as unusual in e o t he whole transaction-that she was treated they handed it about from one to the other. She was with a sort of disdain; and she avoided the conversation forced to hear their explosions of merriment, their satiri. as much as she could, and never told her aunt even how cal remarks, arti the resolution they came to, to insert very respectfully she had been addressed. One night the unsigned note (the author of which was luckily unwhen the house was crowded, she perceived the stranger known) in one of the newspapers, as a model ftr the De in the ryal box looking at her. he e nearly screamed Sevignes of the ballette. What weret the terror and agony with joy, and made a dancer miss the proper time, who of Judith, not at hearing her letter turned into ridicule was just then whirling a pirouette. but to think that the count wtould have the same feelings “What’s the matter?”

said Nathalie, one of her friends of contempt when he read the unfortunate note, which who dheld the other end of a garland. she would have purchased back again with her life. She “‘Tis he! there he is!” wasaccordingly more dead than alive, when on the fol. ‘ Is it possible! Count Arthur de V, one of the lowing morning Arthur entered her room. younrg nobles of the court of Charles X., and moreover “I an come, dear Judith-I lost no time when I re. the handsomest of them all! You have nothing to com ceivned your letter;” and that fatasl, that horrible letter he plain of with such a friend to see you every day.” held in his hand-” What is it you require?”

Judith mane no reply. She was too happy. Arthur, “What I require-Mlonsienr loc Comrrite? I don’t knoi to the great scandal of all who saw it, bowncd to her from how to tell it you-but that letter-itself-since you ihave the king’s box; and, better still, when th he lalletle was fin- rea t ind it-if incd ou have been ablu to make it out ” itied, just when she was about to ascend to h e r drcstintr- it ” Veryeasily, my dtear girl,”

replied tle count with a .iom, Arthur caine to the side scenes, Sand sa d quite and sirlit sanile. :with, so as to be heard by the lord coierla in who hai “All!” cried Judith, in despair. “that letter is enough 20

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 ~ ~~H MIRRO LIBAY II21 II….... to show you that I amn a poor girl without talent, without education, who is ashamed of her ignoralice and wishes to remove it. But how am I to do it? If you do not come to my assistance-if you refuse to help me with your advice-vwithl your support-”

“What is it you wish?” “Give me masters, and you will see if I am not industrious, if I do not profit by their lessons.” But when can they come to you?” “Any time-one thought keeps me anxious by day and sleepless at night.” ” What thought?” ‘ The thought of the opinion you must have of me.

You must despise me, and look on me as unworthy of your notice; and you are right,” she continued, hurriedly. I know how contenmptible I am-I know ioyself-andii( I wish, if possible, to have no cause to blush for myself or to be a disgrace to you.” The count looked at her with amazement, and said”I shall do as you require; you shall have any masters you want.” Next day Judith had a master to teach her writing, and history, and geography.

You should have seen the ardour she studied with; and her natural abilities developed themselves with incredible rapidity. At first she liked it for Arthlur’s sake, and then she liked it for its own. It was her pleasantest enjoyment, her consolation under all her anxieties. She submitted to the fines for absence, to stay at home and devote herself to her books all day. Her comnpanion said, ” Judith has gone rlad  she will lose her engagement-slie is very foolishl.” l But Judith worked the harder, saying, ” I shall make myself worthy of him at last; hlie will see what efforts I malke to improve myself.” But, alas! lihe could see notliing of the kind; for whenever lie came Judith was so agitated(l, and stammered and hesitated so much, and became so confused, that lihe thought all the lessons were thrown as;iy upon her. The effct of the kiowledge sice had acquired was to make her feel more bitterly how stupid and ridiculous he must think her; and that coiiviction rendered her still more constrained and iemibarrassed, and hindered the display of her real sentiments, so innocent and so tender: and Arthur, as might be cxpected, came but seldom. Sometimes hlie remained a short time withl her after the ballette; but when twelve o’clock l sounded, he always took his leave. She ventured to ask him-” Vhien shall I see you?” “I will tell you at the opera, to-morrow.” But how was this to be done? Itic was almost always in his box on the second tier; and,when lie intended to visit her on tl)he following morning, he lifted his right hand to his ear, and that was as much as to say, I will come to the Rue de Provence. And Judith would wIatchl for hiln all the day she adinitted nobody not even her aunt, that she might have the pleasure of seeing him entirely to herself. In spite of the reserve of the count, she had made one discovery, anid that was, thit lie liid some sorrow that weighled himi down. VWhat couldl tihe sorrow be? She could not briing herself to ask him, and yet she would have been so delighted to have been atl)le to share it with him. But that was a happliness she did not dare to hope for and yet she stared it, though she did not know what it was. So, when the count asked her, as he often did, “Whlat is thec ma~tter, Judith?-II&ve you ally grief to Sax you “if she had dared, she would have answered, ‘“Yours!” One day a horrible idea occurred to her: She muttered to herself, in despair” Ic loves another-yes! yes! he loves another! WNhy does lie bring me here? what can be his object? It is fiom no love to me; because, if he loved me-” Judith fixed her eyes on a large mirror, and she certai;nly looked so young, so blooming, so beautiful, no wonder she remained sunk in a revery. The door of her boudoir was opened quickly; Arthur walked in-bhe had an air of trollllc and chagrin, such as she had iever seen defor,. “Judith,” lie said, ” dress vourself immediately. You jhall go wtit’l m~e to the Truileries.” “Is it possible?” ” Yes.‘IThe weather is deligtttful; all Paris will bc there.” “And will you take me there?” cried Judith, enrapt.

ured; for the count had never walked out with her, or given her his arm in public. “To be sure. I will take you there before the wikoe world!il the great avenue,” said the count hurriecly, walking about the room” come along, Madame Borluvet,” hlie added, quickly, to the old aunt, who at that n,ta mcent came in; “dress your niece as splendidly as y;tu canl; and, above every thing, be quick!” Madairie Bonniivet miade preparations for taking offthe morinigi,, dress that Juiditlh worC; but she blushed, ad made a s:Din that Arthur was still in the room. ” Tushi, tush!” said the aunt, “are we to be on such ceremony with monsieur the count!” and without any more ado she unlaced the gown, and it tumbled on the floor. Judithi did not know where to look, or what to do, and was quite oppressed with shame. But, alas! her modesty was altogether useless on this occasion.

Arthur never looker, car her. Absorbed by one idea that seemed to excite’.i:, rage and indignation, hlie traversed the apartment with great rapidity, and in onere t r n mk o l e a d of his tur ns tr don a little vase made of shells, which broke in a thousand pieces. “Oh, what a pity!”

exclaimed Judith, forgett ing at tha t m oment the state of her toilet. ”

Ycs, indeed,” echoed the aunt-” i ot cost five hundred fr ancs, at the least.” “Not for wt o that!not for that!” said Judith ” but be. cause it carmic from hii ” ” Well, are you ready?” cried Arthur, impatiently, who had not heard a word of their reflections on the vase. ” In one moment-aunt, my shawl, now, my gloves.” ” And vour mantle,” said Arthur; “you have forgotten it, and you will find it cold.” “Ol, no!” “Your hand is burningf,” said MIladamec Bonnivet; ” you are feverish, my child; I don’t think you ought to go.” ” I am well-quite well,” said Judith, hurrying on”let us go let us go; I would not stay at ho.mle for all the world.” The carriage was at the door. They got in, and drove down the Boulevards-at nioon-daiy together! And, to complete the happiness of the elated Judith, she saw two of her companions in the Rue de la Paix, and bowed to them with the gracious condescension which extreme happiness produces-two principal performers, who on that occasion were trudging humbly on foot. The carriage stopped at the gate of the Rue de RivolL

Judith took the counit’s arm, and they promenades in the principal all6e.

It was a fete day. All the rank and fashion of Paris had assembled; the crowd was immense. In a moment Arthur and his companion were the ob. jects of universal observation. They were both so handsome, it was impossible to avoid remarking them. Eve. ry one turned round to look at them, and ask who they were. “‘Tis the young Count Arthur de V.” “Arc they mia,rried?”

Judith trembled -it the question with a sensation’of pleasure and of pain at the same time-that she could not account for. ” No, inldeed,” said a grand-loolking lady, in a disdain. ful tone swhile she caressed a little spaniel in her armns, and was attended by two footmen in superb liveries 

” Monsieur thle count is not married; my lord, his uncle, wo’n’t hear of it.” ” Then who is that beautiful creature with him? His sister, perhaps?”

“O0, you wrong him, I assure you. She is his mistress -an opera girl. At least, I’think I have heard so.” Luckily, Judith did not hear the old dowager’s re marks, for at that moment the Baron de Blangi, who walkred behind them, salid to his brother the Chevalier  t“‘Tis little Judith.”

the girl Arthur is so fond of?” “e h~ las gone rnad about her-he ruins himself.” |” He is quite right,” replied the chevalier. ” Sh !,vouldl not do, tile samne? flow beautiful she is!“W, |” Take care; you’ll fall in lose faith ber.” I i THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 21

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22 rj’HE MiRROR LIBRARY. I’m that already. Come, and let us see her close.” determincd to know her fate, she waited impatiently for If the crowd will let us.” tire next visit of tire count. She saw him in his box, but And the crowd that kept followinc her went on making’ he seemed sombre and prc-occpied. Ile made no sign remarks of the same kind, and Arthur heard them. 1or to her-hbe never looked near her. At last, on the fol the first time lie looked at Judith as she deserved t) be lo-jh~ night, lie made tie usual signal, and Judith now looked at. and was astonished to find her so beautiriil.- felt certairi that she should see him in the morning, and The walk, thie comipany, and above all, the consciousness put ao end to the state of suspense and nisery, which of being admired, had given her cheeks anlr eyes airnun- she felt was more intolerable than the worst that could snal glow; and then she was sixteen years oldl, and loved, befall her. and fancied, for the first time, that she was lirvedi in re- But in the morning, the chiasseur of tire count mnade his turn; and these arc admirable reasons for looking 0nI’s appeaance with an apology fom his master on tile plea best. The sensation created by her aippearan(e was ira o- business of the most urgent importance, and w;th an inense; but when she saw tire look of ailirriration tilfit intiniation, at the same time, that lie would come that Arthur fixed on her, all her triuniph sar.nk into uisi,iufi- night to supper. To supper he who had always taken cance, the praises of the eirod were for’ffotteci, arid si,r Iris leave so early! Tire aunt seemed wonderfully pcased went home that day exclaimnling-’” hbat a lih)Iy girl I with the arrairgeirient, anid Judith remained sunk in deep am!’ thought. Next inorni,ig, Judith received two letters. The f’trst At eleven o’clock, tire most elegant little supper that was a carte b,ala,c,;e from the B)Lion de Blangi. -hc could be procured was all ready by the zeal of Madame threw it into the fire, and torgot it in a morecut. Boniuvet. As to Judith, she saw iiotliing-shie heard no The second bore a siirature which Judith read over thing she expected. All tire faculties of her soul were twice, as slic could hardlv believe her eyes; butt she absorbed in that one idea. But eleven o’clock came could not doubt the reallyt It was signed ” The ]Bishlop half past cleven twclvc-and no Arthu:. Tile whole of, and was in these terms night elapsed; lie came not, and she expected still; and the next day passed, and the following days, and yet Arthe Tuileries withi my- ne.l-phNiw, Count Artlhur de V, theTuieris wt~imv ~pi~o cont rthr d V____ thur canie niot. Sire licard unothing of him she saw him and by so diol~ir,, pnt.Ir, fi~ii-Iirn r stroke to a scaidml, tre no ““re. What then was the meaning of all this? What consequences of whihch arc incalculable. Although, il had become of hin Geneitlemen,” said the little notary, interrupting his puncishent or tci ses of b n Godi s ~ hasvperstted courh narration, “the curtaiu is just risiug-After the ncxt act.” left to cnaLle us to punishl your audacity. I theterre give you notice that if you do riot put a sto)p to any sini-n ” jar scaindial, I rave sflicieint credit with the Lord Cham oftirGent’lemen,” said the little notary, when the third act berlaini to rave you ndiahissed from tihe Opera. If, on the. Hgeoswscnldd ups o r 1′ I ~~~of the Hugueniots was concluded, “1I suppose you are other hand, you give up liiy nephew at once and forever, anxious yugArthur, and above all, to discover who lie’s.” we offer you (for the motive will sanctify tire means) two youn, Ie t c. t “You should have begun with that,” said I.

thousand louls, and tile absolu’, of all your sints,” etc., I have a right to arrange my story as I choose” Judith w~ +frs niultdo erusing that dread- And besides,” added the professor, “one shouldn’t be Judith wastt,, first ashe ilatd non toocurage tan etin all Ivery critical on the conduct of a story at the Opera: noful letter; but she soon took courage, and collecting all body attends to it.” her encrirics, reprlied in tihe following words: b bd tedoi. her cii,Ic, ord You usei me~ harsllyow and yetIoande ” A very lucky thing for tire authors of tile words,” said “5Iy Lord, You use me hiarshly, and yet I can de- the little notary, with a bow to me; and satisfied with his clare before God and to you, that I have nothing, for hint, ire went oni with his account. which to repinacir m ys ef.‘Tis so, I declare rost sol- Count Arthur de V is descended from a very en inly: and yet, mv lord, in this there is no merit at- ancient and distiish ed family in tie south. is motribritable to nle. I owe it entirely to him who has spared tther, left a widow very young, had rio child besides, and and respected mnc Yes, uy lord, your nephew is ifito-I was poorly provided for; but she had a brother who wa. cent of the wron,,,s you impute to him; and if to love be immensely rich.‘I’ls brother, 5lonlseigncur the Abbe de criminal in the siglit of heaven, it is a crime of which I V, was one of the most infiuetial prelates at the am guilty, aid in which Arthur is not an accomplice. court of Louis XVIII., and afterwards at that of Charles “Ihear, thcn, the resolution I have takcn. X.; and we know very well what was the influence of “I shall s-,y to himi wlhat I have never ventured to the clerg,y at that tine; ail influence that governed the say to him ror miyself-but for you, my lord, I will take kingdom, tire sovereign himself, and even tire army. The courage and s:ry to him,‘Arthur, do you love inc?’- Abbe de V was of a cold and haughty disposition, And if is I belicv, as I fear ie shall answer,‘No, Ju- selfish and severe, but an excellent relation notwitbstanddithi, I do not love y7ou,’ then. my lord, I shall obey you. ing; for ire was ambitious for himself, and for every one I shall separate imrsell from bhui-I shall never see him that belonged to him. He charged himself with his more: and I hiop C, my lord, you will think of me too nephcw’s education, introduced him at court, and prohighly to oF,.(‘r nrc any thing as a reward, and that you cured the restoration to iris sister of some portion of the will no,t add degradation to despair. The latter is suffi- property that had been confiscated during the emigration. cient for one who resoives to die. But if heaven. if my ThIei mother died, blessing tire name of her brother, and good ang’cl, if tf.ic happiness of my life shall lean him to enjoining her sari to be obedient in all things to his uncle.

say,’ I love you, Judith,’ah ~ trsa sinful tiring I am Arthur, who adored iris nmother, swore obedience to her inaibout to say to you, and you will most justly pour your junctions when sihe was dying; arnd it was tire more easy maledictions on my head; but m irk me, my lordl, there is 1or him to perform iris vow, from the circumstance that, no power an earth that shall hi inder me fromn being iris~ from iris eaurlest yeairs, he had always been accustomed from sacrificing every tiring to him. I will brave all, to receive iris unicle’s commands with the most unhesitaevenr your indignation; for, after all, what can you do 7 tirig subimissiotL At mast, you can take my life; and why should I ihesl edate, quiet, and bashful, yet full of courage and gemt tate to die if I could only feel assured I have becn he-eoiyAtu a lasha togidrto o loved? ~~~~~~~~~~~military life: partly for tire uniform and thre epaulettea, “Pardon me, my lord, if this letter should offend you. but prrinipially, perhaps, because iii the palace of his un. it is written by a poor girl who is ignorant of the world cletie saw natlirng hut gowns aird cassocks. He yen. and of her duty; hut who hopes to find some mitigation tured one day, but with great shyness, to niako iris iincl( of )‘our anger ini consideration of that igirorance-tire acquairnterd with iris wishes; but tire prelate knit his openrness of her confession and, above all, in the pro-bosar nwrdhrhyan ei~ly r a te f;ound respect with which she has thre honour to reirain,”

vesfrhm t~~’.c., etc., etc. ~~~The Abbe de V lie.hd been advanced to a bishop Judith sealed the letter, and sent it without consulting tie, arid lie hoped for inure. ie had ii good chance for riith any one upon tiresuhject; and from that rmncirnt, being tire hat of a cardinal; and ire was desirous of macking tId ‘I’IIE MIRROR LIBIZARY. 22

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THE MIRRIOR LIBRARY. nephew share in his good fortune, and felt sure of being able to secure him the highest dignities of the church.In short, the church was at that time the surest avenue to wealth and power. Arthur did not dare openly to resist the terrible ascendant of his uncle; but he secretly vowed that he would never be a bishop. The king, in the ucan time, had been spoken to on thie subject, and had ,Expressed his warmest approbation. Arthur was to enter tlc senintry in a few months as a matter of form, to take orders, and go through the lower offices to the highest dignities of his new profession as rapidly as possible. liec remembered the promise he had given to his mother, and, bes’des, everybody would have accused him of ingratitude if he ran directly counter to the wishes of his uncle; and as h therefore dlid not dare to oppose his designs at once, lie endeavoured to find out some method of forcing the bishop to resign them of his own accord. IIe could think of no better iimeans to effect his purpose than some good dashing scandal, that might render him unworthy of the venerable profession into which they tried to force hinmI against his will. But this was not so easy a matter as miirht be supposed. Whether it rose from Arthur’s natu – ral disposition or from his education, he had a fund of moral feeling that prevented him from being a libertine; and Arthur took as much pains to make himself a rake as might have sufficed to make him a bishop. But he had a number of friends who introduced him to their gayeties. The racketing and sprees of his companions were insipid and disgusting; and he turned his attention to the ladies of the court, as a better means of gaining what lie wished. But the ladies of that court avoided the slightest appearance of impropriety; not that they extended their dislike to any thing beyond appearance, and a glaring, uninistakeable imipropriety was all that Arthur desired. A ray of light broke in upon his despair, when one of his friends said to him, “Take an opera girl for your mistress; everybody will anow it.” “What! I?”

exclaimed Arthur, flushing with indignation at the first thought of such a proceeding; “I mix myself up with such a set!” ‘You need have nothing to do with them. These matters are easily arranged. The eclat of a mistress is all you require. Take one: you may do as you like afterwards, but your point will be gained at once.” ” Well, I consent.” You know already how the matter was arranged between Arthur and the aunt. Measures were taken to have the bishop informed of the scandal. IIc took no notice. lc, w is told that every night his nephew’s carriage was stationed in the nue dc Provence; and Arthur hoped every day for a blow-up with his benefactor, when he had resolved to throw all the blame on an unconitrollable passion which rendered him unworthy of tihe sacred office, and hie could by rno means account for his uncle’s sang froid and placid forbearance. It was the calmni that precedes the storm. o I One mnorniin,, his lordship said to him, ” The king has been displeased with you for some tirme. I know not wherefore.” “I guess the reason,” replied the nephew. “I have no wish to know it, sir. His majesty has deigned to overlook it, but insists on your entering the seminary in two days.” l a”I! uncle? Imp “l ” They are the king’s orders; and youlr oljentions must be made to him, not to me,” said the prelate haughtily, and turned away. Arthur, almost out of his senses with rage, hurried off to Judith-took her to the Tuileries-paraded her as his mistress before all the world, on the very evening before he was to start for the seminary. This time it was impossible to pretend ignorance of so very glaring a scandal, or to think of forcing the hero of it into the church-at any rate for a long time. The bishop wrote the letter I have repeated to you to Judith, and the king sent an order to .he count to leave Paris within twentv-four hours. It was impossible to disobey.

Luckily, he was acquainted with one of the sons of M. de Bourmont, and went off on Jhe following night with the expedition to Algiers. ” is left to me, I sh a ll cho os e one where glory is to be gained.” He went off at night wit h the utmost secre cy, for an his motions wer e wat che d; and if they had suspected his destination, he was afraid they would have hindered hi s departure. Ie w rote a few lines to Judith, to tell her he was onlly to be absent a few days; but that note, insig nificant as it was, was intercepted, and never reached her. The bishop had great interest wi th the police. A week afterwards, Arthur was at sea. Oni th e twen tieth day he’ disenbarked in Africa, was one of the first a t the storming of’ the fort, and was wounded at the side of his gallant friend, young Bourmont, who was killed at the moment of vic’ory. Arthur was for a long time in dan ger. For two months his life was despaired of; and when he recovered, his fortune, his hopes, and those of his uncle, had all disappeared, in three days, with the monarchy of Charles X. The bishop could not bear up against such a disaster. I11, and suffering in mind and body, he was unable to follow the exiled court as he desired.

Disappointment and vexation inflamed his blood. A dangerous fever was produced by all these miseries, and not knowing what to do in the state of irritation into which he had worked himself, he revenged himself for the revolution of July on his unfortunate nephew. Arthur, still weak from his wounds, arrived in Paris; and it is here that I became connected with the story, (said the n,tafy, somewhat ele vating his voice.) The count came to me about the suc. cession. I had long been his notary, and that of his family. We proceeded first to break the seals. I will not trouble you with professional details; but in taking an inventory of all the papers deposited in his lordship’s escritoire, a letter struck my eye with the signature, ” Ju. dith, danseuse a l’Opera.” The letter of an opera dancee in the desk of a bishop! I would have destroyed it out of respect to the church; but Arthur had already got hold of it, and from the emotion it produced, I fancied fo a moment-heaven forgive me for the thought!that th( uncle and nephew had been rivals unknown to each other. |” Poor girl, poor girl!” exclaimed Arthur, “what no. blencss! what generosity! what a treasure I possessed! There, there!” he said to me, ” read that;” and when I came to the sentence,” If to love be criminal in the sight of heaven, it is a crime of which I am guilty, an( in which Arthur is not an accomplice ” “‘Tis truc!” exclaimed Arthur, who had tears glisten in, in his cyes-” She loved me with all her soul, and I never perceived it, and never thought of loving her-an( she was sixteen years old! and pure and beautiful!-fo you have no idea,  1. Baratoii, how beautiful she is-th, most beautiful woman in Paris.” a” I have no manner of doubt of it,” I replied; “but, if you please, we will go oil with the inventory.” ” As you please;” and he continued to read fragmenti of the letter aloud. ” If heaven, if my good angel, if tht happiness of my life shall lead him to say, I love you Judith ah!‘tis a sinful th-iing I am about to say to you an(d you will most justly pour your maledictions on my head; but mark me, my lord, there is no power on eartl that shall hinder me from being his-from sacrificint every thing to him.” ” And I misunderstood her! I rejected a love like this’. [I only was to blamre: but I will repair my fault I wil sacerifice my life to her I w ill own her before the world.

I sha~ll be proud of her, and introduce her to my friends  to you yourself, M. Baraton who don’t listen to a sylla ble I amn saying, but keep poring over those musty pa pers!” Papers, indleedI! It was his unclel’s will I had discoy ered, which disinherited himn, andl disposed of his enol mecus fortune among hospitals and other charitable form dations.

I told Arthur the contents but he did, show the least disappointment, and began to read Judith’. letter again and again. “You shall see leer, 3{.

B;3reton you shall see m beautiful Judith y on Shall dine with hler this very day:r “Bgut these papers this wxill,” I said. |“Well I have notihing moere to do wxithl them,” h |salid, waitl: a smile; ” but Juldithu will lo;:c me. Adler. 23

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I I I…. T..’......In Ii$’ MIRR LIBAY ‘nothing to attain his object. At the slightest hint, he sen t out couriers all over the world, but always without success; and hlie kept constantly saying to me-“‘Tis useless!-she is dead!” In our ncetings upon business, hle spoke to me of nothing but her-and I could hardly slip in a word about the state of his affairs. At last I got himn persuaded to sell off every thing, and pay his debts; but it was a great sacrifice for him to part with the lands that came to him from his mother. But it was indispensable. He owed nearly two hundred thousand francs, and the interest would very soon have swallowed up the remainder of his estate. Bills, therefore, were printed; advertiseinents inserted in the newspapers, and, on the very evening before thile sale was to take place, I received a communication froiii one of my legal brethren, which filled lme with joy and surprise. Fate seemed at last to have grownsii tired of persecuting poor Arthur. o A certain M. de Corval, a man of very indifferent char actor, who had owed his mother a very considerable sum, enow desired to pay it, with full interest froni the time it had become duc making in all the sum of a hundred thousand crowns; and the notary he employed brought me the full amount in gold and bank-notes. I rushed off to tell the good news to Arthur, but he seemed neither glad nor sorry. As long as Judith was not talked of, every thing else was indifferent to him. As for nme, I lost n o tihne in giving a receipt, paying off our creditors, and every thing went on swimmingly, with the exception of one very curious incident. One day Arthur met M. de Corval, who had behaved so honourably, and thianked him in the kindest terms. At the very moment when that gentleman had begun to ex cuse himself, on the plea of some recent losses, for being still unable to pay what he owed “But you paid mc last month a hundred thousand crowns.” ” I!”

” I have no further claim on you-you Gwe mIe no thing.” “‘Tis impossible!

” ” Ask my notary.” The debtor-who was such no longer-hurried to me) and could not conceal his,amazemrrent. “You are a lucky man,” I said. ” M.

Arthur still more so,” hlie replied, very testily “for I had made up miy mind, as I could not possibly pay, it was exactly the same as if I did not owe; and this business does not make me a farthing richer; but the case is very different with him-he may think hinmself exceedingly fortunate.” i ”

What!-then,” I said, “you really don’t know wihere the money came from?”

“I have no notion,” replied AI. de Corval; “but if the same party should offcr to pay off any more of my debts, I hope you will let me know; it will be pleasant to have some benefit for myself.” We were more amazed than ever. I went to the notary who had transacted the business. The letter which instructed him to pay me the money bore the post-mark ”

Havre,” and the hand it was written in was unknown to us all; but Arthur uttered an exclamation of joy when he saw the seal, half-broken as it was.

It was Judith’s. He h hapresented to her a seal in former days, with the it motto, “Toujours seul”-and there it was upon the letter. ” The letter has come from Judith!” he said, and dropped it on the floor. ” Well, then,” I replied, “you see she is still alive, and Arthur was furious. lie would have liked better if she had been dead. ” For why does she conceal herself? Why, since she knows where I live, does she not conie t o me? She is not worthy to see me-she loves mc no longer she has forgotten sme!” ”

The letter,” I suggested, ” profits the reverse.” ” And what right has she to insult me with her benefits? Where has she got her riches? How has she had the audacity to offer them to me? And since when has she considered me base enough to accept them? I woii’t have the money-take it ba ck again!”

” With all my heart,” I said? ” but wlmat am I to Xa with it?” M.

Baratorl, adi eu. I shall fin d with h er more happiness than I lose with these papers. Adieu;” and he left me, while his eyes beame d with joy and anticipation. ” Strange young man!” I said to myself-” to be consoled by a pretty face for the loss of such a succession!” and I finished the inventory. Anhour or two afterwards, I was about to go home, when Arthur rushe d in like a madman. ” She is not there-she is gone-I have lost her!”

“What! she’s false, then?” ” Who told you so? Unsay the word-or ” I-Ic had taken tight hold of me by the collar. “I know nothing about it.” “,So much the better,” he said. ” Three months ago *eIC disappeared-she has left the opera.” “What did her comnpanions tell you?” “They told me nonsensical stories some said she had been carried off-another told me, with the utmost coolness, she had resolved to destroy herself.” “Possible enough,”

I said. ” Since the revolution of Tilly, suicide has come greatly into fashion.” ” Say it not-say it not!” cried Arthur; “you will drive me mad!

I went to her apartments in the Rue de Provence, but she had left them, without saying where she was going.” “No trace?” ” The rooms are to let; they have never been occupied since.” “And you found nothing in them?”

“Nothing except that in her aunt’s room, on the ground floor, th’s card, intended for some trunk, with the address,’ To Madame Bonnivet, Bordeaux’and now that I remember, she comes from that neighbourhood.” ”

Vell.” ” Take all the management of my affairs-make what arangement you like.” “What are you going to do?” “Follow her traces-or rather those of her aunt.” “In your present state of health you wouldn’t start for Bordeaux?” ” This hour ”’ He started that evening; and But here the fourth act of the Huguenots began, and the notary listened in silence. Arthur rem ained six months at Bordeaux, making every possible inquiry about Madame Bonnivet, but nobody could give him the slightest information. He advertised for her in the news papers-an d a t last an old lady, ivth whom it appeared s he had lodged, came and inforsn.d him tllat his search was now use le ss, for Madame Boni:ivet had been dead two months. “And her niece?” exclaimed Arthur. “iShe was not with her-but the aunt lived very comfortably, and h ad an annuity of a hundred louis.” “Where did it come from?” “Nobody knew.” “Did she ever speak of her niece?” “Sometimes she mentioned her name-but instantly checked herself, as if there was some secret to be coiicealed.” And this was all that Arthur had been able to ascer(ain by the most careful inquiry. He came back in despair; for, since he had lost Judith, hit attachment hade frown into a passion. It was the one iaea of his exist(nee. He bitterly recalled the minutes-so few and un.,bserved at the time-lhe had passed beside her. Every ook, every smile, rushed back upon his memory-he ,isited every spot where she had been-he never missed he opera. He wished to occupy her apartments in the Rue de Provence; but unluckily they had been engaged by a ,traniger, who did not live in them. He thought at all 1 events he would go and look at them-the porter had not the keys, and the doors and window-shutters continued firmly closed! Arthur, as you may suppose, took very ittle interest in his own affairs, but they gave great un-asiness to me. Disinherited by his uncle, he had nothing ‘eft but the small property of his mother-about fifteen lhousand livres a year. Ile had squandered half of it, first in his expenses with Judith, and next in his endeavours to discover what had become of her; for he grudged I THE MlItROR LIBRARY. 24

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 ~ ~ ~ ~ H M IRO LIBRARY.I2I “What you like-I refuse it.” “You can’t refuse it now. Your debts are paid with t-your estate cleared thanks to the hundred thousand crowns.” “I instruct you to sell my lands-realize that sum, 7v.’,h I shall never touch, and keep it till I find some meani-e of returning it.” But think what a state your affairs will be in.” “That is of no consequence. Faithless as she is, I cannot repent of having ruined myself for Judith; but to be enriched bv her is a degradation I cannot submit to. Sell every thinig!” And, in spite of all my remonstrances, he persisted in his resolution. The estate was sold-the first three hundred thousand francs were deposited with me, and the surplus’was sufficient to buy an annuity of six thousand livres for Arthur in the national funds-and that was the whole of his fortune. He lived in this way for two years, striving to banish a recollection that weighed upon his heart Sombre and melancholy, he forswore all society. He saw me almost every day, and spoke of nothing but Judith. He told me he had forgotten htier-that hlie despised her; and yet the only places lie went to were those which recalled her to his recollection most vividly. One day, or rather one night, there was a masked ball at the opera. Alone, in spite of the crowd, he walked in silence through all the noise of the assembly-he went on the stage where he had seen Judith so often-then wandering among the corridors, he ascended slowly to the box on the second tier where he had sat so often in those happy days, and from which he had given the signal of a visit to the Rue de Provence on the following morning. The door of the box was open. A female in an elegant domino was sitting there al-)Te, and apparently sunk in deep thought. At sight of Arthur she started, rose up, and would have left the box: but, scarcely able to support herself, she leaned on one of the sides, and sank down upon the sofa. Her agitation attracted Arthur’s notice, and he went forward and offernd his assistance. Without answering, she rejected his offer with a motion ,f her hand. “The heat has made you ill,” he said, with an emotion which he could not master; “if you will take off your mask for a moment-” She refused his assistance again, and contented herself with throwing back the hood of her domino, which had covered her head.

Arthur saw the beautiful black hair falling in ringlets on her shoulder.

It was exactly in the same style that Judith wore it-that graceful attitude, that exquisitely elegant form-the shape, the manners-that undefinable charm which we may feel, but cannot account for-all w%ere there! She rose up at last. Arthur started. It was now his turn to feel faint-but instantly summoning all his strength, he whispered “,Judith!

Judith!‘tis you!” She would have left the box ” Stay, stay! for heaven’s sake! and let me tell you that I am the most unhappy of men; that I never knew you, even when you deserved all my love!” She trembled. ” Yes, you deserved it then, and I did not know it; and now I love you, Judith! I love nobody but you I shall love you for ever, even now that you are unfaithful -now that you have forgotten me!” She tried to answer, but could not. She laid her hand ~n her heart, as if to justify herself. ” And how, then, can I account for your absence;* and above all, for your benefits-those benefits which have made nie blush for you, and which I have rejected! Yes, Judith! I desire them not-I wish for nothing but you, and your love! And if it be, indeed, true that you have not forgotten me, and that you love me still, come to me! It is love only I can give you now. for I have no longer a fbrtune to offer you! Ah, you hesitate-youw answer iot-I understand your silence! Farewell-for ey~e!!” Iev w! s turning to depart, but Judith held him bo the “Speak, le, onyJudith!

Speaks I entreat you t” The poor girl could not. Sobs choked her voice.

Arthur fell at her feet-she had not spoken; but she was in tears-and Arthur felt that she was justified. ” You love me, then, still? you love nobody but me?” ” No on e!” she said, and gave Apim her haned. ” And how am I to believe you i owhat proof can I have?” ” Time.” “What can I do?”

“Wait!” “And what token of your love?” She dropped the bouquet which she held i her hand; and while Arthur stooped to pick it up, she darted through the corridor and disappeared. He followed her-saw her at a distancep among the crowd-lost her again-and had nearly recovered her traces once more, when, on arriving at the lobby, he saw her leap into a magnificent chariot, which went off at a full gallop! ” Gentlemen,” said the notary, interrupting his narrative, “‘tis very late-I am an early man-and, with your permission will finish the rest of my story next opera night.” On the following Wednesday we were all in the orchestra punctual to our appointment, but the notary did not make his appearance. The opera was ” Robert,” and it recalled to my recollection my first meeting with Arthur. I now understood his melancholy and pre-occupation, and fancied that if Meyerbeer himself had been aware of his story, he would have pardoned his inattention even to the inimitable trio. But was Arthur at that moment in a less miserable condition? Was he better qualified to appre. ciate good mus ic? Was he happy, and had he discovered the beautiful Judith? We were still ignorant of the causes that kept them apart; and the absene of our little histo. rian added to our impatience.

He arrived at last a t the end of the second act, and n ever was so e nthusiastic a reception given to a favourite actor, or dancer, after three months’ absence, as we now gave M. Baraton. ” You’ve come at last, my good friend-here-sit down-we’ve kept your place. How late you are!” ” I have been present at the sig natures of a contract,” r eplied the notar y-” I say paesent at the signature s, but not professionally. I have given up the shop; and, tha n k heaven! I owe nothing.” “Yes you do-you owe us-” “A denouemeit,” said the professor. “Ah, the history of Judith-well.” M.

Baraton took the seat that had been kept for him, and continued his tale: She had said ” Wait!”-and, for some days, Arthur was patient enough-he hoped every hour for a letter or a rendezvous. ” I shall see her again!”

he exclaimed” she will come to me again!” But days and weeks passed on, and Judith never came. Six months passed this way-a year-and at last two years rolled by. I felt anxious about Arthur, and sometimes I was even unease about his sanity. The scene at the masked ball had ai fected him strangely. There were inornents when he believed that he was labouring under some hallucination. He fancied it was all a dream an illusion; and he began to have doubts of every thing he heard or saw. It was with difficulty that our utmost care restored him from a dangerous illness, int,j which hope deferred }lad thrown him. He never would touch the money advanced by Judith; and his own fortune, I told you, amounted only to six thousand livres a year. Of these he spent foul thousand in subscribing for a box at the opera-the box on the second tier, where he had encountered Judith the night of the masked ball. IIe went there every evening, as long as he had any hopes of seeing her again; and when he sank into despair, he could not summon courage to enter it. lie felt himself, when he sat in it, ” seul, toujours seul”-and the feeling of loneliness made him wretched.

All he could do w1s to come occasionally to the orchestra; and, after looklng long and earnestly at the box on the opposite side, lie would say, ” Shil is not there!” and leave the theatre. This wa:s his course of life, only diversifiedd by an occasional jouriey i;,to tll country, wh,e l!e ftllcied ie, had obtained so:,’ S -lle of THE MIRROR LIBRARI. 25

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TIlE MIRROR LIBRARY. the lost one; but he always came back disconsolate to Paris, and resumed his old habits. It was to meet him more frequently that I secured a seat here by the year. Last week hlie had come-he had seated himself in the orchestra-not at this side, but at the other. On that occasion-hopeless and wretched-he had turned his back to the house, and was sunk in his own miserable reflections. But a sudden sensation among those around him, aroused him from his revery. A young, lady of the most exquisite beauty, and magnificently dressed, had come into a box, and the whole artillery of opera-glasses was turned upon’ her in a moinent.

Nothing was heard but exclamations of “What it beautiful creature!-how brilliant!-how graceful!” AVlhat age should you think her, sir?” said one.

“‘we enty- one or twenty-two,” said another. “Bah! shle isn’t eighteen.”

Do you know who she is, then?” “mNo sir; this is her first appearance at the operafor Ien a subscriber, and know every face that has made a sensation here since the year-hem ” And it s eeme d that nobody knew a ny thing about her. At l as t a gentleman of very distinguis hed appearance bowsed to her. Every one w orried him with questions who she was. ” e’Tis Lady Inggerton-th e wife of a rich English nolIenan.” ” Indeed!-so young-and so rich!” And it wa s whi spered about that she had been nobody once-a poor girl that was about to throw herself into the water il a f it of d espair; and that, after being rescued by the old nobleman, she gained his heart so entirely, that he persuaded her to marry him, to enable hi to mr oen sleave her his enormous fortune -whic h he had actually don e.

“Tile deuse! If she’s a widow, she’s a glorious catch!” Her time of mourning is just expired, and, of course, all the young fellows, both in England and France, are making up to her. “1 iNo doubt,” said the young man who had been making these inquiries, pulling up his neckeloth; “and do you know, mry good fellow, I rather think her ladyship is looking in this direction.” A “Nonsense!” “OTis no nonsense, I assure you-I appeal to this gentlernan;” antd hlie addressed himself to Arthur, who had heard nothing of the conversation, and had to be informed of the whole matter. Artlhur raised his eyes, and in the box in the second tier, that box tlhat used to be his, hlie saw Ah! I)people don’t die of surprise and joy, for Arthur is still alive; hlie felt his heart beat quick.‘Twas she!‘twas Judith!-but at the sanie time he contipued motionless; he did not dare to stir; he was afraid of awakening. “You know her, then, sir?” inquired his neighbour.

Arthur mad e no reply, for at tha t in stant his eyes met Judith’s!- he saw hers lighting up with joy-ia nd what Was he to think? My heavens! how did his brain keep from turning, when hli e saw the hand of Jidith -that hand so white a n d beautiful-raised slowly t o he r ear, (the very signal that in other days he Rised t o give to her,) and play with the wemerald dr ops that he h ad presented to her! Luckily, as I said before, people don’t die of happiness; but Arthur fel t s om e dv a u e idea that h should go mad. tie hid his face in his ha. nds a momenit, to convince himself it was not an illusion; and when he looked up again, the vision ha d v ani shed! Judith had disappeared! A tremour took possession of his liiibs-a hand of iron crushed his heart: but when he remembered what he had seen- what he had heard and that she had given him a signal known only to themselves, he darted from his place; he left the orchestra, and hurried into the street, saying, ” If I deceive myself this time if I amil again mistaken-I shall either go mad or blow my brains out!” And having come to this sage resolution, he-, walked steadily to tile Rue do Provence; he knocked at the door, (which was instantly opened,) and asked for-Judith! ” Madame is within, sir,” said the portcress, very quietly.

Arthur alnost fainted, and had to support himself on the baiuster. He went up to the second floor, crossed the well-known rooms, and opened the door of the boudoir. It was furnished exactly as it was six years before. The supper he had ordered before his departure was there, all laid on the table. There were seats set for two; and Judith, sitting on a sofa, said to him the moment he entered, “You come late, Arthur,” and held out her hand. Arthur fell at her feet. Here the notary stopped short. “Well!” we all exclaimed, “go on.” “What more have I to tell you?” said M. Baraton, with a knowing smile. ” I have just come from dining with them. The ceremony took place to-day.” “Thev are married, then?” “To be sure.” “A widow is a kind of animal,” said one of the circle, ” who ” ” Has very little resemblance to Judith,” interposed the notary; ” for a curious part of the story that I have not told you is,-that the old peer, her husband, never called her any thing but his daughter.” At that moment the box on the second tier opened  Judith came in, wrapped up in her ermined mantle, and leaning on the arm of her lover-her husband. And a round of exclamations might be heard among the audience “How lovely she is!” “A lucky dog!” THE BEGGAR-GIRL OF THE PONT-DES-ARTS. BY WILHELM HAUFF. cloak, to complete the picture. When you loek at his black silk breeches and stockings, the huge roses in his shoes, the long sword by his side, and the high-pointed hat pressed down on his forehead; and that servant, with a step as stately as his master’s, does not his heavy yet roguish face, his parti-coloured dress, and the boldness with which he stares at every thing, renmind us of the servants in Spanish plays, who follow their master like his shadow, far below him in manners, his equals in pride, his superiors in cunning? Under his arm lie carries his inaster’s cloak and umbrella, and in his hand is a silver segar-I)ox, a flint and steel. Every one stcop)ed to loos ANY one who may have chancee to have lodged at the “King of England,” in Stuttgart, in the year 1824, or to have strolled in the spacious gardens in front, must have noticed certain figures who attracted general attention. There were, among others, two men, who, it seemed, did not belong to the population of Stuttgart, and would have been miore at home on the Prado or the plaza de Peros at Seville. Imagine a tall, thin, elderly man, with iron-gray hair, deepset, burning eyes, a hawk nose, and thin, compressed lips. His walk is slow and stately; and if you tiave a lively fancy, you cannot but wish him, instead of l;.s black frock-coat, a slashed doubtlet and Spanish i 26

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. at this pair as they moved slowly along. It was Don Piedro de San Montanjo Ligcz, chamnberlain of the crown prince of, who was living in Stuttgart at the time, and his servant. A very trifling circumstance often makes a man con6)iicuous. This was the case with young Froben. He had been in towtn about six months, and used to come into the gardens every day at two o’clock precisely, and walk three times round tile lake, and then five times up and down the broad walk. He passed by all the splendid equipages and pretty womeni, by all the crowd of senators, aulic counsellors and m7ilitai-es, without beirng noticed, for hle looked like an every-day personage of some eight and twenty or thirty.

But ever since olne afternoon, when he happened to meet Don Pedro, when the latter greeted him cordially, took his arm, and walked up and down with him a few times in earnest discourse, he was looked upon wAith a good deal of curiosity and even respect. Yes, the proud reserved Spaniard treated himn with marlred distinction. The very prettiest of thie.young ladies began to observe that he was not ugly, that there was even something interesting in his features, and the senators and counsellors began to ask who he might be? Some young officers professed to be able to answer this question, and stated that he now and then took a steak for a dinner, lived in street, and rode a very pretty horse. They then enumerated the good qualities of his horse with great accuracy, and this led them to a discussion on horse-flesh in general, which is said to have been profound and valuable. After this, Froben was often seen in company with the Don, especially at n;ght ill his hotel, where they sat and talked apart from the other guests, Diego standing behind his inaster’s chair and serving themi with segars and Xeres. No one could divine the subject of these long conversations. for his burst of passion; b ut we hen he was again told that the picture was supposed to be painted by Lucas Clramachl, he shook his head gravely: ” Gentlemen,” said he, laying his hand upon his heart, ” Don Pedro de San Montanjo Ligez believes you to be honourable men. You are not picture-dealers, and have no interest to misrepresent the age of this picture. But unless I am greatly deceived, I know the lady who is here represented.” He made a ceremnonious bow, and left the gallery. ”

Really,” thought the proprietor, ” if we were not so certain about the age of this picture, I should be in doubt. At any rate, unless I am greatly deceived, as the Spaniard says, this is not his lact visit to our collection.” And so it happened. As soon as the gallery was opened, Don Pedro de San Montanjo Ligez stepped gravely and majestically in, sweeping past the long rows of paintings towards the lady in the hat and feathers.

He was vexed to find the ground already occupied. A young man stood there, gazed at the picture, stepped back to a window to watch the flights of the clouds, and then came up, and gazed again. Ile was vexed-but had to be patient. He busied himself with the other paintings, but kept turning his head every moment to see whether the young gentle man had not gone. But he stood there firm as a wall, and seemed lost in thought. The Spaniard coughed to arouse him, but he kept drearing on; he moved his foot roughly, the young man looked round at him a moment vacantly, and then turued to fasten again on the picture. ” San Pedro! Santiago do Compostella! what a tedious amateur!” muttered hlie, anrid left the room angrily, feeling that the disappointruent had deprived him of all enjoyment for that day. Thlle next day, before the clock had done striking twelve, lie nmounted the gallery stairs in dignified haste, and made for the well-known picture, anrid, by good luck, he was the first and only visiter, and free to look his fill. He gazed long and fixedly at’the picture; his eye grew dim, he drew his hand across his shaggy eyelashes and murmured, “Oh, Laura!” A sigh was plainly heard as an echo to this exclamiation-he turned round in surprise-the same young man stood near him, looking earnestly at the portrait. Vexed at the interruption, he nodded a careless salutation; the young man returned it with less coldness but equal pride. The Spaniard determined to sit his troublesome neig-hbour out, but in vainfor to his amazement, the young stranger took a chair an d sat down a f(w paces off, so as to be at his ease. “The fool! I really believe lie is makilng sporit of my gray hairs,” said Don Pedro, and!eft the room ill great indignation.

In the ante-chamber he met one of the proprietors of the collection. lie tendered him his ttanks for his politeness, but at the same time could niot help saying a word about the disturber of his peace. “You may have noticed, he remarked, “that one of your pictures has a special value in my eyes. I came, on your invitation, to see this, to spend rny time before it undis. turbed, and now a mischievous young man watches my smovenents, comes whenever I come, and spends whole hours, merely to vex me, before a painting that he has no interest in.” The owner smiled. “I aio not so ertarn as to that: th e contrary seems to be the case, for this is not the first day that he has devoted to that picture.” “Who is he?” ” A certain Herr von Froben, who has been here six months. Ever since lie saw the portrait in question, he has been in thle habit of coming every day at the same hour to pay his respects to it. You see at any rate that he must feel an interest in the picture, since he has beer so constant a visitcie to it for so long a time.” “What! six months!” cried the old man; “I have done him wrong in my thoughts, God forgive me! I re ally fear that I have behaved rudely to him. And he is a caballero, you say? N,, it shall never be said of Pedra de Ligez that he was rude to a stranger. Tell him-but no, I will spea k to him rmyself.” What was it but the fine gallery of Messrs.

Boiser6e and Bertram, in which they had first become acquainted? These hospitable gentlemen had given our young friend pernmission to visit their collection as often as he chose, and he availed himself of it most liberally. In rain, in s.now, and in fine weather h e came; he often looked ill, but still he came. “Ve should estimate Herr voI Froben’s tapste too higblsly, however, if we supposed he was busy in stu’~iyi iob’

copying the ad mirabl e works of the Flemish s,hiool. He came in softly, bowed il silence, and hurried to a distant room, which contained one single pictur e. TPis he exad m ined long, and then left the gallery in sileiac. hioec propr ietors h ad too mu ch delicacy to inquire into the cause of his extraordinary affection for thle pictur e, but they could not but wonder at it. Often, when he went out, the tears stood in his eyes.

The picture had no great value as a work of art. It represented a lady partly in the Spanish and partly in the old German costume. A blooming, cheerful face, with clear, loving eyes, finely chiselled lips and rounded chin, stood boldly out from the back-ground. The forehead was adorined by a profusion of hair and a little hat, with heavy white feathers, placed somewhat archly onl one si(de. The BU-ess, vn.icl. was high in the neck, was loaded with rich chains, and bore testimony to its ownier’s wealth as well as modesty. “I stupi)p,se he is in love with the picture,” thought the proprie,tor; ” but if so, he loves without hope, for it is at least f’rec hundred years old.” By and Icy it seemed as thoulhl Frobein was not the only admirer of the portrait. One dar the prince of P visited the gallery with his suite. )ti:~ chamberlain, Don Pedro, when he saw this painting, uttered a cry of surprise, and seemed overcome by astorisli.,ient. When the prince left the gallery, Don Pedro was not to be found: at last he was discovered staniding awith folded arms and in deep thought before tile picture. He asked where it came from, and was told that it was painted by a celebrated artist several hundred years b,l~o.o:, and had been obtained by accident. ” Oil, no,” he cried,’ it is new; it is not a hundred years old: tell in(, Fpr.-;y tell me, wollen you got it where can I find her? ” llt v.,s old and looked too venerable to be laug,,hed at The n ext day he found Froben at his post. The young man stepped aside to imatke roomi for his senior, who bow cd ccreniotiious!y as ha addrcssd hin,, ” If I ant nlot 27

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28 TIlE MIR1OR LIBRARY. yet most unhappy hour of my life! You will smile when I tell you that I once saw a lady who is very like that picture: that I saw her but once, and yet that I never shall forget her.” “,Alas! it is my case, too!” murmure-(d the Spaniard. ” You will laugh outright, however,” continued Froben, ” when I confess that I am able to speak as to only half of her face. I do not know whether she is a blond or a brunette-whether she has a high or a low forehead, blue eyes or black, I really don’t know. But the finely shaped nose, the lovely mouth, the chiselled chin-these I behold in the picture, the same as I once beheld the reality!” ” Strange!and can you remember so distinctly those features which are generally more easily forgotten than the eyes and the hair; and after seeing them only onec, too?7″ I ” Ahl, Don Pedro! lips that we have once kissed, suci lips we do not soon forget. I will tell you how it hap.

pened.” ” Stop-not a w(rd!” exclaimed the Spaniard. “You would have a right to think me ill-bred, if I asked a cavali er for his secret, without first communicating my own I will tell you what I know of the lady.

mistaken, Sefior, I have seen you looking at this picture before. So i’ is with me: I take great interest in this picture, and am never tired of looking at it.” Froben was surprised, and hesitated a little as hlie answered, “I admit it has peculiar merit in my eyes-forsince-as there is something in it which I greatly adnlire.” The Spaniard looked at himn inquiringly, and Frol)bel added, more calmly, ” It is singular what effect a painting will sometimes produce. Thousands pass by this picture, find the drawing correct, and praise its colouning, but it does not affect them profoundly,-avhile one person may find in it a deep hidden meaning, he cannot tear himself away, he feels chained to the spot, and returns to it again and again.” “You may be right,” replied the old man, thougflhtfully, “but I conceive this applies only to great compositions, in which the artist sought to express a profound conception. Many pass by, and at last the true expression is felt by some one, who is then lost in admiration.

But will this hold true of such heads?” The young- man coloured. ” Why not? the tine outlincs of the face, this noble forehead, this thoughtful eye, his sweet mouth, are not these finely conceived and expressed? Is there not something attractive in the features which-” “Certainly. She was unquestionably a very pretty wooman; the family is remarkable for beauty.”

” What family?” asked Froben, doubti ng whether his new acquaintance was in his right mind. ” This is a fancy piece, and some hundred years old.” ”

What? do you too believe that silly story? Between ourselves, the owners are mistaken this time: I know the lady.” ” For God’s sake! do you know hei-?-Where is she now?-EWho is she?” “I should rather say, I did know her,” replied the old man, raising his moist eye t o the painting. ” Yes, I knew her in Valencia, twenty years ago-a long time! It is Mofia Laura Tortosi.” ” Twenty years ago!” repeated Froben, sadly; “no, it is not she!” “Why?” cried Don Pedro; ” do you suppose, then, the painter invented these features? Even without knowing the’lTortosi family, do you not see it must be a family portrait? I say it is Dofia Laura, as I knew her many years since.” ” It may be like her-in which case she must be a very lovely person-but as for this piece, the records prove that it was hanging in the church of St. Mary Ma(gdalen at least a hundred and fifty years ago.”

“Then may the fiend pluck out my eyes!” exclaimed the Spaniard, seizing his hat and rushing from the room. ” It is a device of the evil one to torture me;” and the tears stood in his eyes. ” Seior, I was born in Granada, of a noble fancily, by whom 1 was instructed in religion and in science, and destined to the profession of arms. When I had leached the rank of captain, I was sent to my uncle, a stern old veteran, who commanded in Valencia. A great changec had taken place in his household since I saw hinm last. I was surprised when he introduced an elderly lady to me as his second wife, and still more agreeably so, when I was made acquainted with a beautiful young one, whom he called his daughter Laura, my cousin. ” You have seen her, Don Frobenio. That picture is a faithful copy of her lovely features, at least so far as it was possible for earthly art to imitate them. I need not say that I loved her. My affection was open and joyous; there were none of those barriers between us that usually separate lovers in my country. My uncle loved nme as a son, and if I understood his hints rightly, was not un. willing to make Ime so. On my father’s part, there could be no objection, for Laura was of a noble as well as wealthy family. You may judge how violent my love must have been, as I loved where there were no obstacles to feed the flame. As for the lady, she allowed me to confess my sentiments, my uncle gave his consent, and twe were to be married as soon as he could obtain a ma jority for me.

About this time I became intimate with a captain in the Swiss Guard, and we were soon the closest friends. He was a fair-haired, handsome youth, with a delicate complexion and light-blue eyes. He would have been too effeminate for a soldier, but for his renown in arms. This made him so much the more dangerous. His style of beauty was one so new among us, that when he talked about the ice and snow of Switzerland, many a lady sighed to think that his heart seemed equally cold. “One day a friend, who knew of my engagemenct, gave me to understand, in mysterious circumlocution, that I had better marry my cousin at once, as otherwise something unpleasant might happen. I mnade further inquiries, and learned Dofia Laura was in the habit of meeting a stranger at a friend’s house. I could not believe it, and yet a jealous pang remained; I determined to watch liher closely. That very afternoon she left us, saying that she wished to see a friend. A little while afterwards, I fol lowed her, and kept watch by the door of the house. A fury seized me as I saw a man, wrapped in a mantle, stealing along at nightfall in the shade of the buildings. As the figure approached me, I seized hold of its dress, and cried,’ Whoever you are, give me your hlionour that you do not come here to visit Laura de T’ortosi?’’ Who dares to question me thus?’ said a deep voice. His accent betrayed the stranger, and I felt a painful foreboding.’ It is Captaiin de San Montanjo Ligcz,’ I replied, and pulled the cloak from before his face, and saw mny friend, the Swiss Captain. He stood tl.ere like a culprit, I without spea!kiig. I drew miy sword, and moti(oned( to hiln to d: the same.’ l hiave 01 a,: L it a dagger,’ te One evening, when the two gentlemen were sitting in the parlour of the ” Kin, of England,” Don Pedro suddenly said, “Tihe crowd lit-e prevents all conversation will you help me empty a bott’e of Ximenes in my apartment?” “With pleasure.-‘ “Wait a moment till I prepare to receive you. I will send for you.” In a few minutes, Diego appeared with a silver candlestick in each hand, and bowed gravely to Froben, as the signal to’follow him. On entering, he found his host had laid aside his frock-coat, and appeared in a close-fitting black doublet and ample scarlet mantle. A sword with golden hilt was buckled by his side. W Welcome, Don Frobenio,” was his salutation. ” I have long desired a moment’s friendly conversation with you. Whenever I paid a visit to my Lauia’s likeness, I found you there belore me. And excuse me playing the spy, but I could not help seeing that you felt more deeply interested in the picture than you have ever been willing to confess.” l’roben bluishced, for the old man’s glance was keen and penetrating. Ile told him: ” It is true, and you are r rht in supposing it is not the painting, but the subject that attracts ice. Alas! it rerinicds rme of tlic sweetest I i I I i 28 TIIE 1\11RItOR LIBII.ARY.

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!. II ~ H IRRO L IBAY 29 said. I was about to pass my blade through his body, but Froben pursued his journey along the Rhine. His head could not do it as he stood there helpless before me. I was still full of the romantic ideas that the portrait had appointed the next morning for our niceting, and he left called into being. As he drew near the lovely plain of the place. I kept guard at the door till Laura’s litter the Neckar, hlie began to forget these fantastic visionis, was brought, and I saw her enter it. The torture of mind and to remember the object of his journey.

It was a visit I felt would not let me sleep, and at midnight I heard a to a friend, in whose company he had travelled through knock at my door. It was Laura’s old servant, who France and England. Similarity of character did not handed me a letter, and retired. Sefior! heaven forbid form the ground of their friendship. The Baron von that you should ever receive such a letter! She told me Faldner was somewhat rough and rude, and even his that she loved the Swiss long before she knew me-that travels had not polished him. Hie was one of those who, she had kept it a secret, knowing how her mother detested because they neglect books, think they can do without foreigners, and that she had been forced to accept my them, and persuade themselves that they are what they proposals in spite of herself.

She took all the blame to call “practical men;” that is, universal geniuses, who herself; she protested solemnly that Tannensee had often know every th’ing without studying it, and are perfect wanted to confess the truth to me, and would have done masters of business, agriculture, housekeeping, and the it but for her entreaties. She intimated that the family like. He was happy, because lie did not know his own would be disgraced unless I furnished them with the deficiencies; but sclf-conceit made him overbearing in means of flight. She begged me not to seek a meeting company, and a tyrant at homie. “I wonder if he still with him, for that if he fell, she, his wife, would not sur- says,’ I told you so,’

” thought Froben. “He always vive him. She ended by appealing to my magnanimity, used to speak thus, even if fie had prophesied the contrary declaring that she always esteemed, though she could not the minute before, and there was no undeciving him.“love me. You can conceive that such an epistle threw His estate lay in one of the loveliest valleys of the lRhline, cold water on the flame of my love; and it cooled my and our traveller could not but hope that the beauties by anger, too, in part.

But, as I had been deceived, I felt which he was surrounded had tended to soften his natural that honour required me to be at our rendezvous the next harshness. morning. The Captain felt, ierhaps, how deeply he had injured me, for, though the better swordsman, he merely He entered the park, and saw his friend at a distance. defended himself, and it was not his fault that I ran my He seemed to be disputing with an old man, who was hand, here between the thumb and finger, on his sword, busy diggii,g round a trce. ” I don’t care if you have so that I could fight nQ longer. While they were binding done it that way for a hundred years, and not fifty; you up the wound, I handed him Laura’s letter. Ite begged must transplant the tree as I tell you.” The old man and implored me to forgive him; I did it, but with a put on his cap with a sigh, looked at the noble tree with heavy heart. a sad eye, and set to work hastily, and, as it seemed, un “rThc story of my love is ended, Don Frobenio; for, willingly. The Baron whistled a tune as he turned away, five days afterwards, Laura and the Swiss Captain had and saw a stranger, whlo liheli out his hand to him with a disappeared.” smile. ” What’s your wish?” he asked hastily. “And with your assistance?” ” Don’t you know me then, Faldner? Have your trees “I did all I could to help them.?TIy aunt was deeply made you forget London and Paris?” grieved; but it was better that she should never see her’ ”

Froben! is it possible?” cried the lhost as hlie era. daughter, than to have disgrace come upon our house.” braced him. “But how thin and pale you look. That Noble-hearted man!” cried Froben, ” what must it l comes from your sitting and studying so much: but yeou not have cost you! In truth, it was a hard trial.” never would take advice. I always told you it would not It was, indeed!” said the old nman, smiling bitterly. answer for you.”

“At first, I thought the wound would never heal but “Think a moment, my dear fellow. Didn’t you always time does wonders, my young friend! I have never since tell me that I would never do for a sportsman or farmer, seen or heard of her; only once the papers mentioned and that I must take to law or diplomacy?” Colonel Tannensee as an officer under Napoleon, who had ” Ah, I see you are trouled wiI’h yobur old complaint, distinguished himself at Brienne. But when I came here, want of memory. Did not I tell you-” and saw my Laura before me, the same as she was twenty “Let it pass, and tell nme where you have been since years ago, the old wounds opened afresh, and-you know we parted.” yourself, I used to go every day to see her.” TI’he Baron’s story was a short one, wholly made up of Don Pedro had told his story wibh all the gravity of an complaints of bad weather and stupid servants. He gave old Castilian. When he had ended, hlie took off his hat, im to understand that he was a great proficient in farm stroked his beard, and said, “I have told you, Don Fro- ing, but found all his ncighbours and people very obstibenio, a story which I have confided to but a few; not to nate. Hie confessed that he lived a life of care and trou. lead you to imitate mny confidence, though your secret ble, of vexation and quarrel. His friend could see plainly would be as safe in my breast as the ashes of our kings that hlie still rode his hobby, and could not rein it in. in the Escurial. I will confess I am anxious to ask why It was now Frobenri’s turn, and he said in a few words you take such an interest in the lady; but curiosity is un- that hlie had been attached to one or two embassies, had becoming a man of my years, and I say no more.”

got tired of them, and asked for a long lea.- of absence, Froben answered, “I will tell you my little adventure and was now seeing the world. with pleasure. It does not reveal a lady’s secret, and “Happy fellow!” cried Fal(lner, “I much envy ycu. ends, in fact. where other tales usually begin. But, with Here to-day and there to-morrow, nothing to tie you down, your permission, as it is now so late, we will leave it till and as free as air. I only wish I could live like you.” to-morrow.” “But why not? Look out for a good overseer, saddle “As you please,” said the Spaniard. | your horse, and set off with me.” The next day, Froben was in the gallery, as usual, be- ” Ah, you don’t understand,” answered Faldner, em fore the picture. He waited a whole hour; but the old barrassed. “If I am away only onc day, every thing goes man did not make his appearance. iHe walked up and wrong. Besides, I have done a foolish thing-but no down the grounds, but looked in vain for the well-known matter. However, my travelling days are over.” black breeches and pointed hat. At the hotel, his absence A servant came up just then to say that his mistress was explained. “They are all gone, his highness and all. was returned, and asked where tea should be served? Despatches came at midnight, and the prince and his “Up stairs,” said Faldner, in some confusion. “What’! suite set off before day-break.” Don Pedro had left a are you a married man?” asked Froben, “and haven’t card, on the back of which was written in pencil, “Fare- told me of it yet! Well, I congratulate, and so forth well, my dear Don Frobenio, you still owe me your story: but pray, tell me-I should as soon have thought of the kiss Dora Laura for me.” He smiled at the commission, sky’s fMling-how long since?” but soon felt that bis old f{lienfl’s a‘3sence left him solitary. “About six months,’” said the Baron in a low tone, awl There was nothing now to d tain him in Stuttgart, and looking at the gronud; “‘but why should you wonders A’ he left the city as quietly as he had entered it. it’ You ought to know that in such a lairge c~ta’.1-:‘s – 1l;.Imenot ” TIIE MIRROTT LIBRARY. 29

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!0TEMRORLBAY which he always carried with him; but what was his surprise as he noticed the wonderful resemblance it bore to the Baroness Von Faldner? As to hair and eyes, he could not speak; but the mnouth, nose, clin, and throat were surprisingly alike. ” What!” thlought he, ” can she be my friend’s wi fe?she whom I saw b ut once, and imperfectly, yet whom I love, and shall love for ever! The stature and the figure, too, the same! Her eyes were fixed on me the whole evening, as though she had seen me before. But it is all folly. The proud Baron ot Faldner, with his high ideas of nobility and pure descent, would never have stooped to wed a beggar girl!” ” Certainly, it is very natural and proper; but I renmem ber how you used to talk about marriage. I never sup posed you would find anybody to suit you.” ‘No, excuse me. I always told you” “TIo be sure, I admit it,” answered Froben, with a smile; “and I always told you that with your romantic fancies of ideal perfection, you would always live a ba chelor. As there is a lady in the case, I can’t appear in my travelling dress, so you swill excuse me a few moments. FarewellI till we meet al fin.” Just as he left him, a tall and graceful lady came up, and atsked the Baron hlastilv, ” WVhomn were you talking with just now? Who was it tthat said,’ Farewell, till we meet agrainr?’.” The Baron started up ant]

gazed on his vife with as tonishlmcnt at seeing the delicate paleness of her check suffused with crimson ” It is too bad,.loseplhine,” liehe cri(-d. “blow often have I told you that Hufeland for bids violent exercise to 1)eop)ic of your constitution? You have been walking here from the loause, I suppose, and got warmn, and now you want to sit down in the cool air. I have to tell you every tlhing twenty tinmes over, as I wouldl to a child. You ought to be ashamed of your self.’! ” Oh, don’t be angry with me,” said his wife in a trem bling voice. “I only came out to meet you, and rode all the way.” ” Your cheeks condemn you,” was the answer. ”

Must I be for ever talking to you? No shawl, either, and so late! What is the use of my flinging away money for such nonsense if you don’t wear them? It’s enough to maka a man mad. You will not do any thing to please me. Your self-will wears me out completely. It’s enough-” ” Pray, forgive me, Franz,” said she, wiping away the big tears from her eves. “I have not seen you all day long, and I wanted to surprise you, and forgot all about a shawl. You will forgive Inc-you will forgive your wife, won’t you?” ”

Yes, yes, that’s enough; now leave me alone. You know I don’t like such scenes. And in tears, too! Do for heaven’s sake break yourself of this foolish habit of crying at any thin- and every thing. WVe have a guest to-day-Froben, Eho travelled with me. Behave yourself as you ought-do you hear me? See that nothiing is wanting, for I don’t like to have to keep house besides all my other business.” HIe wvailked before her to the castle in silence. When Faldner showed Froben to his room, he could not refrain from congratulating his host on his choice. “Really Franz, I never saw her equal. You Mwere always a lucky fellow, but I never thought you would get such a prize, with your strange ideas.” ‘ Yes, yes; she is well enough,” answered the Baron, dryly, as hle snuffed the candle; “a man can’t have every thing, and ought not to expect it in this world.” “\ hy!

I hope and trust you are not insensible to such excellncle. I have seen many womnen in my day, but never one of such perfect beauty! What eyes!

What a fir.ire! And I do not know but that I admnire her culti. vat (e1 mind and delicate taste even still more highly.” ;Yoi seem quite captivated,” rejoined Faldner, laugh f ing, “hut you heave read too much; you are not a practiel maln; I always told you so. Believe me, a smart, actiste housekeeper is worth more than what you call X,,‘our caccomiplished women. Good-llighlt-thank your stars that you are a freeman, and-don’t be in a hurry to choose.” Froben had not failed to observe howe anxiously she had watched her husband’s looks, and how much she seemed to stand in awe of him. He felt that so ill-assorted a union must have been the work of interest, and not of affection, and that so delicate, so sensitive a creature, was ill-fitted tn bear the humours of her stern and selfish lord. Het sat, plunged in such thoughts, till hc began to reproacli himself for theni. ” I have been false to mya first love to-niylht,” thoug. ht he. ” Another image has fille ed uly tlihloufcihs, and I have given way to ideas that are peer ll;:l;S si0!Lii.

ert’iioly idle I”’ Wit;l th’ese word(s, he’inrnilclrt tiae ePgraving i’oltn tlm, belavei 1)iC/uic in lis l;.ost m, was te his o t rw t l il, The next morning, when Froben came down to thp drawing-room, he found himself alone. His host had rid den out to view the e state, and his lady was busie d with h ousehold affai rs. He tookl up carelessly the cards that lay on the mantel. Among the m was his frierd’s wed ding -card, on whi ch he s aw, “Bar on Von Faldnc r and Josephine Von Tannensee.” The name surprised him. It was the very name of the Swiss officer who had figure d in Do n Pedro’s storyd. He had hardly time t o collect his thoughts, disturbed by this coincidence, when Josephin e appeared. She apologized for her hlusband’s absence, adding, ” His life is always a laborious and anxious one; but I really believe, he is so accustomed to a press of business, that he would not be contented without it.” ” Is there more than usual to be attended to on the estate?” “No, he is always so: he is never at rest; and he spends the whole day, from morning to night, among hiE workmen.” ” You mr.st often feel solitary, I should suppose, during his absence.” “Solitary!” she repeated, wad her voice trembled a little, “Io-memnory is the companion of those wil, are alone; and besides,” she added,‘with an effort at a sinile, “in so large an establishment as ours, there are a thou. sald things to be attended to-so that I do not, must not, feel lonesome.” The slight accent of sorrow with which she spoke, impressed Frobeln deeply; and he paused a while before he answered. ” Women, now-a-days, possess talents and acquirements which can be developed in society alone. And I have often thought how unhappy one of your sex would be, supposing her to possess a cultivated mind, a taste for reading andi for intellectual society, if she finds no kindred spirit in her domestic circle, and yet is confined to it.” Josephine blushed, and our hero could not but feel that he had unconsciously rcmindcd her of her own situation. To give the conversation a more general character, she replied, ” We country ladies, of course, enjoy suceh pleasures less frequently, but still we are not so lonely as you might suppose; we visit each other often only see what a pile of cards there is on the mantel there.” ” That reminds me,” said Frobcni, ” that I “,as guilty of a petty larceny just now;” and he produced the’ wedding-card. “W Will you believe it, that I did not know of mny fricnd’s marriage till last nii,ht? The card first in formed me of your nlamne. It is’I’cnnensce, I find.” ” Yes,”

she answered, with a smile, ” and I was no loser in exchanging so insignificant a name for the nobla one of Faldner.” ” If your father was, as I suppose, Colonel Von Tennensce, you cannot call it insignificant.”

She blushed. “My dear father! They tell me the Emperor esteemed him a gallant officer, and he died a general. I never knew him-.” ” Was he not a Swiss?” She looked at him with some surprise. ” If I am not mistaken, my mother told me lie was.” ” And was not your mother named Laura, and of a Spanish family?” She turned pale. ” Laura was het name, lout what do you know about her? Spanish! no, she spoke Gerlmanl, arid was of Othlat nlation.” To a.ccounlt for thils cur;iosity, Fr ol12e toldl the story of his mccrtinlr wsithl Don Pedrlo, and hils firml bjelief that she wus thle d,uglltcr o!’ tl:.~t I,aurla w!lon rthe Sl]uniai.‘d lintg I I 30 THE

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O~~ ~~~H URR. __li l)ved so warmily. He enlarged on the rank and wealth of her ncwly.found relative, but Josephine betrayed n o pleasure at the discovery; on the contrary, she leaned her head on her hand and burst into tears. “What }lave I done!” cried Froben, in despair. “It was all n)y folly-a mere conjecture only. Your relatives ?an decide that better, I-”

”’ Alas! it is my evil fate to have no kindred,” said she. ” IHappy are they who can look back to a long line of honouable ancestors: who have kind and i,ood relatives, endeared to them by the ties of blood. I was an only child, and I have always lived among st rangers. My father, I heard, quarrelled wit} his relations inl Switzerl and, because they wanted him to wmarry a rich heiress at home; and when my mothel died, there was not a soul in the world to whom I could say, Itavc pity on me!” Frobern was anxious, as well as aff’ected at her grief. W~ Was not your motlher’s name Tortosi?” tic asked. “She wras called Laura Von Tortheim.” “The names are the same: and I believe you will ]ow have no cause to complain of being alone in the world. One kinsrman, at least, you have, and one of the most excellent of men. Fatldnier will be de lig,hIted when he hears of our discovery.” Ifcr tears began to flow afi’esh. ” You do not know my husband,” she replicd. ” You have no idca how suspicious he is. Every thing must go on regularly and soberly; and he detests any thing like a surprise, or a change, from the very bottom of his soul. I had to regar(d it as a f.yvour,” she added, bitterly “as a favour, that a man of such an ancient family would make me his wvife, a-n(d be satisfied with the few papers I had to shose my birth. He tells me every day that he might have married into the first houses-or else, that my family is only newly ennobled-that he knows nothing about my mnother, and that some of the Tennensees have even turned mere hants.” It v is plaits that she had married from poverty, not enoi( c, and that her brutal husband treated her with rudemess and cruelty. Faldner’s return to dinner cut short the conversation. Countess. She was bu sy all day lone, mak ing tea, sewing, oversecina g th e servants, w a,tere ing flowers, and every thin,,,. I thouwalnt s he wo uld make a good housekeeper, and thougli h I c ould not fion.d out much abou t her family, I married her.” “And y ou arc a s happy as th e day is lon,.” “Why, s so so; she h a s nothingr of a practical turn; outa I lock up all her bo oks, and malic he r keep house. Lut come, let us look at my iunilucky steam-engine.” As th e n t l ee igentlmn wr ounting their horses, Froben saw Josphinea at a window wraving her hia.dlerchie. “The Baroness is sa l u t ing you,” he said; but his host only laughed, and rode on. “a way do you s upport her in all t ha t sentc hmrcnt:ly folly, so that wce must kiss and flourishl Iamndkercliclfs sio sr;ehver I am roing- away for a few hours? It is enoughlI to spoil any woman; and when. ever you mar ry, do as I do. You neverr sav whlere you arc going. Your horse is brouighIt round.’ Where are you going, dear?’ she asks t wo or t hree tiames. Yo u say nothing, but put on,i your gloves.’

How can you go away and leavc me hereal ae alon re staie asks, and l:vs her hand on your sIIoLlc’lcr. You pick ua) your whip and say,’ I am going to so-and-so; therc is soinctliing to be done to-daty. Adicu; and if I don’t core back by supper-timne, don’t wait for me.’ She is shlocked-you whistle; she goes to the window and flourishes her handkerchief-you ride straight on, and take no notice of her. That makes a woman respect you.

After two or three such scenes, my wife gave up asking me any question, 1 assure thou.” The engineer was at work, but had made no progress Faldner grew violent, and called him a bungler and t rogue. The man’s face was crimson with resentment, but hlie suppressed it. ” I will engage to put any machine in order, but I must have my own way about it, and in this case-” ” I’ve been helping you a little, ad(l that I suppose has put you out? I have scnr half a dozen such machines, and I know perfectly well that the large wheels work on the cylinder, and the small ones above-”

“Th’Iis is of another pattern, however, as the drawings sh,ouw.” “, What do I care for drawings? I’m deceived all round cheated by everylbody.”

Froben, meanwhile, had been examining the drawings carefully, and said at last, “I will lay a bet that it is all as it should be. F iad II here go with I, and this Con nects the stami)pinig-mi-ill with the machirne.” c; To be sure it does!” cried the engineer, triumphantly. “This makes the whole thing easy.” T’lie Baron laughed to conceal his surprise, and left the nmanagement to his friend, expressin,r little Ilithl in his success.

le was de ceived, however, for in a very short timnc the nm;achine was put up and at work. This restored him to good humour, and he.,rave a little entertainment in hlionotir of his success. CheerfuLl and good-humoured as hlie seemed, it did not escape I F’roben that he persecuted his wAife incessantly. She did every thing wrong, and lie drove her, without r orse, from the kitchen to the parlour and back again. Ilis visitors were delighted with her grace and beauty, and the old ladies were loud in their praises of her good hcusewvifery. ” See now,” the Baron whispered to his friend, ” what wonders good discipline will do! She has got along very well today, with a little help from me, of course. But she’ll mend-she’ll mend.“‘lIe general mirth and the good wine elevated his spirits stll higher, and it was soon high time to leave the table, as he and some of his friends were indulging in some excellent jokes, which were rather too broad for the delicate ears of the ladies. Sport of every kind was now the order of the day, arid even the good old-fashioned game of forfeits was tolerated. It ehancecd to be Froben’s turn to redeem his favour, and Josephine, who fixed the forfeits, decided that liec should tell some atrue passage in his life. The choice was loudly applauded. most of all by Faldner, and when lie saw Floben hesitate, he cried, “Come, be(gin! or I wiU for you, and tell yotr piquant adventure with the beggar-girl of the’orit-des. |Arts.” His wife came forward to meet him, but he passed hastily by her. ” Is it not enough to drive a man mad, Froben?” were his first words. “I have spent a fortune in getting a steam-engine from England, and it won’t work at allI Somnething has been left out or lost. I brought down an engineer fromn Mentz, to put it up. I showed himn the drawings. There is the whole story, all lettered and numbered, and yet the bungler cannot put it up!” Faldner ate little, but drank freely; and his displeasure gradually gave way to boisterous mirth. At the close of the limeal, Josephine gathered courage and addressed him. I had a singular conversation with our guest this mornng, which has led to the discovery of a kin sman of min e.” Froben repeated the story, not witit,, at some anxiety as to the effect it would produce; but, contrary to his expecetations, the Baron seemed delighted. ” “l’is as clear as day!” he cried; ” I’ortheim and Tortosi-all the same thing. And you say the old chap is rich, my dear fellow? Rich, and a bachelor. and always talking about his I,aura! Zounds! Josephine, there’s a chance for lots of piastres!” Josephine was not-much pleased, perhaps, at his coarse way of expressing himself; but she answered calmly, This “i,ill account for the snatches of Spanish songs that always floated in my mind, and also for my having been brought ut) a Catholic.” With these words she retired. ” Write to the old man, will you, Froben? and tell him you have found his Laiira’s daughter. I always told Countess Landstrom that, even though my wife had nothing, I was sure she would bring luck to the house. How much do you suppose the Don will cut up?” Frobeni chanced colour. “How should I know?

Do you suppose I asked him? But what were you saying about Countess Laridstrom?” “Oh, it was there I met my wife. You know I’m a practical miian. I’nig,ht have married the richest girl in the counitry; l-,it I said to n-self, All is not gold that gi’..ers. IdmSOD”’.’ t-a a of companion to the THE LIBIZARY. 31

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3 TITMIRO LIBRARY have chosen a poor stand: there will be few people comn.

inig by here to-night.’ She did not answer aloud, but whispered after a while,’ May those few have pity on the unfortunate!’ This an swer surpris ed me, it was so natural, yet so apt. eI-Icr gracefu l atti tude a nd the tone of he r vo ice indicated a person of education.’ We ar fellow-counitrymeni,’ I said;’ let me ask if I cannot du something more for vou than this mere passing assist ance.’’ WVc arc very poor,’ she answered and this time more boldly,’ and lily mother is sick and has no one to help her.’ Without reflection, and led only by the vague feeling that attracted mc to her, I said,’ Show me wherf she is.’ She was silent and sceneed embarrassed.’ Yol must consider this as-miy honest wish to aid you, if I can, I said.‘Come, then, sir,’ she rejoined, picked up hea lantern, blew it out, and hid it and the plate under hc cloak.” froben blushed and looked displeased; but the company, who suspected that sonme good jest was at the l’ottomn of the allusion, cried, ” Thle story!-the story of thea P)nt-dee-Arts!” And he made up his minid to tell it, eLicfly to avoid any indiscretion on the part of his host, who was warmed with wine. Falduer promised, if the narrator departed from the truth in any respect, to bring him back to it, as he was himself a witness of the adventure. ” I do not know,” began Froben, ” whether you arc aware that some years ago our friend Faldner and I travelled together, and lived in Paris in the same house. Our studies were the same-we visited the same circles -in a word, we were inseparable. We had a mutual friend, Doctor M, a fellow-countryman, who lived in the Rute Taranne, which, as you know, lies on the left bank of the Seine, and leads into the Rue Dominique. Our regular evening walk was through the Champs Elysaes, across to the Fauxbourg St. Germain, and thence to our friends, where we often sat till very late, chatting about Germany, France, and what not. We lived, I ought to add, in the Place des Victoires, a good way off from the Rie Taranne, and we generally came home by the.Pont-des-Arts, so as to cross the Louvre, and save time. One night-it was after eleven-it had rained a little, and the wind blew chilly and keen, especially along the river. We were going from Quai Malaquois across the Pont-des-Arts. The bridge is only for foot passengers, and of course, at that time of night, every thing was quite still around it. We walked across in silence, wrapping our cloaks around us; and I was just hurrying down the steps on the other side, when I saw an extraordinary sight. A tall, slim female stood leaning against the side of the bridge. A little black hat was tied close before htier face, wfich was still more comp’etcly hidden by a green veil: she wore a black silk cloak, and the wind betrayed a delicate, youthful figure; a little hand holding a plate peeped out of the cloak. In front stood a little lantern, whose flickering light showed a small neat foot.

There is no place, perhaps, where the contrast between the greatest splendour and thile lowest depths of misery is as striking as in Paris; but still you meet few beggars. They seldom attack you forwardly, and you never find l them follow you up or persecute you with tlheir demand. A blind old mian sometimes sits or kneels at the corner of the street.

nolding out his hand quietly, and leaves it to the passer-by to notice his look of entreaty or not. Thile most affecting of all, as I thought, were the shamefaced ones, who stand motionless, almost breathless, in a corner, with their faces covered, and a taper burning before them. Manry of my acquaintances assured me that they were generally people of the better class, who had beconme so much reduced that they must either go to labour, or if thev were ashamed, or unable to work for their daily bread, chose this last resource before ending their lives and sorrows in the Seine. The female figure at the t)ridge which enchained my attention was of this class. I eyed her nmore closely; her limbs seemed to tremble with the cold even more than the flickering light in her lantern; but she was silent, and let her sorrow and the cold night-wind speak for her. I felt in my pockets, but I had no small change, and not even a single franc. I turned to Faldner and asked him to lend me some; but he was out of temper, as it seemed, at my keeping him waiting in the cold; and he called to me in German,’ Leave thei beggar alone, and come home to bed-I’mn almost frozen.’ ‘ Give me a couple of sous, my dear fellow,’ I said; but he pulled me by the cloak and tried to drag me away. The veiled figure before me spoke in a trembling but sweet-toned voice, and, to our surprise, in good German, ‘0, gentlemen, have pity on me!’ The tone and the language made such an impression on me, that I again rWked him for some money: he laughed-‘ Very well; there is a coup le of francs,’ said ho *‘try your lack with the girl if you choose, but let me go to sleep.’ He gave me the money and stalked away. I was really con fused, for shze must have heard what Faldncer said’ and the unhappy are the last that I sh-ould wsish to insulit. I dlrew nearer to her, irresolutely.’ 5Iy girl,’ I said,‘yosu “What,” c r ied the Baron, bur s t ing into a l augh, as Froben seemed to pause, ” do you mean to stop here? Do you want to deceive me now, as you tried to then? Thus far, ladies and gentlemen, he’has spoken the exact historical truth. He supposed, probably, that I was far away; but I was standing sonic two paces off from this moving, good Samaritan dialogue, under the portal of the Louvre, and witnessed the whole affair. Wh7lether the conversation is truly reported or not, I cannot say, for the confounded wind made me lose it; but I saw the damsel blow out her lantern, and go back wit h him over the bridge. The night was so c old that I d id not follow up his adventure; but, after all, I will bet that he did not find mamma sick, or any thing of the kind; but the fair dame was only singing the old siren song to a nlew tune.” He laughed loudly at his own wit, and the men joined him; the ladies looked down, and Josephine seemed displeased both at her husband’s remarks and her guest’s strange story; for her fingers trembled so tiat she could hardly hold her plate; and she eyed the narrator with a look which he felt himself bound to interpret in a way little honourable to himself: ” I cannot allow my friend here,” he continued in a loud voice that silenced the company, ” to put such an interpretation on my conduct: allow me, therefore, to proceed, and by my life,” -and as he spoke his colour grew deeper and his eyes brightened, “I will tell you nothing but the truth.” ” The girl crossed the bridge I had just passed over. I had time enough to look at her, as I walked silently by her side, or rather behind her. Her figure, so far as I could see for her cloak, and more particularly her voice, were quite youthful. Her gait was quick, but easy. I offered her my arm, but she would not take it. At the corner of the bridge she turned into the Rue 31’azarini. ‘ Has your mother been sick long?’ I asked her, stepping up alongside, and trving, to get a peep at her face.’ For two years,’ she answered, with a deep sigh;’ but for a week past she has been much worse.’’ Have you been there often before now?’’ W’here?’ she asked.’ On the bridge.’’ This is the first time,’ was her answer.’ ~Yos did not choose a good place, then; the other avenues are more frequented.’ I was sorr-y, even while saying so; for I felt that it must hurt her deeply, and she whispered and sobbed in reply,’ I am a stranger here, and-I was ashamed to go into the crowd.’ How great must be the misery, I said to myself, that can force such a creature to ask alms! It is true, some such thoughts as Fuldncr had expressed, occurred to me now and then; blat I set myself against them-they were too unnatural. If she really belonged to that wretched class of women, why should she hide her features, and stand in such a lonely place? Why should she take such care to conc eal a figure which, so far as I could judge frord a few hasty glimpses, was a fine one?

No-it could be nothing but real wretchedness, and that shltme of unmerited poverty I which makes it so touching.’ Has your mother a phy sician?’ I asked, after a while.’ She had; but when we got to be too poor to buy medicines, he wanted to send her to the H:Vita, l (des lIncura-(bles, and I could not bear 1tha(t. Oh, heavenis! my delar mother in a hospital!’ She wept,It this, a(ld raised her han(lkeleief to her eyes: as the llte and l-;nterll whiichl s,le htld in the other landZ II I I TIIE MIIIIZOR

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THE Millt,ol., LIBRAi-i. though the capital of the civilized world, with all its at tr-actioius, had nothing worth noticing except the Pont-des.

Arts. At last the Friday came. I used every stratagem to get rid of Faldner and the rest of my friends, and set out as soon as it was dark. It was an hour’s walk, and I had time enough for reflection; and I determinied to see her face at any rate, and to make up my mind what to think of her. I had started off so early, that it was only ten when I reached the Ecole de Mddecine-a full hour before my time. I stepped into a cafe, and tumbled over a file of newspapers: at last it struck eleven.

“There were few people about, and no10 green veil to be seen anywhere.

Suppose she should not come, thought I, as I walked up and down for the tenth time. The half hour struck, and I began to grumble at my own folly, when I saw something green, under a lamp some thirty paces off I hurried up-and it was she.’ Good even ing,’ said I,’ I am glad you are come-I was afraid you would not keep your appointment.’ She bowed low, with out taking my hand, and walked by my side. She seemed deeply moved.‘Sir, my noble-hearted countrymen,’ said she,’ I could not but keep my word, if only to thank you. Be assured it is not in order to make fresh demands on your benevolence. Oh, how richly, how generously you have treated us! Can a dauglhter’s heartfelt thanks, can Iwmy sick mother’s prayers and blessings be any return for it?’’ Don’t say a word about it,’ answered I;’

how is your mother?’’ I believe I may begin to hope again the physician does not speak, decidedly, but she feels stron(,cr. Oh, how muchl I thank you! Yourliberal pret sent enabled mec to buy her strengthenlino food; and, bt I livc nic, sir, the tli(ought that such good men are still to b e foundl in the world hals done her almost as much ser vice.‘‘What did your mother say to you when you came home?’ I inqiiredl.’ She was very anxious, as it was so late; she had )een very nrnwilling to let me go out, and was afraid of soiie mnischief lhappening. I told her every , tthing; but when I untied my handkerchief and drew out the presents you gave me, and there was gold among th em-gold among the copper and silver-she was aston.

ished, an(ld-‘ She sto,)I)ed and seemed unable to go on. I could guess that her mother had suspected something wrong, and I put soirie more questions; but she answered, with touching frankiess,’ that her mother said their gen erous countryman miust be either a prince or an angel.’ ‘ I am neither the one nor the other,’ I replied;’ liut how much have you left?-any thing?‘‘Oh, yes,’ said she, confidently; but it did not escape me that she sighed un consciously at the samie time.’ How much is there left?’ I asked, (and more peremptorily.‘Oh, we paid our bill at the apothecary’s, and a mnonth’s rent, and I bought something for mother to eat, and there is something left yet!’ How wretchedly they must live, thought 1, when out of this trifle they can pay for medicines and a month’s rent, and buy food for a week!’ I want you to tell me exactly how much there is left,’ I continued.’ Sir!’ was her reply, as she drew back a step.‘My good girl, you do not, or you will not understand me. I ask you seriously what you expect to (do when this little sum is gone? have you any prospect of assistance?‘‘No, none!’ was the sad answer.’ Th’Iink of your mother, and do not reject my aid,’ I added. I offered her may hand, and she pressed it to her heart grate-fully’ Come with me, then,’ said I; ‘ I do not come straight from home, and am unluckily without money; he good enough to go a little way with in me, and I will give you something for your mother.’ She wvent with me in silence; aud though I was pleased with the thought of having her with me, I felt almost;,urt that sh ce should go with me so readily, by night, to a gentle. man’s lodgings-but it was not so. After walkin.: a few hundred paces, she drew her arm out of mine.‘No, no, I must not, I cannot,’ she cried, bursting into nears. o’Why not?-what is the matter?’ asked I.‘I will riot go further-I cannot go with you.’’ Upon my word,’ I cried, with some anger,‘you really have very little confidence in roe; if it was not for your mother I would quit you at once, for you insult me.’ She took my hand and pressed it fervently.’

HIave I offended you? God knows I did not mean it. Pardon a poor ignorant girl. You ekrest so twroys, how could I think of offending you?’ ,’ Come ]on1 A thre.,’ I -r.nine-d,’ wc have no time to lose prevented her from keeping her cloak close folded, the wind blew it aside, and I saw that I was not mistaken; her figure was tall and graceful, her dress plain; but, as far as I could notice, perfectly neat. She caught at her cloak, and, in assisting her, I felt the touch of a soft, white hand. ” By this time we had w,-alked through tile Rue Ilagasin, St. Germsint, Ecole de 516dec-ine, and a few little alieys, w hen all at once she stopped short, and said sl)he had lost her way. She said she lived in Rtue St. Severin. I was puzzled, for I did not knots where to find it niyself. I saw a light in a, brandy-shop in a cellar, and went down to ask the way, leaving her alone.

When I came up, I heard voices speaking loud, and saw, by the dim light of a street lamp, that the girl was struggling with two gentlemxen, one of whom had seize d her hand, while the other h ad hold of her cl o f ak; tiiey were laughing and talking t o her. I suspected what was going on, and pulled the cloak out of his grasp. She clunyu to my arm, sobbin g and speechless.’ Gentlemen,’ I said,’ you see you are mistaker,. I,et go the lady’s cloak this moment!’’ Ah! excuse me, sir,’ said the stranger,’ I sec you have a prior right to the lady,’ and they went off lauhling. WVe walked on, and tie poor girl clunlg, to my arm as though she was afraid of falling down in the street.’ Courage, courage!’ I said,‘St. Severin is only a little way off, and you’ll soon be at home.’ When we reached the street, she stopped short.’ No, sir, you must not go any farther with me,”

said she.’ Why not, pray, since you have brought me so far with you already? I beg of you not to suspect me of an improper motive.’ I had unconsciously taken her hand, and perhaps pressed it; she withdrew it hastily, and added,’ Forgive me my rudeness in bringing you so far out of your way. I beg of you, leave me now!’ I understood that the advances of the strangers had ,.o,4nded her deeply, and perhaps even made her suspicious of mle, and this had a great effect upon me. I took out the silver I had got from Faldner, and wag going to hand it to her, but the thought of the trifling aid this small sum would afford, made me withdraw my hand, and I gave her what little gold I had about me. Her hand trembled as she took it: she seemed to suppose it was silver, thanked me in an unsteady but swect voice, and was going away. I Stop,’ said I,’ I hope your mother will be better; but she may perhaps be in want of something, and, my girl, you are not the right person for such night excursions as this. 5Vill you not be in front of the Ecole de lMldecitie this day week at the same hour, so that I can hear how your mother is I’ She seemed to hesitate, but at last said’ Yes.’’ And put on that hat with the green veil, so that I may know you again.’ She promised to do so, thanked me again, ran hastilv up the street, and was lost in the darkness.” ” W h en I awoke the next morning, my adventure seemed like a dream. But Faldner, who came soon, and began to rally me with his usual delicacy, removed all doubts. The thing seemed to me, when considered in the clear light of tile morning, altogether too fabulous to be told to my skeptical friend. We have reached, now-adays, a pitch of delicacy which borders closely on indelicacy; we had often rather seem wild and debauched, than singular or unused to the ways of the world. I was distur!)ed by sonec undefinable feeling, even more than by Faldner’s jokes. I reproached myself for not having got it sight of her face, at any rate.‘Why this excessive delicacy?’ I said to myself;’ really, for a couple of Napoleons, it would not have been too much just to ask her to raise her veil for a moment.’

And yet when I reflected on her whole deportment, which, simple as it was, was wholly free from vulgarity, I was forced, half unwillingly, tD own that I did right. The voice alone is a sufficient distinction between good-breeding and rudeness; and the sweet tones I had listened to must belong to a person of some education and refinement. I could not get rid of these thoughts all day long; and at night, when I visited a brilliant circle of ladies, I was accompanied in my mind byv the poolr gir in her black hat, green veil, and iimipenets:tajlc el:)ak. TIhlie res-t of the week I kept blaming myw:.ti’: t-l,s folly, and yet in.dlulging in it. It seemed as ---- -------- --- I i .44

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34 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. that lowest degree of misery, when no resource remains but to quit the world at once. I asked her if she could not have assisted her mother in some other way. “‘You mean by going out to service?’ inquired she, without the least embarrassment;’ certainly; but I could not do it. Before my mother fell sick, I was too young, hardly fourteen, and when she got so bad that she could not leave her bed, I had to remain with her. If she had continued well, I would gladly have forgotten oar former situation, and wouldt have gone to a milliner’s, or got a situation as governess, bfor I have been well educated, sir but it could not be.’ “I again begged her to raise her veil, but in vain. TlJ( allusion she made to her age rendered me, I will confess, still more anxious to see her face. She could not be much over sixteen; but she be.gged me so earnestly t.r, excuse her; she said her mother lih(l given her such good reasons for avoiding it that it could not be. After this, we used to meet twice a wceek. I had always some work for her, and she was always ready with it at the appointed time. The more closely I adhleredl to the deportmenit I had always showed towards her, the more distant and respectful I was, the more frank and confiding did she become. She even confessed to me that, when at home, she was always thinking of our next meeting; and did not I do the same? Day and night I thought only of this singular creature, whose refined taste, amiable soft. ness, and peculiar situation made her every day more interesting to me. Meantime, spring had arrived, and with it the time at which I had promised Falduer to join him in a trip to England. Many may think what I say silly, but it is the fact, that I thought of our journey with reluctance. Paris had nothing to interest me longer, but the beggar-girl had so captivated my senses that I looked forward with sorrow to our separation. I ceu,ld not avoid going without mnaking myself a laughing-stock-for no other sufficient reason for putting off our excursion could be devised. I was ashamed of myself, too, and reproached myself with my own folly. I determined to go, but certainly no one ever took so little pleasure in seeing Eng land as I did.” it is late, and we are a good way off.’ But she stopped Lhort and said,‘No, nothing shall tempt me to go further.’’ What are you afraid of? There is no one herey ou may go with me in safety.’ But she only repeated, ‘ I beg you, fo r God’s sake, to leave me!’ I knew very cwell that if I painted oher moter’s need in lively colours, she would go with me, but I was moved at her suffering. ‘ Well, then, stay,’ I told her;’ but stop, do you understand needle-work?’ ”’ Oh, yes, sir,’ she said, drying her tears. ”’

I cre is a white handkerchief-can you hem and niark a half dozen such for me?’ ” She looked at it, and answered,’ With pleasure, sir, and do it neatly, too.’ ” To my mortification, I had to produce money, though I had pretended to have none about me. “Here, buy six of them; can you have three ready by next Sunday?’ She promised to do it, and I gave her something more for her mother. She thanked me warmly, and seemed to be pleased that I had given her work, for she kept chattering on about how neatly she would do the handkerchiefs, and once she asked me if I would have a border a I’Anglaise. I said yes to every thing, but held her fast as she was leaving me.’ There is something else you must do to oblige me; you can do it, and that easily,’ I remarked. ”’ And pray what is it? I will gladly do any thing for you,’ was her answer. “.’ I,et me, then, lift that envious veil and see your face, that I may have some recollection of this night.’ ” She slipped aside, and only held her veil tighter.’ Do nod, I beg of you,’ she said, seeming to struggle with herself at the time;‘you have the sweet remembrance of your bounty; my mother strictly forbade me to lift my veil, and, besides, I assure you I am as ugly as darkness itself. I would only fiighten you!’ ” Her resistance only roused my curiosity still more; a really ugly woman, I thought, would never say so of herself. I tried to catch her veil, but she slipped away like an eel, crying,’ Dimanche (‘ revoir,’ and was gone. She stopped soeni fifty yards off, waved my white handkerchief, and said,’ Good-night,’ in her silvery voice.” ” I told her of my intention a week beforehand; she trembled and wept. I told her to ask her mother for per mission to visit her, and she gave it. The next time, however, shec told Ome, with great concern, that her mother begged rme to give up the idea, as a visit, in her present frame of mind, would overcome her I thought of it only as a means of seeing my ftir one by daylight, and un veiled, so I iequested this favour again. She wished me to come again before going away, and prornised to ob.

tain her mother’s permission. I shall never forget that evening.,lhe came, and my first question was whether ishe had agreed to it; she said yes, and raised her veil herself. The moon shone l)right, and I looked under her hat with trembling cagerness. It seemed, however, that the permission to unveil was only a partial one, fi)r she wore what is called a Venetian mask, which hides the upper part of the face. But how beautiful, w% finislied were the fe,ttures that I saw! A small, i:te nose, blooming(r cheeks, a lovely mouth, a perfect chim, and a graceful, dazzling white e.cck. As to her eyes, I could not satisfy myself, but I fancied they were dark and fiery. She blushed as I gazed long and transportedly at her. ‘ Do not be angry with me, sir,’ said she,‘for wearing this half-mask; my mother would not allowit at all at first, and, after all, it was only on this condition. I felt pro. voked at it mnyself; but she gave me good reasons for it, and I saw the force of them.’ ”’ Ard pray what Mwore her reasons?’ I asked. ”’ Oh, sir,’ cried she, mournfully,’ you will live for ever in our hearts, but you must forget us, nevertheless; you must never, never see me again, or if you do, must not recognise me!’ ”’ Do you suppose, then, that I shall not recollect these fine features, even if I should not see your eyes or forehead?’ ”’ My mother thinks you will not,’

was her answer; ‘ she says it is v(ery hard to remember a face that we have only seen half of.’ ” The neext w eek I busi ed myself i n thinking what the girl’s rank in life could be. T he mor e I d’welt on her choice language and delicate feelings, the higher I was inclined to place hier. I determined to ascertair that point at any rate, and not to be put off again so easily as in the matter of the veil. The Sunday came, and you may remember that afternoon, Faldner, which wc spent at Montmorenci. You wanted to stay late, and I urged you to go home carty, a nd f inall y wen t off without you. You did not be lieve the excuse I gave, that I could not bear the night air; but you did not dream of a rendezvous with the beggar-girl of the Pont-des-Arts-and how could you? She was the first on the ground this timne, and as she had the handkerchiefs to give me, slhc was beginning to fear I had missed her. She kept talking on with almost childlike delight, and, as I fancied, with m ore confidence than before, while showing me her work by the light of a street lamp. She seemed delighted to hear me praise her noodle-work. ”’ See,’ said slhe,’ I have worked in your name, too,’ pointing to FE. V. F’. beautifully embroidered in the corner. She wanted to give me back a handful of silver, and no.

thing but my declaring that I should feel insulted by her doing so, induced her to take it again. I ordered something else, as I saw that this way of giving charity was most agreeable to her feelings. Her mother was not worse, though still confined to her bed. When we had disposed of this subject, I asked her directly what was her family and condition. Her story, which was told in a few words, is so common a one in France that I suppose it is the burden of every beggar’s petition. Her father was an officer in the grande armeo, who had been put upon halfpay after the restoration, had joined the emperor in the hundred days, and fallen with the guard at Waterloo. Ilis widow lost his pension, and lived afterwards poorly and wretchedly. For two years they had subsisted on the remains of their little property, and had just reached I l i I I THE MIRROR I,IBRARY.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. his hands; “for, if so, your exaggerated deli(sacy and the. oretical weakness made you throw away a couple of hun dred francs on a cunning street-walker, who took you in with an every-day story about poverty and a sick mother, and you got nothing for it but one poor kiss!

Poor devil, to be inade such a fool of in Paris!” ‘hThis insinuation, and tihe loud laughter with whien it was greeted, provoked our hero still further. He was about to leave the company in a towering passion, when he was arrested by an unexpected sight. Josephine rose up slowly, pale as a corpse, and seemed about to make some reply to her husband, but sank down lifeless. Everybody swpIrg iup and ran about in confusion; the l adi es assisted he”, the gentl e men a sked each other how it had happened so suddenly. Froben came near fainting himself, in ala,rmi, and the Baron muttered curses upon the. weak nerves of womnen, and their fastidious delicacy, th at makes them- faint so e asi ly-all was confusion. Josephine came to herself in a few minutes; she wished to ret ire to her room, and all the ladies crowderd after her, all busy, an d all curious; a hund red remedies wbee p ro posed, a ll of wvlich had been found specifics in cases of fainting,mnd finally it was unanimously resolved that the Baroness’

great exertions to catfit;tin her buests, and the cares of her household, had produced the unpleasant accident, a id ed, perhaps, by the embarrassmen ts s he must have felt at the very improper language her h usband had allowed hliiilscl’ to use. The Baron was busy, in the mean time, in bringing back the company to order. He pledged his guests, and en deavourcd to quiet their apprehensions by all the argu mentts he could devise. ” It’s nothing but a new-fangled notion,” said he; “every lady of rank has weak nerves, and if she has not, she fears she will be taken for ill-bred; this fainting away is the fashion. Another notion is, that we must never call any thing by its right name; every thing must be so delicate, devout, lady-like, and propriety fied, that its enough to drive a man mad. She is angry now, because I indulged in an innocent jest-because I did not melt away in sympathy at this most tender and affecting story, but, instead, ventured to throw out a few practical suggestions! Why, there’s no harm in such things among ourselves! And as for you, friend Froben, I thought you were too sensible a man to take offence so easily.” The person he addressed had disappeared, and repaired to his chamber, out of humour with himself and with the world. He was at a loss how to account for what hap. penc.-d, and his mind, half indignant at his friend’s coarse ness, half alarmed at Josephine’s accident, was too much moved to admit of calm reflection. ” Will not she believe me?” lie thought to himself, ” will she give more weight to her husband’s sneers than to the plain, unadorned truth with which I told my story? What meant the strange glances she cast upon me while I was speaking? How could this adventure affect her so deeply as to make her turn pale and tremble? Does she really respect me, and was she offendcd at his rudeness, which must have lowered me so mnuch in her eyes? And what did she mean to say, when she rose, to check Faldner’s vulgarity? or to defend me even?” He paced up and down his room as he thought thus, and his eyes fell upon the engraving of his beloved picture. He unrolled it, and eyed it with a bitter smnile.

“And how could I let a feeling of shame induce me to open my heart to beings who understand nothing about matters of which the fashionable world is ignorant: vice andl meanness seem to thema more proper, more natural, than unusual virtue. How could I forget myself so far as to speak of those lips and cheeks to stocks and stones! Poor, poor girl! how far nobler art ttlmu, ire thy low estate, than these butterflies, who know real sutf~ering and honest poverty only from report, and who treat as a:hb~le every virtue that rises above their own level! Where art thou now? and dost thou think of thy friend, and those evenings that mnade him so happy!” These thoughts changed the current of his feeelings, and grief took the place of anger. ”’ And why must I not see you-not recogrnise you?’ “She wept again, and clasped my hand as she replied, ‘It must not be! You will not care aboutevcr meetingd the poor beggar-girl again, and-no, my mother was right, it is better thus!’ I told her that my journey would be a short one,:salt I should probably be back in Paris in two months, and that I hoped to meet her again. She only wept more bitterly, and shook her head. I asked whyshe doubted it. ”’ I feel that thils is the last time I shall ever see you,’ sic told Inc.’ I do not think my mother will live lo:ii our physician told me so yesterday-and then all is ove r! And e-vecn if she should live, when you go to London you’ll soon tor,c(t such a poor, wretched creature as I am.’ fIer grief affected me deeply. I tried to console her; I prom ised solemnlv that I never would forget her. I made her promise to be in the same place on the first and fifteenth of every monoth to meet me. She promised it, snilin ta throughf her tears, as if she felt little hope of it.’ Farewell, then, till we meet again!’ I said, as I elapsed hter in my arms, and put a small plain ring on her finger;’ farewell!-think of me sometimes, and do not forget the first and fifteenth.’ ”’ Ifow could I forget it!’ she answered, looking up to me tearfully.‘But I shall never see you again; you are bidding me adieu for ever.’ ” I could not refrain from kissing her soft lips. She blushed, but did lot resist. I slipped a b)ank-note into her hand-she eyed me anxiously, and clung closer to me.’ Farewell, till we meet again!’ I said, as she gently freed herself from my embrace. The moment of parting seemed to give her courage; she threw her arms around m me, and I felt a warm kiss on her lips as she said, passioinately,’ For ever-farewell for ever!’ and disappeared. ” I have never seen her since.

After a stay of three months, I returned to Paris; on the fifteenth, I repaired to the Place (le l’Ecole de Medecine, and waited there over ani hour; but my fair one did not appear. I went there again and again, on the first and fifteenth of every nmonth many it time, too, I strode through the Rue St. Severin, and looked up to the windows, and inquired for a poor German lady with one daughter; but I never heard of them again, and the sweet girl was right when she bade me farewell,’ for ever.” Our hero told his tale witlh a degree of earnestness that added to its effect, and it plainly produced a deep im- w pression, at least on the feminine portion of the company. Josephine wept, and manly of the ladies wiped their eyes by stealth. The gentlemen had grown serious, and seem.ed to listen witlh much interest; only the Baron smnliled meaningly, and touched his neighbour’s elbow every now and then, and whispered something in his ear.

When Froben paused, he broke into a loud laugh. “That’s what I call g-etting cleverly out of the scrape!” he cried. “I always said our friend was a deep one. Only see how the ladies are moved-the dog! and my wife there is whiiiing, as though the priest had refused her absolution.

Capital, upon my word! Truth and fiction! Yes, yes, you have been copying GOthe-truth and fiction! It’s a capital joke!” Froben felt hurt, and answered, in some displeasure, “I told you at first that I intended to avoid fiction, and tell nothing but the truth, and I hope you will not refuse to believe it such.” ” Heaven forbid!” replied the Baron, laughingly. ” The truth is, you made your own arrangement with the girl, and now you have built up a little romance out of your visits to her. But you told the story well-that I won’t deny.” The young man’s colour changed; he noticed that Josephine’s eves were fixed anxiously upon her husband; he thought he saw that she was of Faldner’s opinion, and he was unwilling to be deprived of her esteem by this vulgar wit. “I beg you to say no more about it,” he went on; “I have never yet had any reason to put a false colouring on any action of mine, and I cannot allow others to do it for me. I tell you, for the last time, on my word, every thing happened just as I have told it.” 1”Then, heavels pity you!” answered Faldner, clapping, The next morning Froben t urned over in his mind tle events of the day before, and was debating witlh himsei I I I I 35 I

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----. ~ ~ fl I~O LIB...... whether or not he should leave the house, when his door opened, and the Baron entered, crest-fallen and ashamed. “You did not come to table last night, nor this morning,” he began; “you are angry; but be reasonable, and pardon me; I had drunk too much wine, and you know my weakness when I am heated; I cannot forbear joking. I have been punished enough already in having my fe6te end so, and making me the talk of the neighbourhood for’ a month to come. Don’t make me more miserable; let us be friendly as before.” “L,et the affair rest,” said Froben, gloomily, as he offerel him his hand, “I do not like to discuss such subjects; but to-morrow I must leave you; I cannot stay here longer.” ”

Don’t be such a fool,” said Faldner, who had not expected this, “to be off for such a trifle; but I always said you were a hot-headed fellow. No, you can’t go; you know you must wait at anly rate till we get an answer from the Don. As for our friends you need not be uneasy, for they all gave me a famous scolding, especially the women, and said you were right, and I was to blame for all.” ” How is the Baroness?” asked Froben, to change the subject. “Oh, perfectly well; she was only a little frightened for fear of some difficulty between us; she is waiting breakfast for you; come down and be reasonalble. I must be off to the mill. It’s all forgotten, is it not?” ” Certainly, only let us drop the subject,” was his answer, and he followed the Baron, who, full of pleasure at their speedy reconciliation, informed his lady of what had passed, and hastened to the mill. To Froben it seemed that every thing was changed; perhaps the change was in himself only. Josephine’s features, her whole deportment, seemed different. A settled melancholy, a tender sorrow seemed to have settled upon her features, yet her smile, as she welcomed him, was sweet and kind. She ascribed her illness of the day before to over-exertion, and seemed to wish to avoid the subject. But Froben, who set so high a value on her good opinion, could not con sent to her refraining from all allusion to his story, and h e to l d her, ” I cannot suher you to elude me so, Bar oness!

I think little of the opinions of others. What do I care if they choose to measure me by their own stand ard! But really I should be deeply grieved if you should come to a false conclusion, or even entertain for a moment opinions which must lower me greatly in your esteem. I beg of you, tell me.honestly what you think of me and of my story?” She eyed him for some time; her fine eyes filled with tears, as she took his hand and replied-”

What I think of it, Froben? If the whole world should doubt it, I at least know that you have spoken the truth. You are not aware how well I know you!” His colour rose with pleasure as he kissed her hand. “How good it is in you not to misunderstand me,” was his answer. “And jdeed every word I said was the exact truth.” “And this girl,” she continued, “is it she of whom you were speaking lately? Don’t you remember when we were.talking of Jean Paul’s Clotilda, and you owned to me that you were in love, and without hope? Is it she?” ” It is,” he answered gloomily. ” No, you must not laugh at this folly; you can’ feel too deeply to think it ridiculous.

I know how much may be said against this fancy. -I have often blamed myself as a fool, a dreamer chasing a shadow. I do not even know whether she loves me in return.” ” She does!” cried Josephine, involuntarily;* but blush ing at what she said, she added, ” she must love you: be lieve me, such noble conduct must have made a deep im pression on the heart of a girl of sixteen; and in all her lnguage, as you have told it, there lurks, unless I am greatly mistaken, a very considerable degree of love.” Our hero listened to her words with delight. ” How often I have said so to myself, when I was without hope, and looked back sadly to the past!” he rejoined. “*But to what purpose? Only to make myself more unhappy. I have often struggled with mlyself, have often sougKit to distract myself in the crowd, to occupy mny -mind with a1 press of business. That fair unhappy figure alwaysI hovere d before my eyes, a nd to se e h er once more was al l I craved. I desire it still; I may confess it to you, for you can understand an d respect my fee lings; a nd I set out on a journ e y only because my longing desir e t o searche for her and to look upon her drove me from home. And when I reflect u pon it, i t so me times seems to m e as if she might yet be mine! You turn away your head. Oh, I understand; you think I ought not to marry any one who was sunk so low in poverty, of such doubtful descent; you are thinking of the opinions of the world, and I have often thoughlt over it myself, but, so true as I live, if I were to find her again such as I left her, I would take counsel only of my heart.

Would you censure me severe. ly for doing so?” She did not answer; her head was turned aside, and rested on her hand. Without moving, she handed him; book, and asked him to read for her t Ie t. k it, looking at her inquiringly; for the first timc he could;X.t understand her behaviour; but she made a sigrn to him to3 read, and hle obeyed, though he would rather have pou:ad out the fulniess of his heart still further. He read at first without attention, but after awhile the subject attracted him, and drew his thoughts more and more away from their conversation, and finally so engrossed him that lie did not observe that the B3aroiness turned upoin him a lock of sadness, tilt hier glances were fixed teniderl’y upon him, and that her eyes often filled with tears, w.h!icll it was not easy to repress. By thre time he had done, Joseplline had recovered herself so far that she could talk composedly about the author; but he still fanieled that her voice trembled at times, and the kind’familiarity with which she had always treated her husband’s friend had disappeared, and lie would have felt unhappy, except that the warm feelings expressed in her eyes made him doubt the accuracy of his observation. As the Baron was not expected till evening, and his lady had retired to her apartments, Frobeni resolved to sleep away the sultry noon-day heat till dinner-tine. He threw himself down on a mossy bank in the arbour which the many pleasing hours he had spent there with his amiable hostess had endeared to him, and was soon asleep. He had left his ca”es ibehirid, they did not pursue him into the land of dreams; pleasant recollections only came, and mingled and shaped themselves into new and bright images; the young girl of the Rue St. Severin hovered before himn with her sweet voice, and began to ittalk of her mother; lie scolded her for staying away so long, as hlie had never failed to look for her on the first and fifteenth of every month; he tried to steal a kiss to punish her, she resisted; lie raised her veil, and saw Don Pedro, dressed in his love’s clothes, and Diego his servant ready to burst with laughing at the trick. I’Thlen fancy, at oine bold leap, placed himn in the picture-gallery in Stuttgart. hvThe paintings had been differently arranged, hlie looked through all the roonms for his favourite portrait, but in vain, it was not to be found; hlie began to weep and to com. plain loudly, when the attendant came up, and asked him to be quiet and not wake the pictures, as they were all asleep just then. All at once he saw it hanging in a corner, not as before a half-length, but large as life; it looked mischievously at him, then stepped out of the frame and embraced her bewildered adorer; he felt a long, warm kiss on his lips. It sometimes happens when we are dreaming, that we think we awake. and say to ourselves it was all a dream, and so it was with him. He thought that the kiss wakened him, and that he opened his eyes, anrid lo! a blooming face, that seemed a wellknown one, bent over him. He closed his eyes again, faint with the delicious feeling of the warmn breath, the sweet kisses that he drank in; lie heard a noise, he open ed his eyes again, and he saw a figure in a black hat and cloak, with a green veil, flit away. As she turned a corner she looked round at him again; it was the features of his beloved, and she wore the same envious mask. “Ah! it’s only a dream!” he said, laughing at himself, and tried to shut his eyes again, but the consciousness oi being awake, the rustling of tile leaves in the wind, and tile plasling of the fountains were so plain that he was soon filly aroused.‘I’he strarigc and well-defined shape i-viiitttOR LIBRAP%,Y., -i

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FHE MIRROR LIBRARY. of his dream stood lifelike before his mind, he looked towards the corner, round which she vanished, towards the spot where she stood and bent over him, and he thought he yet felt her kisses ol: his lips. mu Has it come to this. then,” he thought, not without alarm, “that I dream by day, and think I see her before me! To what madness will this lead? No, I never should have believed that any one could dream so vividly. It is a sickness of the brain, a fever of the fancy, and I am almost disposed to believe that dreams can leave foot-prints behind them, for those in the sand here are not the marks of my foot.” His glance fell on the bench where he had lain, and he saw a folded paper; he took it up in great surprise. There was no direction, it was folded like a billet-doux he debated a moment whether to open it or not, but cu riosity prevailed, he opened it, and-a ring fell out. He held it in his hand while he ran over the letter hastily. “Often am I near thee, my noble benefactor, often am I near thee, filled with that inexpressible love which gratitude inspires, and which will end only with life. I know thy noble heart beats for me alone: thou hast wandered through distant countries to meet me, but in vain-forget an unhappy creature-for what avails it? There is happiness in the thoughit of being thine, and thine only, but it cannot be! For ever! was the word I said even then; I love, indeed, but fate condemns us to live asunder; only in your memory is she allowed to live as The Beggar-Girl of the Pont-des-Arts.” Our hero a second time fancied he was dreaming; he looked round inquiringly, but the well-known objects around him-the arbour, the trees, the distant castle, were all in their places, and he saw that he was really awake. And the letter was there-a real epistle, and no creation of fancy. “Perhaps some one is playing me a tric k,” be thought; “it must be so, it is Josephine’s work, aind the figure I saw was only a masquerade.” He felt the ring lying in his hand, and turned pale as he examined it. No, /ere was no trick, it was the self-same ring he gave his beloved when he bade her farewell for ever. Though at first tempted to indulge in superstitious feelirags, the idea that finally gained the mastery was, that this token of his mistress indicated that she must be near at hand. The idea was rapture; he would not allow himself to doubt; he would see her, and that soon. He pressed the ring to his lips and rushed out of the arbour. His glances wandered in every direction in hopes of seeing her. But he looked in vain. He asked the workmen in the garden, the servants in the castle, whether they had seen any strange lady. They had seen no one. He sat down to table in perfect bewilderment. It was in vaini that Faldner sought to learn the cause of his embarrassmiient; that the Baroness asked whether it was the scene of yesterday that disturbed him; his only answer was, “that something had happened which he should certainly call a miracle, if his reason did not overcome his superstitious feelings.’? white handkerchief lying near him, which he did not remember to have placed there; he looked at it, and was sure it was his, for it was marked with his initials. ” How did this get here?” he asked himself, in amazement, as he saw that it was one of the handkerchiefs which his beloved had hemmed for him, and which he always kh pt as sacredly as if they had been holy reliques. ” Is this another token?” thought he, as he opened it in the hl pe of finding another billet-doux. He was disappointed, Lut he noticed something embroi der e d in one of the corners) and on examining it he read t he word s, “‘For ever ”’ “OShe has been he re then!” he exclaimed, “and I h ave slept through it all like a sluggard! Why this new token? why repeat those s ad words wh ich have ma de me so unhappyrueh alr eady?” He again asked all the s e rva nts i f they ha d seen any stranger in the garden. They all said No and the old gardener added, that no one had been in the gar den for th ree hours bu t her ladyship. ” And how was she dressed?” asked Froben, in great surprise. ” Oh, sir, that’s more than I can tell you,”

was the answer; ” she is always dressed like a lady, but what she wore I can’t tell you, by the same token, as she passed, she nodded in her friendly way, and said,‘Good-day, Jacob.’ Our hero. took him aside. ” I entreat you to tell me,” he whispered, ” did she wear a green veil? had she large black goggles?” The old man looked at him suspiciously and shook his head. ” Black goggles! her ladyship wear black goggles! Why, how can you say so? her eyes are as clear and sharp as a chamois’, and she to wear black goggles like the old women at church! No, no, sir, you must not let such foolish ideas get into your brain; and excuse me, sir, but the sun is so hot I think you had bet. ter put on a hat for fear of a stroke of the sun.” So said the old gardener and walked away, touching his forehead with his forefinger, to hint to the other servants that he was afraid there was something wrong in the young gentleman’s upper story. Though at first tempted to indulge in superstitious feel- The only way Froben could account for this mysterious iligs, the idea that finally gained the mastery was, that proceeding was, that it was unaccountable; and this this token of his mistress indicated that she must be near strange way of sporting with his affections and his honat hand. The idea was rapture; he would not allow our occupied him so much, that he did not see many things himself to doubt; he would see her, and that soon. He which otherwise would hardly have escaped his notice pressed the ring to his lips and rushed out of the arbour. Josephine’s eyes were red when they met at table. The His glances wandered in every direction in hopes of see- Baron was cross and silent, and seemed to be obliged to ing her. But he looked in vain. He asked the workmen give vent to the ill-humour which clouded his brow and in the garden, the servants in the castle, whether they eye, by an occasional curse at his wife’s bad cookery and hadi seen any strange lady. They had seen no one. He worse housekeeping. She made no answer; sometimes sat down to table in perfect bewilderment. It was in she east a glance at Froben, as though imploring his asvai~i that Faldner sought to learn the cause of his embar- sistance or consolation; alas, she did not notice that her rassmiient; that the Baroness asked whether it was the husband watched those looks, and that they made the red scene of yesterday that disturbed him; his only answer spot on his cheek grow deeper. As for Froben, he thought was, “that something had happened which he should it nothlitg unusual, and did not even take the trouble to certainly call a miracle, if his reason did not overcome his ask the Baroness the reason of her husband’s ill-humour; superstitious feelings.’ I nor did he think it strange that she grew more reserved in Faldner’s presence, and when his friend forced him to accompany him on his visits to his farms, and spend the This strange occurrence, and the language of the note, whole day with him in measuring, viewing, and calcula which he read over ten times a day,made him very ting, he only ascribed it to his restless activity. One thoughtful. He began to consider whether it was possi day, however, he was a little surprised at his behaviour. ble for heavenly beings to mingle among men. He had Faldner was waiting for him to ride out, booted and spur often laughed at the enthusiasts who believe in appear- red. He feigned slight illness as an excuse, and on his ances and messages from another world, and divine spirits adding, unsuspectingly, “Besides, you know I must stay that wait on man, as firmly as they do in the Gospel. and read to your wife sometimes,” the Baron cried out in He had often proved the physical impossibility of such high anger, “No, I will not have any more reading apparitions, but what was he. +o think now? He deter- Every thing is going wrong already without that. I mined td forget it all, and the very next moment wearied don’t want to have her head filled with such romantic himself with efforts to render the recollection still more notions as I’ve seen a samnple of lately. Read to yourself, vivid. The next day it happened again that Josephine my dear fellow, and excuse me if I dispose of my wife was too busy in household affairs to entertain him, and otherwise. Go down into the garden, Josephine, there he repaired to the well-known arbour. He read, and as are some vegetables to be got ready for dinner, and afterhe did so, the thought that perhaps she might appear wards be good enough to go to the clergyman’s; you have again, distracted his attention. The mid-day heat was owed them a visit this long time.”

Saying this, he took exhausting; he tried to keep himself awake; he read with up his whip and walked away. “What does this mean? more zeal and exertion, but his head gradually fell back, what is the matter with him to-day?” Froben asked the book dropped from his hands, and he fell asleep.

in astonisliment, seeing that Josephine had hard work to He awoke at about thile same hour as on thile day before, keep from sobbing. “Oh, he is always so,” was her anbt no green-veilcd figure was in sight; he laughed at sw(r: “your visit made a little difference at first, but he hirms(.lf tOr having exi(cted hller, and rose up sad and dis- is inoT hilmself again.” “But, for heaven’s sake!” eied conteacted to return to the castle.

All at once lie saw a1 Frobenc, “send one of yoour servants into the garden.” ” I II I I I i 37

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TIIE M1iR.OR LIBRARY. I 1 3 must not,” she nnswered decideilly, ” must see to it my- came upon him; t almost dazzled him, but he embrace She approached on tiptoe. He saw that a deeper glow I cied, and I felt that it was you. That you did not retinged her cheeks as she drew nearer. She eyed the cognise me is not wonderful; I have grown very pale sleeper fixedly, sighed deeply, and seemed to wipe away a since then, have I not?” tear.

Then she came upl to him, bent down, her breath “Josephine! where were my senses, where was mine was upon his lips-she bent yet lower, and her mouth eye, mine ear, that I did not know you? The first time rested upon his as gently as the rosy morning alights up- we miet a pleasing alarm seized me, you were so like the on the hill. i hc ieodorti isfongrh the hi.!portrait which chance led me to love, because it was so Ile could not restrain himself longer; he threw his I like you; but the discovery of your mnother’s famlily led arms around her, and she sank upon her knees with a me astray; I beheld in you only the daughtcr of the lovely short cry of terror. He sprang up in great alarm, sup- Doiia Laura de Tortosi, and my spirit wandered far away posing that she had fainted; but it was not so.

Filled in search ofyourself.” with delight at finding her again, he raised her up, and “0 heavens,” she cried, “is it true, is it possible! can drew her to a seat beside him. lie covered her face with you love nme still?” ”

Can I not,-but must I, ought I?’ glowing kisses; hlie clasped her closer and closer. “No wvas his sad answer. “You are the Baroness von Fald this s no vision of fancy. I hold thee in my arms as I ner-tell me, tell me how this happened? Could you not once did; I love thee as I did then, and am happy, for wait a little while for me!” thou lovest nme too!” 11er cheeks were crimson-she She dried her tears, and made an effort to compose hermae’c no answer, but tried to free herself from his em- self before she answered him thus:-” It seemed as though brace. “No, this time I will not let you go,” he cried ~ ill fortune had contrived every thing so as to make rme as “I will hold you fast this time; and no power on earthl unhappy as possible. When you left us, I had no friend. shlall tear me from you. Come, away with this envious From the very first moment, when you asked your coinmash I will see the whole of that lovely face ah! I panion for money in our dear mother-tongue, my heart have often beheld it in my dreams’” She seemed to |was yours; and when you supplied our wants with such wishl to resist-she drew her breatlh Iheavily, and struggled ncl lcneiss of minid and delicacy, I wanted to clasp you to w ith him; but our hero’s ecstasy of delight at this uniex- my heart, and to confess that I worshipped you almost as 1eeted discovery soon made him the conqueror. He held a being of a higher order. When you left us, I wept bither arms with one hand, with the other hlie threw back terly, for a painful foreboding told me that we should never hier hait, lruntied the mask, and aaw- his friend’s wife. meet again. My mother died suddenly a week afterwards.

“Josephine!” hlie cried in despair, as though an abyss The money you gave us enabled mne to pay for her interopened before him. She sat beside him pale, stupified, and mienrit, and to discharge our little debts. A lady, the speechless, and only said with a sad smile, ” Yes, Jose- Countess Landskrau, who lived in the neighbourh)od, pine.” “Have you been trifling with me so?” he asked; heard of us and sent for me. She examined me as ti my and all his hopes and his happiness vanished. ” You education, looked carefully at my miother’s papers, and might have spared me this masquerade. But,” as a new seemed satisfied. I became her companion, and we left idea flashed upon him, “tell me, for heaven’s sake, where Paris. I will not tell you how my heart bled at the idea; ,did you get this ring, this handkerchief?” iln a fortnilght you would return, and I would have had a She blushed, wept, and hid her face. “This will not chiance of se,‘ing you again! It was not to be, Edward io, I must have an answer.” He went on ‘I’iThe ring I never heard ( you afterwards. I did not even know and handkerchief are mine-how did they coime into your rf)ur n e, 1n0( t hought you nmust hlawve long since forgot. hands?” tenl the ber irl. I i((l )vo tec bounity of straingers. I “From thee!” was all she whispered.

A new lii};t had to erldlu’ire lni,)~ mo:‘tiiricti,iirs.‘TI,..n tHl (‘ouiltess ,5o5

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THE MIRROR LTBRARY. 39 I we don’t need a court of law to separate us-that can be done in a moment; come along!” Josephine, understanding what he meant, sprang up she flung herself at his feet, and begged him to punish her alone; she assured him that Froben was innocent; she confessed that she had written the letter, and declared that he had not discovered who she was till that morning. Our hero interrupted her, and led her back to the sofa. I’ Before taking such a step as you hint at, I generally make my arrangements, and I advise you to do the same,” he said, coolly. ” First of all, the Baroness must leave the castle, for I will not suffer her to remain here when I am not present to protect her from your ill-treatment.”

“You act as if you felt yourself at home,” replied the t Baron, ironically; “but I id nearly forgotten madame was once your property. IN here shall we take the sweet creature, then? To the poor-house, to a hospital, or to the next hedge, to follow her trade?” Froben did not answer him; turning to Josephine, he asked, “Does the Countess still live in the neighbour. hood? Cannot you find a home there for a few days?” “I will go to her,” she murmured. “Very well; Faldner will have the goodness to send you there, and you can remain till Faldner finds out how unjust he has been towards us?” I I L – e tI r ? 1 2 1 t 1 r ) r ~ ] I you shall be quen, and I your irst and truestslave!” _____1 She only shook her head.

“Such are your doctrines.~ I ws rouhtup ndmarie inth hoy athli chrc, osehie wntto heCoutes’s Fobe avisd he andnotingl~n deth an vermak m fre.

ow fte tomak he viit sortone prmisng o ifor he o ourwises re t arincewit or dty! he hsbad’smovmens,andto ersad hi, i posi “Faewll thn,fo evr, h adedglomiy “butbl, o areonilitin.“No” hecrid,pasioatly till to-morrow, and then for ever!” “w~~~ithnteewlsIwl ee p a gi.Itr The man of breeding has, at such times, a decided advantage over a vulgar adversary, whose anger makes hi c ei lose reason and self-command, and consequently bewilders.

One glance at Josephinec, who lay pale and trembling on the mossy bank, told Froben what was to be done. He gave her his arm, and led her to the castle. The Baron eyed them with rage; he was on the point of calling his servants tO execute his threat, but was kept back- by the fear of making his disgrace still more public. He hurried up to the parlour, where he found Josephine lying in tears on the sofa, hiding her face in the pillow, and Froben standing silently at a window. He ran around the room in fury; he cursed himself for having married such a cre, ture. ” If there is any law left in the country, I will be rid of her!” he cried: “she has given me false certificates; the pauper represented herself to be of noble birth-the marriage is null and void!” “That is certainly the best thing you can do,” rejoined Froben, “if you only set about it in the right way.”

Ha, sir!” roared the Baron, “are you laughing at me, after bringiiig on nme this disgrace? Come along THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 39

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IIIITHE – IR I LIBRARY. make a sharp answer, but checked himself for Josephine’s to this point, we have not learned; we only know that sake.

The Baron informed him that he meant to bring Froben sometimes hinted at the propriety of her tu rning the whole affair before the civil tribunal, and allege mu- Lutheran, which she declined sadly, but firmly.) Our tual aversion as a reason for divorce. * li * X hero then proposed to her to let Don Pedro depaot, and to * * * * It is true that, with the different religious 1 remain in Germany, p’:omising to remain her friend, if he faith of the two lov er;, neither of thenm could indulge the could not be her husband. This, too, she declined, conhopes of a new union; but Josephine, sad as her future fessing frankly that she feared her own weakness too prospects might be, preferred any thing to the disgraceful much, and that now her nmisfortunes had made her so treatment to which she had been subjected. As for her proud that she could not bear the idea of lowering herself husband, thlou,rh a feeling of remorse sometimes attacked in the eyes of one wlhorl she esteemed as much as she hlim in a’ solitary hour, lie sought diyversion in business, loved him. She had other and nobler reasons, too. ” Why,” and consolation in the thought that nobody was acquaint- she thloulght to herself, ” should he waste the flower of his ed with the stain his escutcheon’ had suflered in makingr life in devotion to an unfortunate creature who can never a beggar-girl of doubtful character the Baroness Von be his? Why slho)uld he give up the prospect of domestic Faldner. happiness, of a family and a home, for my sake? No; time will assuage his grief, and he will one day forget an unhappy woman who will think of him, love him, and A few weeks after these events, Froben was walking 1up pray for him to the last moment of her life.” and down the bridge at Mentz. While he was lost il It seemed, therefore, as though Josephine’s prophetic thought, a travelling-carriage rolled past him, wlhose’ farewell, “for ever,” was yet to receive its fuilfilntent. trange appearance attracted general notice. Our hero’s Don Pedro and his newly-found kinswoman left the eyes were fastened more strongly on the servant upon the Countess’s estate, to take shipping in Holland. Froben, box, whose cheerful brown face seemed as familiar to him who was kept alive only by the hope of soon joining them as the gaudy colours of his livery. As the carriage ap- in Portugal, accompanied them on their journey, and proached slowlyv, the servant noticed him in turn, and lwhen she begged him not to prolong the pain of separacried, ”

Santiago de Compostella!-there he is himse lf” tion lie entreated her, in return, “only to the sea, and He jumped down, opened these evcoach door, and out eped tents, Froben was walking l pel and down thle bridge at Mentz. While he wtas lost illIn emd hrfr,;~ tog oehn’ rpei thought, a tralvelling-carriage rolled past himn, whose lfrwl,“free, vsytt eev t ilinet strange appearance attracted general notice. Our hero’s Va cdoadhsnwyfudknwmnefth eyes were fastened more strongly on the servant upon theConessett,ttaesipninHlad rbn box, whose cheerful brown face seemed as familiar to him WlBASepalvonybthhoeosonjiigte as the gaudy contours of his livery. As the carriage ap- linPrua,acmaidte onterjunyan proached slow^ly, the servant noticed him in turn, and 1 hnsebge i o opoogtepi fspr cried, ” Santiago de Compostella! there he is himlself!” tion, he cultrested her, in return, “only to the sea, and the well-known features of Don Pedro. Our hero hastened to greet him. and the old man embraced him joyfully. 4a Where is she?-where is my Laura’s daughter? In theI name of the Holy Mary, is she here?-tel e l me-tcll me In the month of August, in the same year, an English at once!” Froben was at a loss what to say: he merely ship was lying at Ostell, bound for Portugal. About nine told him that she wvas then living near thie city, and that o’clock, on a lovely cloudless morning, a shot was fired he should see her the next morning.

from the vessel, as a signal for the passengers to embark. Tears of joy stood in the Spaniard’s eyes. “How much A boat came off to the shore, and took away a number, an I indebted to you, tiy dear young frien, for giving with their baggage. Before it returned, there came down me news of her!”

hie cried. “As soon as I could get to tohe beach aparty of four persons, evidently of a superior leave of absence, Diego got the coach ready, and I drove rank to the other passengers. A tall, elderly man stepped twenty miles a day, so great was my impatience! And majestically in front; he wore a broad-leafed hat, and his is she living happily?does she look like her mother?” cloak hung so gracefully from his shoulders, that one of Froben avoided answering these questions till ltie had led the sailors swore “if the old fellow wasn’t a Spaniard, Don Pedro to his lodgings. Th t ie generous juice of Xeres he’d eat him.” After him camne a young gentleman, eswas produced, Diego handed him a cigar and a light, as corting a lady. He looked pale, and seemed trying to usual, and, as soon as he was comfortably settled, our conquer his own grief, in order to speak some words of hero began to tell his story. The Spaniard listened with comfort to the lady in hers. Her features were disfigured deep interest; to Diego’s great vexation, hie let his cigar by weeping, and her lips pressed convulsively together go out, for the first time in twenty years, ancd when Fro A hat with waving feathers, a costly dress of heavy silk, ben came to the violent scene between Faldner and his with rich chains on neck and bosom., seemed ill-suited for unhappy wife, his southern blood began to boil; lie pulled a sea-voyage, and seemed to indicate that she had only his hat don on his forehead, wrapped his cloak round come to see tle young man off. Behind the pair came a the left arm, and cried, with flashing eyes, “Bring me servant, who wore his black hair in a Spanish net, and nmy long rapier, Diego; as trues es I am a good Christian carried a huge umnbrella under his arnm. and a Spanish cavalier, I will have the wretch’s life; I When they reached the shore, the lady clung to her willrun him through, if he had a crucifix on his breast: companion so closely that the feathers she wore hid his I will make an end of h im withouts the sacrament and and his tears from the eyes of the spectators. Twhe without absolution, that I will! My rapier, I say, Diego,” old an stood a little way off, wrapped in hlis mantle, and Our hero tried to sooth the old man, exhausted by his looking at the sea. His eye glistened, either with a teal own violence, and showed him that this was useless, as or the reflection from the waves. The boat carme plasih.

Josephine was no longer in her oppressor’s power. Tile ing up; a plank was thrown out; the old mai shook his next mnorning te hey we nt to the C ountess. It as a mov- young friend’s hand heartily, an d walked rapidly over it, ing sight to look upon, as the old man embraced Joseph- followed by Diego. The young people cebraced each ine’s blooming, youthful figure, and eyed every feature other again, and the gentleman prepared to lead her to closely, till his owan stern expression relaxed, and with the boat. ”

For ever!” she whispered, with a melancholy what deep emotion he kissed her eyes and lips. “Yes, smile. “For ever!” sighed the young man in reply you are my Laura’s daughter!” he exclaimed; “You She stood, by this time, on the plank; the mate, a bluff have nothing of your father but his golden hair; in all Englishman, stood ready to receive her, and had already your features you are a Tortosi! e henceforth my stretched out his broad hand, and was getting ready some daughter, my dear child: I am rich-I have no kinsmen; well-neant commonplace cousolation. Then she turned you are nearer and dearer to me than any one else on her dark eye away from the boundless ocean, and it rested earth, and no one else has so good a claim to you!” The on her lover.’ He stood with outstretched arlms on the sidelong glances Josephine sometimes cast at Froben shore-in his fetlures the rapture of love was mingled seemed to express some doubt as to this last assertion, with the anguish of parting. Then She seemed as if she but she kissed his hand respectfully, and called him her couldcontrol h erself 1no longer-she spralrg to the shore, second father. and in a moment “lung upon ousr hero’s neck. “No-I The joy of meeting lasted but a short time.

Don Pedro cannot go across the seat!” she cried; ” I will stay here: related that business called him back to Portugal, and I will do any thing you ask ine; I will abaudon a faith that ie did not see why Josephine might not go with him that prevents my being yours. rYou are iow mny country, at once; he was so firmly attached to every doctrine of my kindred, oy all: I will stay in Germany!” the church that he did not conceive the possibility of Fn- “Josephine! my Josephile!” exclaimed Frebe s, press ben’s seeking to wed Josephine, the divorced wife of an img her to his heart in a storm of delight; “m ite, then. ..’^ j’oyof me views of the lovers may have been as – for ever! Heaven has inspired you; for, oh il tht pain of 40 THE 1NIIRROR LIBRAR’Y.

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-~~~ ~H MIRO LIRAY 4 pt.rting would have killed me!” They were close-locked the graves of my ancestors in Valencia, )Don Pedro, ano in each ohier’s arms whet the Spaniard came on shore to tell them there is yet- (;ie of the Tortos: blood left who p, t them. ” Come, children,” he said, “one leave-tak- values love more than life.” ill ought to have contented you; come, Josephine, it’s Don Pero was moved. “Follow our heat then oJ no use to wait; the ship is going to fire for the last, perhaps it prompts you better than an old maln like me time.” “Let them fire a broadside, if they choose, Don pha t lt you be hai n e doyfully *h stays TX1 *rX could do. I know that, at least, you will be happy in the Pedro,”

cried Froben, joyfully; “she stays here-she Pstdro,s crithe.d F, WhereSp- arms of this cavalier, and I know the honour of our family says with m-e.”

“What do I hear?” rejoined the Span- is as dear to him as his own. But, Don Fro’oenio, what iard, gravely; “I hope it is not as the cavalier supposes t; 1″ 1 I */will you say to your proud kindred when you present to will you not follow your kinsman, Josephine I.. UTl yu no f w your k ma, J.,them this child of misfortune? Will you have the courage “No!” she answered boldly. “As I stood there in the v . to endure the sneers of the world?” boat, and looked at the ocean that was soon to divide us, a voice within told me what I ought to do; my mother “Farewell, Don Pedro,”

answered our hero, boldly, showed me the way; she followed the man of her heart holding out one hand to the Spaniard, while with the through the wide world: she left father and mother. I other he clasped his mistress; “be of good courage, and know what I ought to do; here stands the man to whom do not doubt me. I will show her to the world, and when I owe the peace of my mother’s last moments; life, hon- any one asks,’ Pray, who was she?’ I will reply, with our, every thing; and shall I leave him? Greet, for me, pride,’ The Beggar-girl of the Pont-des-Arts!’” THE PIC-NIC PARTY.

BY HORACE SMITE. able changes of the weather, still maintains its elevation; and I tell you what, dear, if the weather should be pre posterous on the twenty-fourth of August, suppose, i n. s t ead of going into the north, as we did last year, we migrat e into Kent or Surrey?

Instead of din i ng at Hampstead, as we did last year, shall w e go to Greenwi ch, or to Putnhey, and e at little fishes?” ” Wh ichever you like, love,” was the lady’s answer to the so-int en d e d que sti on. “But I put it to your choice, dear.” “Either-or neither-please yourself, love, and you are sure you will please me.” ” Pshaw.! but it is for the gratification of your-or, more properly speaking, for your gratification.

I submit to you an alternative for the purpose of election; and you know, Jane, I repudiate indifference, even as concerning or applying to trifles.” ” You know, Claudius, we have but one wish, and that is to please each other; so do you decide.” ” But, Mrs. Bagshaw, I must promulgate a request that -having, as I have, no desire but to please you-you will -” ” How, sir! would you force me to choose, when I am so obedient as to choose that you should have the choice entirely your own way? This treatment of me is monstrous!” And here Mrs. Bagshaw did what is usual and proper_ for ladies to do on such occasions-slhe burst into tears. ” Why, then, madam, to use a strong expression, I must say that ”

But a loud rap at the street-door prevented the utterance of an ”

expression,” the force of which would doubtless have humbled Mrs. Claudius Bagshaw down to the very dust. “Claudius,” said the lady, hastily drying her eyes, “that is uncle John’s knock. We’ll go to Gre-PutGreenwich, love.” ” That’s well, dear; and be assured, love, that nothing is so adverse to the constitution of what Locke cmpllatically calls the human mind, philosophically considered, as to persevere in that state of indecision which thatwhereof-but we will not go to either; uncle John shall select the locality.” Uncle John was a bachelor of fifty-five, possessing twelve thousand pounds, a strong disinielinaitioni to part with any of them, a good heart, and a bat(i teiii)cr. “Good morning t’yc, good folks; as Iusuatl, I I)crceive, Iilling and cooiri(n.” ‘IThlc Bagshai a hX’.siad b)y tlhis timiie got tog(ctlier in a ctr To give a pic-nic party a fair cnance of success, it must be almost impromptu: projected at twelve o’clock at night at the earliest, executed at twelve o’clock on the following day at the latest; and even then the odds are fearfully against it. The climate of England is not remarkable for knowing its own mind; nor is the weather ” so fixed in its resolve” but that a bright August moon, suspended in a clear sky, may be lady-usher to a morn of fog, sleet, and drizzle. Then, again-but this being tender ground, we will only hint at the possibility of such a change-a lady of the intended party might quit the drawing-room at night in the sweetest humour imaginable, and make her appearance at breakfast in a less amiable inmood, or, perhaps, ” prefer taking breakfast in her own room,”-from which notice husbands sometimes infer that such a change has taken place. Mr. Claudius Bagshaw, a retired silk mercer, in the vicinity of London, determined, notwithstanding all these arguments, to have a pic-nic party on the twenty-fourth of August, his wedding-day. On the third of July, Mr. Claudius Bagshaw, after eating his breakfast and reading the Morning Post, looked out of his parlour window to watch the horticultural pursuits of his better part. Mr.

Bagshliaw had become a member of one of the “march-ofintellect-societies,”

and was confident that the pie-niti would turn out a very pleasant thing.

” How fortunate we shall be, dear,” said Mr. Bagshaw, e how happy we shall be, if the weather should be as fine on our wedding-day as it is now.”

“True, love,” replied Mrs. Bagshaw; “but this is only the third of Julx and, as the anniversary of our happy day is tihe twenty-fourth of August, the weather may change.” This proposition Mr. Bagshaw did not attempt to deny. The Bagshaws were the happiest couple in the world. Being blessed with the negative blessing of no offspring, the stream of their affections was not diverted into little channels, but ebbed and flowed in one uninterrupted tide reciprocally from bosom to bosom. They never disputed, they never quarrelled. Yes, they did sometimes, but then it was from a mutual over-anxiety to please. Each was afraid to pronounce a choice, or a preference, lest it might be disagreeable to the other; and hence there occasionally did arise little bickerings, and tiffings, and miffings, which were quite as unpleasant in -,heir effects, and sorietines as difficult to settle, as quarrels originating in less I amiable causes. ”

But,” said Mr. Bagshaw, referring to the barometer, “file instrumnient for indicating the p)e sent state and p!oto I I I 41 THE MIRROR LIBRARY.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. happening to think of uncle John’s twelve thousand pounds, he suppressed it, and just contented himself with, “And what then, sir?” “Why, then, sir, that is a risk I won’t run; and unless we can manage to I have it! the very man. How came we to forget him?

Thle-vry-man! You know Jack Richards?” The last four words were delivered in a tone implying the utter impossibility of any human creature being unac quainted with Jack Richards. “Not in the least, sir. I never heard of him.” “What! never heard of Ja-. The thing is impossi. ble; everybody knows Jack Richards. T-he very thing for us; such a wit! such a wag!he is the life and soul of every thing. Should he be unengaged for the twenty fourth of August. But he is so caught up! I was in. vited to meet him at dinner last Sunday at Jones’s, but he didn’t come. Such a disappointment to us! However, I shall meet him on Thursday at the’I’ims’s, if he should but keep his promise, and tlhen” ” But, uncle,” said Mrs. Bagshaw, ”

hadn’t you better send him all invitation at once?” “I’ll do better still, my dear; I’ll call at his lodgings, and if I find him hanging loose, I’ll bring him to dine with you to-day.” Then, turning to Bagshaw, he added, “That a man like you shouldn’t know Jack Richards, is surprising!” As this was evidently pointed at Mr. Claudius Bagshaw in his capacity of member of a learned body, Bagshaw pursed up his mouth into a mock-modesty smile, and slightly bowed. Off went uncle John in quest of Jack Richards; and, that the pleasantest thing in the world i nmight not sufier by delay, off went Mr. Biagshaw to a? prize the Snodgrasses, the Groutses, and the rest of the nominees; and, more important still, of” went the lady to the poulterer’s, to inquire whether he was likely to have any nice pigeons for a pie, about the twenty-third of next month. The diiner-hour arrived, and so did uncle John, but with a face of unspeakable wo. “I feared how it would be.” “What! can’t he be with us on the twenty-fourth?7″ inquired both the Bagshaws at the same instant. ” He will if he can; but he won’t promnise. But to day-! However, it serves us right; we were unwise to indulge a hope of his comning at so short a notice. He has almost engaged himself to youi for Sunday fortnight, though. What a creature it is!-lie has given me such a pain in my side!” “Something he said that almost killed you with laugh. ing? Repeat it, uncle, repeat it.” ” Why, no, he didn’t say any thing particular; but he has a knack of poking one in the ribs, in his comical way, and sometimes he hurts you.” We intended to describe Jack Richards at length; un cle John’s accidental notice of this trait has, most probably, rendered that trouble unnecessary. Indeed, we feel that we need scarcely add to it, that he can sing a devil ish good song, (and everybody knows what is meant by that,) and imitated the inimitable Mlathews’ imitations of the actors, not even excepting his imitation of Tatc WiL kinson’s imitation of Garrick. Except the uncertainty of Jack Richards, the result of the morning’s occupation was satisfactory. Bagshaw, still retaining his old business-like habits of activity and industry, had contrived to wait on every person namled in the list, all of whom had promised their attendance! and Mrs. Bagshaw had received from the poulterc a positive assurance that he would raise heaven and earth to supply her with pigeons on the twenlty-third of the ensuing August! Committees were forthwith summoned. First, a com. mittee to consider of the whereabout. At this, after an evening of polite squabbling, which had nearly put an end to the project altogether, Twickenham meadows received the honour of selection-nem. con. as Bagshaw said Next, lest it should happen, as i t did o nce happen, fof want of such preconcert, that a pic-nic party of ten found themselves at their place of meeting Keith ten fillets of veal and ten hanms, Mr. Bagshalw called a comnmittee of ” provender.”’ Here it was settled that the Shodgrasses should contributc four chickens and a tongue; the Puag ner of the garden, and were lovingly occupied in trim ming the same pot of sweet peas. “Quite the contrary, uncle John,” said Mrs. Bagshaw. “Claudius and I have just had one of our most desperate quarrels.” And here the happy pair giggled, and exchanged looks which were meant to imply that their smost desperate quarrels were mere kitten’s play; and that uncle John did so interpret them, he made manifest by a knowing shake of his fore-finger.

“The fact is, sir, Jane and I talk of commemorating the annual recurrence of the annive rsary of our wedding da y, at sorwe place a leetle farther in the country; but our mind s are in a perfect vac uum concerning the identity of the spot. Now, sir, will y ou reduce the place to a mathe atical certainty, and be one of the party?” ” Why-urn-no; the se th ings ar e exp ensive; we co me home at night with a guinea a-piece l ess in our pockets, and I don’t see the g oo d of th at.” ” I have it!” cried Bagshaw; ” we’ll make it a pic-nic; that won’t be expensive.” ” The n I’m wi th you, Bagshaw, with all my heart and it s hall b e al fresco.” ”

There or an ywhere elseel you please, sir,” gravely re pl i e se ld the learned member of the universal-knowledge warehouse. “Uncle nohn means in the open air, Claudius; that will be delightful.” ” Charminy,!” rejo ined Bagshaw. It may be in quired why u ncle John, who objected to the disbursemnen t of a guinea for a day’s pleasure, should no readily have yield ed at the suggestion of a pic-nic. Uncle John possessed a neat little morocco pocket-case, containing a d ozen silver spoons, and silver-handled kanives tr, and alforks, an a lthough we are told that these ienplenents ar e of l ater invention than fingers, there is, nevrtheheless, a very general bias in their favour, for the purpose to which they a re applted. Now, uncle Jo h n being aware of the preval e nce of their employment, it wa s for this reason he never objected to make one of a pic-nic party; for, whilst others contributed chickens, pigeon-pies, or wines.-it be ing th e principle of such part ies that each member s hould furnish something p to t he feast-suncle John invariably contributed the use of his knives, forks, and spoons. The whole morning was spent in debating on who should be invited to partake of this ” pleasantest thing that ever was,” and examining into their several pretensionis, and their powers of contributing to the amusements of the day; when, at length, the honiour of nomination was confierred upon the persons following, and for the reasons atssigned: Sir Thomas and Lady Grouts-because of their title, which w,ould. ive an air to the thing-(Sir Thomas, formerly a corn-chandler, having been knighted for carrying up an address in the late reign.) Miss Euphenmia Grouts, daughter, Noo. l-who would bring her guitar. Miss Corinna Grouts, ditto, No. 2-because she would sing. Mr.

and.Mrs. Snodgrass-Mr. Snodgrass being vicepresident of the grand junction march-of-intellect-society. Mr. Frederick Snodgrass, their son, (lately called to the chalncery bar,) who would bring his flute. Messrs. Wrench and son, (eminent dentists.) The father to be invited because he wsas charming company, and the soIn, a dead bsore, becaulse the father would be offended if he were not. Andt. lastly, Miss Snubbleston, a rich maiden ladly of forty-four, for no other earthly qualification whatever than her carriage, which (to use Bagshaw’s words) would carry herself and Us three, and also transplant a large portion of the pro. vender to the place of rendezvous. Bagshawz hltvin~r made out a fair copy c l this list, somewhat in the shape of a bill of parcels, this, the first step towards tile ”

pleasantest thing that ever wash” was taken with entire satisfaction. ”

Why, Bagshaw,” exclaimed uncle John, who had cast up the numbers, “including our three selves, we shall be thirteen!” The member of the institution perceived the cause of his alarm! but having beenl lectured out of prejudices respecting matte rs of greater momdelt than this, hie prepared a look; Of ineffable contempt a~s his only reply; however,1 I I I! 42

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~~~~TJ M1~; ~~.4 shaws, their pigeon-pie; Wrench and son, a hanmi; Sir Thomas Grouts, a hamper of his own cloice wMilie; Miss Snubbleston, a basket of fruit and pastry; uncle John, his silver spoons, knives, and forks; and Jack Richards -his charming company. And lastly, came the comiittee for general purposes! At this important meeting, it was agreed that the party proceed to Twickenham by water; that to save the trouble of loading and unloading, Miss Snubbleston’s carriage convey the hampers, &c.

direct to the place appointed-the said carriage, moreover, serving to bring the ladies to town, should the eveninrig prove cold; that, for the water-m?usic, thle following programme be adopted: 1. On reaching Vauxhall bridge, the concert to commence with Madame Pasta’s grand scena in ”

Medea,” previous to the murder of the children, by Miss Corinna Grouts. 2.

Nicholson’s grand flute concerto in five sharps, by Mr. Frederick Snodgiass. 3. Grand aria, with variations, guitar, by Miss Euphemia Grouts. 4. Sweet Bird; accompaniment, flute obligato, Miss C. G. and Mr.

F. S.-and 5. The Dettingen re Deumi, (arranged for three voices, by Mr. F.

S.) by Miss Euphemia, Miss Corinna, and Mr. Frederick Snodgrass. The “interstices,” as Mr. Bagshaw called them, to be filled up by the amusing talents of the elder Wrench and uncle Johnr’s friend. And, lastly, that the company do assemble;t Mr. Bagshaw’s on the morning( of the twelty-fourth of August, at ten o’clock, precisely, in order to have the advantage of the tide both ways. Three days prior to the important twenty-fouirtlh, Mr. Bagshaw went to engage the boat, but, in a squabble with the boatman, Mr. B. got a black eye. This was the first mishap.

Restless and impatient though you be, depend upon it, there is not a day of the whole three hundred and sixtyfive will put itself, in the slightest degree, out of the way, or appear one second before its appointed time, for your gratification. Oh, that people would consider this, and wait events with patience! Certainly Mr. Bagshaw did not. The night of the twenty-third to him appeared an age. His repeater was in his hand every ten minutes. He thought the morniing would never dawn-but he was mistaken; it did; and as fine a morning as if it had been made on purpose to favour his excursion. By six o’clock he was dressed!-by eight the contributions from all the members had arrived, and were ranged in the passage. There was their own pigeon-pie, carefully packed in brown paper and straw; Sir Thlomas’s hamper of his own choice wine; and the rest. Every thing promised fairly. Th’le young ladies and MIr. Frederick had had thirty rehearsals of their grand arias and concertos, and were perfect to a demi-semniqutaver; Jack Richards would certainly comie; and the only drawback upon Mr. Bagshaw’s personal en!ijoyment-but nothing in this world is perfectwas the necessity he was under of wearing his green shade, which would totally deprive him of the pleasure of contenmplating the beauties of the Thames’ scenery -a thing he had set his heart upon. Nine! ten! “s No one here yet! Janie, my love, we shall infallibly lose the tide;” and for the next quarter of an hour the place of the poor repeater was no sinecure. A knock! Mr. and Mrs. Snodgrass and Mr. Frederick. Another! The whole family of the Groutses. Next camne Mr. Charles Wrench. ” Bless us!

Ms. Charles,” said Bagshaw, ” where is your father?” N~ow, M~r. Wrench, senior, was an agreeable old dentist, always gay, generally humorous, sometimes witty; he could sketch characters as well as draw teeth; and, on occasions of this kind, was invaluable. The son was a mere donkey; a silly, simpering, well-dressed young gentleman, the owner of no more than the eighth of an idea, and of a very fine set of teeth, which he constantly exhibited like a sign or advertisement of his shop. Append”.I to every thing he uttered were a preface and post w “cript, in the form of a sort of billy-goat grin. ” He! he! hle! he! Fayther regrets emezingly he taint come, being called to attend the Duchess of Dilbo m rough. He! he!

he! he!” As me t the fattalready sai d that it leas in pure cosptit merit to thle father thitt the son seas invited, anId not at ‘all for the sake of his own company, his presence was a grievous aggravation of the d isappoint me nt. The next knock announced Miss Sntubbleston. But where was her carriage? Why, it had been newly varnished, and they might scratch her panels with the hampers; and then she was afraid of her springs. So here was Miss Snubbleston without her carriage, for the convenience of which alone she had been invited,. considered by the rest in exactly the same light as young Mr. Wrcnch without old Mr. Wrcnch-id est, a damper. A new arrangement was the necessary consequence; and the baskets, under the superintendnce of a servant, were jolted down in a hackney coach, to be embarked at Westminster. But Miss Snubbleston brought with her a substitute, which was by no means a compensation. Cupid, her wretched, little, barin;-g yelping, Dutch pug, had eaten something that had eis agreed with him, and his fair mistress would not “for worlds” have left hinm at home while he was so indisposed. Well, no one chose to be the first to objece to the intruder, so Cupid was received. ” But where can uncle John and his friend be? We shall lose the tide, that’s certain,” was scarcely uttered by Mr. Bagshaw, when in came our uncle, together with the long-expected Jacli Richards. The usual introductions over, Mr. Richards saluted everybody with the self-sufficient swagger of a vulgar lion. ” The (lay snies auspiciou s, sir,” said Bagshaw, who thounlt it requisite e should throw off something fine to so celebrated a person. ” Smile?a broad grin, I call it, sir.” And here wa s a general lauglh. “Oh, excellent!” “Capital!” Uncl e Jo hn, proud of his friend, whisper ed in Bagshaw’s ear, “You see, Jack’s beginning.” And now hats and gloves were in motion. “You have got your flute, Frederi ck?” “Yes, mother,” was the reply. “Lau, ma,” cried Miss Corinna, ” if I haven’t come without’ Sweet Bird,’ and my scona from‘Medea,’ I declare.” As these were indispensable to the amusements of the day, a servant was dispatched for them. He couldn’t be gone longer than half an hour. Half an hour! thought Bagshaw;‘tis eleven now; and the tide. But the servant was absent a few minutes beyond the half hour, and poor B3agshaw suffered severely from that gnawing imnpatienice, amounting almost to pain, which every mo.

ther’s son of us has experienced upon occasions of greater -or less importance than this. They were again at the very point of starting, when a message was brought to ~ Mrs. Snodgrass that little Master Charles had cut his thumb dreadfully! What was to be done? Mrs. Snodgrass vowed she shouldn’t be easy in her mind the whole day, unless she knew the extent of the mischief; and as they only lived in Euston-square, and she could be there and back again in twenty minutes, she would herself go sea what really was the Latter-and away she went. Twenty minutes! During all this time, Bagshaw-but who would attempt to describe anguish indescribable? At length he was relieved by the return of Mrs. Snodgrass; but, to the horror and consternation of himself and of all present, she introduced the aforesaid Master Charles-an ugly, ill. tempered, blubbering little brat of seven years old, with a bloated red face, scrubby white hair, and red eyes; and with the interesting appendage of a thick slice of bread and butter in his hand. ” I’m sure you’ll pardon this liberty,” said the affection ate inamma: ” but poor Charley has cut himself very muclh and he would not be pacified till I consented to take him with us. Ile has promised to be very good. There, don’t cry any more, darling!” and, accordingly, the urchin roared with tenfold vigour. There were no particular mnanifestatiorns of joy at this arrivtl; an(i it is just possible, althjough nothing wa-s utterc>(I to llait (cfi’cct, tteat there (did ex’st a,erer;,l alo ordial xvsh t;:-t o.: 51;,stcr Snod,,drasse, S(re spr.Swli~g art ti_ci:,~,!t,.zt. (! 1;c ctt,:c~sl TI-TE 43 ARRIVAL OF JACK

RICIIARDS.

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44 TilE MIRI{OR LIBRARY. well in England. Uncle John, indeed, did utter somethi,,ngc about the pug and the child-two such nuisances-people bringing their brats into grown up company. At length the procession set out: the IBagshaws, uncle John and Jack Richards bringing up the rear in a hackney-coach. On reaching. the corner of the street, Mrs. .3agshliaw called out to the driver to stop. “What is the matter, dear?” said Bagshaw. “Your eye-lotion, love.” “Well, never mind that, sweet.”

“Claudius, I shall be miserable if you go without it. Dr. Nooth desired you would use it every two.o)urs. I must insist-now, for my sake, love-such an eye as lihe has got, Mr. Richards!” So away went Bagshaw to the Lake of Lausanne Lodge for the lotion, which, as it always happens when folks are in a hurry, it took him a quarter of an hour to find. They were now fairly on the road. “W What a smell of garlick!” exclaimed uncle John; “it is intolerable!” “Dear me!” said Mr. Richards, ” do you perceive it? ‘Tis a fine Italian sausage I bought at Morel’s, as my contribution.

We shall find it an excellent relish in the country;” and he exhibited his purchase, enveloped in a brown paper. ” Pha! shocking!-‘tis a perfect nuisance! Put it into your pocket again, or throw it out at the window.”

But Mr. Richards preferred obeying the first command. Apropos of contributions ” Uncle, have you brought your spoons?” ” Here they are,”

replied uncle, at the same time drawimg from his pocket a parcel in size and form very closely resembling Mr. Richards’s offensive contribution. On arriving at WVestminster Bridge, they found the rest of the party already seated in the barge, and the first sound that saluted their ears was an intimation that, owing to their being two hours behind time, (it was now past twelve,) they should hardly save the tide. ” I knew it would be so,”

said Bagshaw, with more of discontent than he had thought to experience, considering the paints he had taken that every thing should be wellordered. As uncle John was stepping into the boat, Richards, with greit dexterity, exchanged parcels with him, putting the Italian sausage into uncle John’s pocket and the spoons into his own; enhancing the wit of the man(euvre by whispering to the Bagshaws, who, with infinite delight, hadl observed it. ” Hang me,” said Richards, ” but he shall have enough of the garlick.!” TIhe old gentleman was quite unconscious of the operation, as Richards adroitly diverted his attention from it by giving him one of his facetious pokes in the ribs, which nearly bent him double, and drew a roar of laughter from every one el se. Just as they were pushing off, their attention was attracted by a loud howling. It proceeded “-om a large Newfoundland dog which was standing at!he water’s edge. “Confound it!”

cried Richards, ” that’s my Carlo! He has followed me, unperceived. all the way from homeI would not lose him for fifty pounds. I must take him back-pray put me ashore. This is very provoking- ” though he is a very quiet dog!” There eras no mistaking this hint. Already were there two nuisances on board-master Charles and the Dutch pug: but as they were to choose between Jack Richards with his dog, or no Jack Richards, (or in other words, no life and soul of the party,) it was presently decided that Carlo should be invited to a seat on the hampers, which were stowed at the head of the boat-uncle John having first extracted from Mr. Richards an assurance that their new guest would lie there as still as a mouse. This comgaaisance was anfply rewarded by a speedy display of Mr. ichards’

powers of entertainment. As soon as they reached the middle of the river Jack Richards suddenly jumped up, for the purpose of frightening Miss Snubbleston; a jest at which everybody else would have laughed, had not their owsn lives been cudangered by it. Evenl his great admlirer sugrgestedl to himn that once of that was enoughl. Otis ncet jokze was one of a more intcllcctual character. Though he had never till this day seen Sir Thomas, he had accidentally heard something about his former trade.

“What is the differenrce between Lord Eldon and Sir Thomas Grouts?” Nobody could tell. ” One is an ex-chalncellor-the other is an ex.chandler.”

Everybody laughed, except the Grouts family. This was succeeded by another thrust in uncle John’s side; after which came a pun, which we shall not record, as the effect of it was to force the ladies to cough and look into the water, the gentlemen to look at each other, and’Mrs. Snodgrass to whisper to Mrs. Bagshaw ” Who is this Mr. Richards?” Indeed, there would have bten no end to his pleasantries had they not been interruptee. y a request that Miss Corinna would open the concert, as they were fast ap proaching Vauxhall bridge. Mr. Bagshaw (looking at the programme, which he had drawn out on paper ruled with red and blue lines) objected to this, as it would dis turb the previous arrangement, according to which the concert was not to commence till they were t/hrough the bridge. This objection was overruled, and the fair Co riniia unrolled the music, for which the servant had been dispatched with so much haste. Miss Corinna screamed!

What was the matter? ” They had not sent the grand scena from Medea, af ter all, but a wrong piece!” And the pains she had taken to be perfect in it! “Could not Miss Corinna sing it from memory?” “Impossible!” “How careless of you, Corinna! then sing what they have sent.” ” Why, ma,” said Corinna, with tears in her eyes, and holding up the unfortunate sheets, “why bless me, ma, I can’t sing the overture to Der Freyschutz!” The difficulty of such a performance being readily ad mitted, Mr. Frederick Snodgrass declared himself but too happy to comply with the calls for his concerto in five sharps, which stood next on the list; and with the air of one well satisfied that an abundance of admiration and applause would reward his efforts, he drew forth hIis flute, when, lo! one of the joints was missing! This accident was nearly fatal to the musical entertainments of the day; for not only was the concerto thereby render ed impr ac ticable, but ” Sweet Bird,” with the flute-accormpe,niment obligate, was put hoers de combat. D isapp ointment having, by thirs, b een carried to its uttermost bound s, the a nnouncement th at two s tring s of thle guitar had gone, was rece ived with an indifference almost stoical; and every one was grateful to Miss Euphemia for so willingly undertaking (the whispered menaces of Lady Grouts being heard by nobody but the young lady herself) to do all that could be done under such untoward circuimstances.

Sh e would endeavour to accompany her se lf through a little ballad; but she failed. Mr. Claudius Bagsh aw, with all his literature, science, and philosophy, now, for the first time, wondered how any thing could fail, so much trouble having been taken to insure success. Drawing forth his repeater, he a-hem’d. ]and just muttered “‘Unaccountable! Hem! upon my word! One o’clock, and lio pleasure yet!” “eOne o’clock,” echoed his spouse; ” then’tis time for your eye, dear!” and B3agshaw was compelled not only to sufferr his damaged optics to be dabbled by his tormnentingly affectionate-wife, but to’ submit again to be hood. winked, in spite of his enitreaties to the contrary, and his pathetic assurances that he had not yet seen a bit of the prospect; a thing he had set his heart upon. Now occurred a dead silence of some minutes. A steamboat rushed by. Bagshaw seized this opportunity to make a display of his scientific acquirements; and this he did with the greater avidity, as he had long wishled to astonish vice-president Snodgrass. Besides, in the event of his offeringg to deliver a course of lectures at thec institution, the vice-president might bear evidence to hi;s capabilities for the purpose his acquaintance not on~ly w\ithl the facts, but with the termns of science. Whllel,cr those terms were always correc tly applied-, wec confcss ourselves not sufficiently learned t,, prono)unce. “‘HIow wonodrous is thle scicrncc of mchlanisml’ how THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 44

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. variegated its progeny, how simple, yet how compound!

I am propelled to the consideration of this subject by having optically perceived that ingenious nautical instrument, which has just now flown along like a mammoth, that monster of the deep! You ask me how are steam-boats propagated? in other words, how is such an infinite and immoveable body inveigled along its course? I will cxplain it to you. It is by the power of friction: that is to say, the two wlleels, or paddles, turning diametrically, or at the same moment, on the axioms, and repressing by the rotundity of their motion the action of the menstruum in which the machine floats,-water being, in a philosophical sense, a powerful non-conductor,it is clear, that in proportion as is the revulsion so is the progression; and as is the centrifugal force, so is the” “Pooh!” cried uncle John impatiently, “let us ha%te qn.tlne music.”

” I have an apprehension, Bagshaw,” said the vicepresident,-” that I should not presume to dispute with you-that you are wrong in your theory of the centrifugal force of the axioms. However, we will discuss that point at the Grand-Junction. But come, Frederick, the ‘Dettingen te deum.’” Frederick and the young ladies having, by many rehearsals, perfected themselves in the performance of this piece, instantly complied.

Sc.arcely had they reached the fourth bar, when Jack Richards, who had not for a long time perpetrated a joke, produced a harsh, brassy-toned, ,German eolina, and “blew a blast so loud and shrill,” that the Dutch pug began to bark, Carlo to howl, and the other nuisance, master Charles, to cry. The German eolina was of itself bad enough, but these congregated noises were intolerable. Uncle John aimed a desperate blow with a large apple, which he was just about to bite, at the head of Carlo, who, in order to give his lungs fair play, was standing on all fours on the hampers. The apple missed the dog, and went some distance beyond him in teethe water. Mr. Carlo, attributing to uncl e John a kinder feeling than that which actually prompted the proceeding, looked upon it as a good- natured expedient to afford him it a oportunity of adding his mite to the amusements of the day, by displaying a specimen of his training. Without wa iting for a second hit, he plunged i nto the river, seized the apple, and, paddling up the side of the boat with the prize triumphantly exhibited in his jaws, to mhe c onsternation o f the whole party, he scrambled in betweed uncle John and h i s master, dropped the apple upon the floor, distributed a copious supply of Thames’ water amongst the aftrighted beholders, squeezed his way th rough them as best he could, and, with an air of infinite self- satisfaction, resumed his place o n the hampers. Ha d M r. Jack Ric hards, the owner of the dog, been at the bottom of the Thames a week before this delightful twenty-fourtlh, not one of the party, Mr. Richards himself excepted, would have felt in the slightest degree concerned; but since, with a common regard to politeness, they could not explicitly tell him so, they contented thems elv es wi th besto wing upon Mr. Carlo every term of opprobrium, every f orm of execra tion, which good-manners will allow-leaving it to the sagacity of ” the life and s oul of the company” to apply them to himself, if so it migh t be ag reeabl e to him. P oor fellow! he felt the awkwardness of his situation, and figuratively,, as Bell as literally speaking, this exploit of his dog threw a damp urn him, as it had done upon every one else. For some time the pic-nics pursued their way in solemn silence. At length Bagshaw, perceiving that there would be very little pleasure if matters were allowed to go on in this way, exclaimed ” An intelligent observer, not imbued with the knowledge of our intentions, would indicate us to be a combination of perturbed spxrits, rowed by Chlaron across the river Tiber.” In cases of this kind, the essential is to break the ice.

Conversation was now resumed. ” Ah! ha!” said the vice-president, ”

Sion-house.” ” The residuum of the Northumberlands,” said Claudius, ” one of the most genealogical and antique families n England.” And here, having put forth so much classical and historical lore, almost in a breath, he marked his own1 satis faction by a short, single cough. The vice-president s ai d noth ing, but he thought to h imself, me There is much more in this Bagshaw than I suspe cted.” Jack Richards was up again. ” Come, what’s done can’t be helped; but, upon m) so ul! I am sorry at being the innocent cause of throwing cold water on the party.” ” Cold water, indeed! look at me, sir,” said Miss Snubbleston, with tears in her eyes, and exhibiting her ci-devant shoulder-of-mutton sleeves, which, but half an hour before, as stiff and stately as starch could make them, were now hanging loose and flabby about her skirny arms. ” Too bad, Jack,” said uncle John, ” to bring that cursed Carlo of yours!” Carlo, perceiving that he was the subject of conversation, w,as instantly on his legs, his eye steadily fixed upr)n uncle John, evidently expecting a signal for a second plunge.

The alarm was general, and every tongue joined in the scream of ” Lie down, sir! lie down!” Uncle John, who had been more than once offendecd by the odour from his friend’s garlic sausage, and who had on each and every such occasion vetnted an exclamation Of disgust, to the great amusemcnt of Mr. Richards, (who chuckled with delight to think of the exchange he had secretly cffccted,) here, ill the vcry middle of the stream, resolved to rid himself of the annoyance. Unperceived by any one, he gently drew the parcel from Richards’ coat-pocket, and let it drop into tile water! Like king Richard’s pierced coffin, once in, it soon found the way to the bottom. Uncle John could scarcely restrain his inclination to laugh aloud; however, he contrived to assume an air of indifference, and whistled part of a tune. ARRIVAL AT TWICKENHIAM, AND THE CATASTROPHE. Arrived at Twickenham, the boatmen were ordered to pull up to a beautiful meadow, sloping down to the water’s edge. There was no time to lose-they had no pleasure yet-so Bagshaw entreated that every one “would put his shoulder to the wheel, and be on the qui rala.” In an instant a large heavy hamper were landed, but as, in compliance with Bagshaw’s request, every one did some. thing to help, a scene of confusion was the consequence, and numerous pieces of crockery were invalided ere the cloth was properly spread, and the dishes, plates, and glasses distributed. But for the feast. Mr. Snodgrass’s basket was opened, and out of it were taken four remarkably fine chickens, and a tongue-uncooked! There was but one mode of accounting for this trifling omission. Mr. Snodgrass’s Betty was a downright mnatter-of-fact person, who obeyed orders to the very letter.

Having been told, the evening before, to get four fine chickens for roasting, together with a tongue, and to pack them, next miorning, in a basket, she did so literally and strictly; but, as she had received no distinct orders to dress them, to have done so she would have deemed an impertinent departure, from her instructions. Well; since people in a high state of civilization, like Mr. Claudius Bagshlaw and his fri’icnds, cannot eat raw chickens, they did the only thingr they could under the circumnstances-they grumbled exceedi ngly, and put them back again int o t he bas ket. Tphis was a serious deduction in the i mportant po int of quantsity, and uncl e Joh n fel t a slight touch of remorse at having thrown, as he thought, his fricnd’s Italian sausage into the Thames.

However, there was still provision in tie garrison. But the run of luck in events, as at a game of whist, may be against you; and when it is so, be assured that human prudence and foresight-reinarkable as even Mrs.

Bagshaw’s, who bespoke her pigeons seven weeks before she wanted them-avail but little. When the packages were first stowed in the boat, the pigeon-pie was inadvertently placed at the bottom, and every thing else, finishing with the large heavy hamper of crockery. with Carlo on that, upon it; so that when it was taken up it appeared a chaotic mass of pic-crust, broken china, pigeons, brown paper, beef steak, eggs, and straw! “Now this is enough to provoke a saint!” said Bag shawl; and no one attempting to deny the position, witty this salvo for his own character of philosophic patience, lit in(lulged lli:~scll ill the full expression of his vexation licp

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I. I R R. and sorrow. After a minute examination, he declared the “Bless me, sir! Don’t say so-why-bless my heartpie to be “a complete squash,” and that nobody could you don’t know-before we got into the boat, I put the venture to eat it but at the imminent risk of being choked. sausage into your pocket, and your case of cutlery into As he was about to throw it over the hedge, Miss Snub- my own!” bleston, seized with an unusual fit of generosity, called There was a general burst of laughter against uncle out to him- John. He turned as pale as-nay, paler, than any thing “What are you doing? Though it isn’t fit for us to that has ever yet been dragged into the comparison; for eat, it will be quite a treat to the poor watermen. I dare an instant he stood stock-still, then thrust his hand into sa.y, poor souls, the d(on’t often get pigeon-pie.” his pocket, drew forth the unfortunate substitute, and at But the good gen~ of Mr. Carlo prevailed; and the the same time exclaiming D-tion! dashed it violently truth of the adage,’ a an ill wind that blows nobody to the ground. He next buttoned his coat from the bot good,” was confirmed in his mind as he found himself tom to the top, pulled down his cuffs, whispered to his no busily employed in the ingenious operation of separating longer admired Jack Richards, “You shall hear firom me, pigeon fromn porcelain. It was, doubtless, extremely ill- Mr.;” and saying aloud to Bagshaw, “This comes bred in one dog not to invite another. and Cupid express- of your confounded party of pleasure, sir,” away he went. ed his sense of the slight by a long-continucd yell, which and returned to town outside a Twickenham coach; re drew down upon him. firom the equally disappointed bipeds solving by the way to cal out that Mr. Richards, and to of the company, sundry wishes, the positive accomplish- eject the Bagshaws from the snug corner they held in his inent of which would not havec tended lnuch to his per- last will and testament. sonal happiness. The next basket was opened. Things This explosion seemed to have banished pleasure for were not altogether in a desperate state. Mr. Wrench’s that day, They were all, more or less, out of humour; ham was in perfect order, and that, with Miss Snubble- and instead of making the best of things, as they had ston’s salad, and some bread, and-could it be possible! hitherto done, they now made the worst of them. Sir After so much preparation, and Mr.

Bagshaw’s commit- Thomas’s hamper of his choice wine (which, by the by, tee of’” provender” to boot, that no one should have he purchased at a cheap shop for the occasion) was openthought of so obvious a requisite as bread! There would ed; and slices of ham were cut with the only knife and not be time to send Mr. Bagshaw to Twickenham town fork. Jack Richards tried to be facetious, but it would to procure some, for it was getting late, and if they lost not do. He gave Bagshaw a poke in the ribs, which was the tide, they should be on the water till midnight, and received with a very formal, “Sir, I must beg-.” To they did not like the appearance of the sky, which was Mr. Wrench, junior, he saidby no means so blue as it had hitherto been. However, “You have not spoken much to-day-but you have the want of bread did not much signify; they could make made amends for your silcnce-d’ye take?-Your hamn is a shift with Miss Snubbleston’s biscuits and poundcakes. good, though your tongue is not worth much!” But uncle John did not come out on an excursion of Instead of laughing, Mr.

Wrench simpered something pleasure to make shift; no more did Bagshiaw, no more about impertinent liberties and satisfaction. On being did any of the others. There was nothing else to be invited by Sir Thomas to a second glass of his old East done; so where is Miss Snublbleston’s basket? And India, he said that one was a dose-had rather not double where is Master Charles? gracious! Don’t be alarmed, the Cape; and at the first glass of champaigne, he inthe precious rarity is in no danger. He was soon dis- quired whether there had been a plentiful supplyof goose. covered behind a tree, whither he had dragged the berries that year. In short, whether it were that the com. fruit and cakes, and was engaged with all his might pany knew not how to appreciate his style of wit and and main, in an endeavour, with a piece of stick, to force pleasantry, or that he was in reality a very disagreeable out an apple. In this attempt, as it was presently seen, I person, the fact is that-btbut hold! let us say nothing ill the interesting child had cracked a bottlc, tihe contents of him; he died last week, at Folkestone, of a surfeit of of which, merely a preparation of oil, vinegar, and mus- goose, in the forty-ninth year of his age. For the consotar-l for the salad, were quietly dribbling through the lation of such as were amused by him, and regret his poutind-cakes, biscuits, and fruit. Similar aspirations to loss, be it remembered that there are still to be found thliose which had lately been so cordially expressed for the many Jack Richards in this world. Dut, h pug, were now most devoutly formed in behalf of” As we have said, they now resolved to make the worst Master Charles. of every thing; the grass was damip, the gnats were “Thisi comes of bringing their plaguey brats with troublesome, Carlo’s nose was in everybody’s face, Cupid’s them,” said uncle and Bagshaw. teeth at everybody’s calves, and Master Charles was ill VIWhilst this scene was going on, Jack Richards, per- of the many sour apples; it was growing late, and no ceiving that the service of the table was incomplete, be- good could come of sitting longer in the open air. They thought him of uncele John’s silver handled knives and I re-embarkled. By the time they reached Putney it was forks, and spoons; he felt first in one pocket, and then in pitch dark, and the tide was setting against them.

They the other, then hlie ran down to search the boat, then he moved on in mute impatience, for there was a slight rummaged the baskets. sprinkling of rain. It now fell in torrents. Master Charles “Jack, my boy,” hallooed uncle John, “don’t trouble grew frightened and screamed. Cupid yelped and Carlo yourself, you’ll never see that again.” howled. Accompanied the rest of the way by these ” W hat, sir?” plcesinfg sounds, at one in the morning (two hours and “I could not bear the smell of it any longer, so I slyly a half later than they intended) they arrived at West. drew it out of your pocket, and dexterously let it fall into minster stairs, dull, dreary, drowsy, discontented, and the deepest part of the Thames.” drenched. And here uncle John chuckled, and looked about him for applause. 46 THE

MIRROR’-JBRARY.

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-~ ~ ~ ~ H MIRRLBRR.4 THE WIFE. BY WASHINGTON IRVING The treasures of the deep are tiot so precious As are the concealed comforts of a man lock’d up in wornani’s love. I scent the air Of blessi.gs, when I comne but near the houise. What a deliciotis breaLth nmarriage sends forthThe violet bed’s not sweeter! MlIDDLETOS. ishing tenderness, as if he doated on his lovely burthen for its very helplessness. Never did a coupl e set forward on the flowcry path of early and well-suited ma rriage with a fai,‘cr preespect of felicity. It was the cisrortule of my friend;, ho wever, to have embharked his propgerty in lttrhe speculations; a nd hoe had not been married many inonthis, when, y)v a succession ol sudden disaster s it w las swept frow hilt r, and he found himself reduced to almost penury. Foi.

time he kept his situation to himself, and went abou t wi t h a haggard countenance, and a breaking heart. fis lie was but a protracted agon y; al nd hat reidntee it more insupport able was the necessity of keepinga up a st hic in the pres ence of his wife; for he could not bring hlirmiself to over whe lm her with the news. She saw, however, with the quick eyes of affect ion, that alld was not well with him. She marked his alte reid looks and s tifled sighls, and was not to be deceived by his sickly and vapid attempts a t cheerfulness. She tasked all her sprigeh tly powers and tender blandishments to win him back t o h at appiness; but she only d rov e the arrow deeper it i eis s oul. The more he saw cause to lodve her, the pmore torturin g w as the thought that he was so o n to make h lir wretched. A lit tle while, thought lie, and the s mile wi ll vawish from tha t cheek-the song will die away from those lips-the lustre of those eyes will be quenched with sorrow-and the h ap py heart which now beats lightly in that bo som, will be weighed down, like mine, by the cares and miseries of the world. At length he came to Ie one day, and related his whole situation in a tonle of the (‘eepest despair. When I had heard shimi thr oug h, I inquired, ” Does your wife know all this?” At the questimli lie burst into an agony of tears. “For God’s sake!” cried hle, ” if you h;ave any pity on me, don’t mention my wife; it is the thoughIit of her that drives me almost to madnless!” “And why not?” said I, ” She must know it sooner or later: you cannot keep it long fromn her, and the intell i gence may break upon her in a more startling mannier than if imijpart(e(i by yoursell; for the accents of those we love softeni the harshest tidings. Besides, you a re (lepriv ing yourself of the comfo r ts of her symwl)otity; and not merely that, but also enidangering the only bond that can keep hearts together-an unrcservewd conmmiiunityof thought and feeling. She will soon perceive that something is secretly preying upon your mind; an(] true love will not brook reserve: it feels undervalued and outraged, when even the sorrows of those it loves are concealed from it.”

” Oh, but, my friend! to think what a blow I am to give to all her future prospects-lhow I am to strike her very sotul to the earth, by telling her that her husband is a beg gar!-that she is to forego all the elegancies of life-all the pleasures of society-to shrink with me into indigence and obscurity! To tell her that I have dragged her down from the sphere in which she nig,ht have continued to move in constant brightness the light of every eye-the admiration of every heart!How can she bear poverty? She has been brought up in all the refinements of opulence How can she bear ncglect? She has been the idol of society. Oh, it will break her heart-it will break her heart!” l I saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have its flow; >e so orrow relieves itself by words. Wh1en haj paroxys:-: I HAVE often had occasion to remark the fortitude with which women sutistain the most overvwheluing reverses of fortune. Those disasters which break downti tite spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give suchi intrepidity and elevation to their character, that at times it app)roach es to sublimity.

Nothing can be more touching, than to behold a soft and tender female, who had been all weak ness and dependence, and alive to every trivial roughness, while treading the prosperous paths of life, suddenly rising in mental force to be tile comforter and supporter of her husband unider misfortune, and abiding, with unshrinking firmness, the bitterest blasts of adversity. As the vine, wR,hichi has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak. and been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when the hlar(dy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its caressing tendrils, and bind up its shat tered boughs; so is it beautifully ordered by Providence, that woman, wh!o is the mere dependant and ornament of man in his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten withl sudden calamity; winding herself in to the rug?ed recesses of his nature, tenderly supporting the droopin heald, and binding up the broken heart. I was once congratulating a friend, who had around him a bloomlin,g family, knit together in the strongest af fection. ” I can wish you no better lot,” said he, with enthusiasm, ” than to have a wife and children. If you are prosperous, there they are to share your prosperity; if otherwise, there they are to comfort you.” And, indeed, 1 have observed that a married man falling into nisfor tjne, is more apt to retrieve his situation in the world than a single oine; partly, because he is more stimulated to ex ertion by the necessities of the helpless and beloved beings who dependt upon him for subsistence; but chiefly, be crause his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic en dearments, and his self-respect kept alive by finding, that though all abroad is darkness and humiliation, yet there is still a little world of love at home, of which lie is the monarchl. Whereas, a single man is apt to run to waste and self-neglect; to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to ruin, like some deserted mansion, for want of an inhabitant. These observations call to mind a little domestic story, of which I was once a witnes s. My in timate fiiend, Leslie, hadr id marr ied a beautifu l and accomplis hed girl, who had been brotught up in the midst of fashionable life. She had, it is true, no fortune, but that of my friend was ample; and he delighted in the anticipation of indulging her in ever) elegant pursuit, and administeming to those delicate tastes and fancies that spread a kind of witchery about the sex.” Her life,” said he, ” shall be like a fairy tale-” The very difference in their characters produced a harmonious combination; he was of a romantic, and somewhat serious cast; she was all life and gladness. I have often noticed the mute rapture with which he would gaze upon her ill company, of which her sprightly powers made her the delight; and how, in the midst of -applause, her eye would still turn to him, as if there alone she sought favor and acceptance. When leaning on his arm, her slender form,l contrasted finely with his tall manly person. The fonrd e onfiqin~ air with wfhich, she looked up to him ,eemcdi to call lb: th a flu~shh of t:iumlp!han,t pride and checr I THE

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Page 48 view page image had subsided, and he had relapsed into moody silence, I it belonged to the little story of their loves; or some of resumed the subject gently, and urged him to break his the sweetest moments of their courtship were those when situation at once to his wife. He shook his head mourn- he had leaned over that instrtment, and listened to t!i fully, but positively. melting tones of her voice. I could not but smile at this. “But how are you to keep it from her? It is necessary instance of romantic gallantry in a doating husband. she should know it, that you may take the steps pro- He was now going out to the cottage, where his wifr per to the alteration of your circumstances. You must had been all day, superintending its arrangement. My change your style of living-nay,” observing a pang to feelings had becomie strongly interested in the progress ot pass across his countenance, “don’t let that afflict you. this family story, and as it was a fine evening, I offere(! I am sure you have never placed your happiness in outward to accompany him. shlow-you have yet friends, warm friends, who will not He was wearied with the fatigues of the day, and as think the worse of you for being less splendidly lodged: and we walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing. surely it does not require a palace to be happy with “Poor Mary!” at length broke, with a heavy sigh, from Mary-” ” I could be happy with her,” cried he convul- his lips. sively, “in a hovel’ I could go down with her into pov- “Arnd what of her,” asked I, “has any thing happened erty and the dust!-I could-I coutld-God bless her!- to her?” God bless her!” cried he, bursting into a transport of grief “WVhat,” said he, darting an impatient glance, “is it and tenderness. nothing to be reduced to this paltry situation-to be caged “And believe me, my friend,” said I, stepping up, and in a miserable cottage-to be obliged to toil almost in the grasping him warmly by the hand, “believe me, she can menial concerns of her wretched habitation?” be the same with you. Ay, more: it will be a source of “Has she then repined at the change?” pride and triumph to her-it will call forth all the latent “Repined! she has been nothing but sweetness and energies and fervent sympat’.es of her nature; for she will good huniour. Indeed, she seems in better spirits than I rejoice to prove that she loves you for yourself.

There is have ever known her; she has been to me all love, and in every true woman’s heart a spark of heavenly fire, tenderness, and comfort!”

which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity “Admirable girl!”

exclaimed I. “You call yoursell but which kindles up, and beams and blazes in the dark poor, my friend; you never were so rich-you never knew hour of adversity. No man knows what the wife of his the boundless treasures of excellence you possessed in bosom is-no man knows what a ministering angel she that woman.” ‘s-until he has gone with her through the fiery trials of “Oh! but, my friend, if this first meeting at the cottage this world.”

were over, I think I could then be comfortable. But this There was something in the earnestness of my manner, is her first day of real experience: she has been introduced and the figurative style of my language, that caught the into an humble dwelling-she has been employed all day excited imagination of Leslie. I knew the auditor I had in arranging its miserable equipments she has for the to deal with; and following up the impression I had made, first time known the fatigues of domestic employmentI finished by persuading him to go home and unburthen she has for the first time lookled around her on a home his sad heart to his wife. destitute of every thing elegant-alnost of every thing con I muntst confess, notwithstanding all I had said, I felt venient; and may now be sitting down, exhausted and some little solicitudle for the result.

Who can calculate spiritless, brooding over a prospect of future poverty.”

on the fortitude of onec whose whole life has been a round There was a degree of probability in this picture that I of pleasures? Her gay spirits might revolt at the dark, could not gainsay, so we walked on in silence.

downward path of low humility, suddenly pointed out be- After turning from the main road, up a narrow lane, so fore her, and might cling to the sunny regions in which thickly shaded by forest trees as to give it a complete air they had hitherto revelled. Besides, ruin in fashionable of seclusion, we came in sight of the cottage. It was humlife is accon-ipanied by so many galling mortifications, to ble enough in its appearance for the most pastoral poet; which, in other ranks, it is a stranger.-In short, I could and yet it had a pleasing rural look. A wild vine had not meet Leslie, the next morning, without trepidation. overrun one end with a profusion of foliage; a few trees He had made the disclosure. threw their branches gracefully over it; and I observed “And how did sthe bear t I several pots of flowers tastefully disposed about the door, ” Like an anel! It seemed rather to be a relief to her Sand on the grass plot in front. A small wicket-gate mind, for she threw her arms round my neck, and asked opened upon a footpath that wound thirough some shrubbery if this was all that had lately made me unhliappy.-But, to the door. Just as we approached, we heard thile sound poor girl,” added he, “she cannot realize the change we of music-Leslie grasped my arm; we paused and listenmust undergo. She has no idea of poverty but in the ab- ed. It was Mary’s voice, singing, in a style of the most stract: she has only read of it in poetry, where it is al- touching simplicity, a little air of which her husband was lied to love. She feels as yet no privation: she suffers no peculiarly fond. loss of accustomed conveniencies nor elegancies. When I felt Lcslie’s hand tremble on my arm. Ile stepped wve come practically to experience its sordid cares, its pal- forward, to hear more distinctly. His step made a noise try wants, its petty humiliations-then will be the real on the gravel walk. A bright beautiful face glanced out trial.” at the window, and vanished-a light footstep was heard “But,” stid I, “now that you have got over the severest -and Mary came tripping forth to meet us. Sihe was inl ask, that of breaking it to her, the sooner you let the a pretty rural dress of white; a few wild flowers were world into tihe secret the better.

The disclosure may be twisted in her fine air; a fresh liloom was on her cheek; niortifying; but then it is a single misery, and soon over; her whole countenance beamed with smiles-I had never whereas you otherwise suffer it, in anticipation, every hour seen her look so lovely. in the day. It is not poverty, so much as pretence, that “My dear George,” cried she, “I am so glad you are harasses a ruined man-the struggle between a proud come; I have been watching and watching for you; and mind and an empty purse-the keeping up a hollow show running down the lane, and looking out for you. I’ve set that must soon come to an end. Have the courage to out a table under a beautiful tree behind the eottae; and appear poor, and you disarm poverty of its sharpest sting.” I’ve been gathering some o’f the most delicious strawber On this point I found Leslie perfectly prepared. Ite had ries, for I know you are fond of thle-mand we have such no false pride himself, and as to his wife, she was only excellent cream-and every thing is so sweet and still anxious to conform to their altered fortunes. here.Oh!” said she, putting her arm within his, and Some days afterwards, he called upon me in the even looking up brightly in his face, ” Oh, we shall lie so happy! [lg. He had disposed of his dwelling-house, and taken Poor LIeslie was overeoriie.-He cauighlt her to his bosom a small cottage in the country, a few niles from town. -lhe folded his armns round her he kissed.ier again and He had been busied all day in sending out furniture. The again-lhe could not speak, but the tears g ushled into his rnw establishment required few articles, and those of the I eyes; and lie has often assured me, that though the worLD simplest kind. All the splendid furiuitue of his late resi- has since gone prosperously with him, and his life has ill deuce had been sold, excepting his wife’s 1i’iiii That le deed beer a happy one, yet never lias he experienced a ia. x was too closely associated with tbe idel of lrs’elf; {i heoniaht of mnore extuesite felicitv. 48 THE MIRROR

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T HE E P I CURE AN. BY THIOMAS Y’I.)V. A LETTER TO THE TRANSLATOR, FROM, EsQ. Cairo, Jo 19,180. Mr D]EAR SIR, DURING a visit lately paid by me to the monastery of St. Macarius-which is situated, as you know, in the Vallev ot the Lakes of Natron-I was lucky enough to obtain possession of a curious Greek manuscript, which, in the hope that you may be irnduced to translate it, I herewith transmit to you. Observing one of the monks very busily occupied in tearing ip into a variety of fantastic shapes some papers which had the appearance of being the leaves of old books, I inquired of him the meaning of his task, and received the following explanation: The Arabs, it seems, who are as fond of pigeons as the ancient Egyptians, have a superstitious notion that, if they place in their pigeon-houses small scraps of paper, written over with learned characters, the birds are always sure to thrive the better for the charm; and the monks, who are never slow in profiting by superstition, have, at all times, a supply of such amulets for purchasers. In general, the fathers of the monastery have been in the habit of scribbling these fragments themselves; but a discovery lately made by them, saves all this trouble. Having dug up (as my informant stated) a chest of old manullscripts, whnich, being chiefly on the subject of alchemy, must have been buried in the time of Dioclesian, “we thought,” added the mork, “that we could not employ such rubbish more properly, than in teariing it uip, as you see, for the pigeon-hotises of the Arabs.” Oin my expriessirng a wvish to rescue some part of these treasures from the fatte to which his indolent fraternity had (consigned them, he produced the manuscript which I have now the pleasure of sending you-the only one, hlie said, remaining entire-and I very readily paid the price which hlie demanded for it. You will find the story, I think, not altogether uninteresting; a(id the (,)incidence, in many respects, of the curious details in Chapter VI., with the description of the same ceremonies in the Romance of Sethos, wil, I have no doubt. strike you. Hoping that you may be induced to give a translation of this Tale to the world, I am, my dear Sir, very truly yours. siderablc increase of zeal and activity, throughout the consti ttuted authorities and priesthood of the whole Heathen world. What was wanting in sincerityofbeliefwas made up in rigour; -the w,eakest parts of the Mythology were those, of course, most angrily defended, and any reflections, tending to bring Saturn, or his rtkife Ops, int o contempt, were punished with the utmost seere(ity of the law. Iii this state of andtiws, be t ween the ralarme d bi got ry o f the declining Fait th ad the simple, s u bl ime austerity of her teal. it was not apoinderful that those lovers of ease and pleasure,m who ha d n o interest, reversionar y o r ot herwise, in the old religion, and %Aere too indolent to i nquire into the sancti ons o f the new, should take r efilge f rom th e se verities of both in the arms of a luxurious philosophy, which, leavin g to other s the task of disputing about the future, centred a ll its w isdom in the full enjoyment of then pr esent. The sectaries of th e Gar den had, ever since the Gdeath of their founder, beben ac cust omed to dedicate to his memory the twentieth day of ever i month. To these monthly rites had, for some t i me, been added a grand ainnudlal Festi val, i n commemoration of his birth. The feasts given on this o c cas i onu b my pred ecessors in the Chair, had been invariably distinguislo – ed for their taste alnd splendour; and it was my ambition, hno t merely to imitate this example, bu t e ven t o render the anniversary, now celebrated und er my au spi ces, so lively and brilliant as to efface the recollection of all that had preceded it. Seldom, indeed, had Athens witnessed so bright a scene. The grounds that formed the original site of the Garden had received, from time to time, considerable additions; and the whole extent was now laid out with that perfect taste, which understands how to wed Nature with Art, without sacrificing any of her simplicity to the alliance. Walks, leading through wildernesses of shade and fragrance-glades, opening, as if to afford a play-ground for the sunshine-temples, rising on the very spots where Imagination herself would have called them up, and fountains and lakes. in alternate motion and repose, either wantonly courting the verdure, or calmly sleeping in its embrace-such was the variety of feature that divers,ified thes IT was in the fourth year of the reign of the late Emperor Valeilan, that the fl)llowers of Epicurus, who were at that time numerous in Athens, proceeded to the election of a person to fill the vacant Chair of their sect;-and, by the unanimous voice of the School, I was the individual chosen for their Chief. I wias just then entering on my twenty-fiourth year, and no instance had ever before occurred, of a person so young being selected for that high office. Youth, however, and the person al advantages that adorn it, could not but rank among the most ag reeable recommen d ations t o a sect that included within its c ircl e all the beauty as well as the w it of Athe ns, and which, though dignifying,its pursuits with the name of philosophy, was little el se t ha n a plausible pretext for the mor e refined cultivation of pleasure. The character of the sect had, indeed, much changed since the time of its wise and virtuous founder, who, while he asserted that Plea-rare is the only Good, inculcated also that Good is the only source of Pleasure. The purer part of this doctrine had long evaporated, and the temperate Epicurus would have c-s little recognised his own sect in the assemblage of refined voluptuaries w ho now usurped its name, as he would have k noew chis ownd quiet Garden in the luxurious groves and bowers among w, hiclh the meetings of the School were now held. M,ny causes concurred, at this period, besides the attractiveness of its doctrines, to render our School by far the most popular of arv that still survived the glory of Greece. It may generally be observed, that the prevalence, in one half of a community, of very rigid notions on the subject of religion, produces the opposite extreme of laxity and infidelity in the otler; and this kind of re-action it was that now mainly contributed to render the doctrines of the Garden the most fashionable philosophy of the day. The rapid progress of the Christian faith had alarmned all those, who, either from piety or worldliness, were interested in the continuance of the old established creed-all who believed in the Deities of Olympus, and all whio lived. by them. The natural consequence was, a con I I I CHAPTER I.

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50 TH MIRRLBAY [ir gardens; and, animated as they were on this occasion, by all the living wit and loveliness of Athens, it afforded a scene such as my own youthful fancy, rich as it was then in images of luxiry and beauty, could hardly hlve anticipated. The c-remonies of the day began w th the very dawn, mwhen, wccordiiig to the form of simpler and better times, those among i the disci-les who had apartments within the Garden, bore the i image of our Founider in procession from chamber to chamber, l chanting ver.es in praise of w hat had long ceased to be objects of our imitation-his frugality and telmperance. Round a beautiful lake, in the centre of the Garden, stood four white Doric temples, in one of which was collected a library containiti, all the flowers of Grecian literature; while, in the rem-lining three, Coniiversation, the Song, and the Dance, held, unintenrrupted by each other their respective rites. In the Library stood busts of all the most illustrious Epicureans, both ou Rome and Greece-Horace, Atticis, Pliiiy the elder, the poet Ltucretiuts, Lucian, and the lhtmeiited biographer of the Philosophers, lately lost to us, Diogenes LaertiLs. There. were also the portraits, in maible, oft all the eminent female votaries of the School-Leontiutm and her fir daughter Danae, Themistae, Phil Eis, and others. It was here that, ill my capacity of Her-esiarch, on the morn ing oi the Festival, I received the felicitations of the day from sonme of the fairest lips of Athens; and, in pronouncing the custoroaty oration to the ineni,iry of oitr Master (in which it was usual to dwell utpo2 the doctrines l ihe had inculcated,) en deavoured to attain that art, so useful before such an audience, of lending to the grav est subjec(ts it charm, which secures them listeners even amnoi, the simplest and most volatile. Though studv, as may be slipposedl, engrossed but little the nights or mornings of the Garden, yet all the lighter parts of learning that portion ot its attic honey, f r which the bee is not compelled to go very deep into the flower-was somewhat zealously cultivated by us. Even here, however, the young studetit had to encounter that kind of distraction, which is, of all others, the least fas vo alt to composure of thought; and, with more than on o of iyv fait disciples there used to occur such scenes as the followinig, which a poet of the Garden, tak ing his picture from the life, thus described:m It may seem stwatge th a t I sh ould now dwell upon all th et triflinig details; but they were to rne full of the future; and every thing connected witlh that memorable night even its long,-repented follies-I-must for ever live fondly and sacredly in my memory. The festival concluded withi a banquet, a, which, as master of the Sect, I presided; and being, imyselt. il every sense, the ascendant spilit of the whole scene, gat;e life to all around me, and saw my own happiness r-eflectedl in that of others. THE festiva was over;-the s ounds of the s ong and daned had ceased, and I was now left in th o se luxurious g ardens alme. Though so ardent and ac tive a votary of l Tleasuze, had by nature, a disposition ful l o f me lancholy;-a n imagisn ation teat, even in the mi dst of mirth a nd happinfess, presentehe saddening thoughts, and threw the shado w of t he future over the gayest illusions of the present.

Melancholy was, i ndeed, twill-born in my soul with Passion; and not esven in the fullest fervour of the latter were they ever separated. From the first moment that I was conscious of thought and feeling, the same dark thread had run across the web; and images of death and annihilation came to mingle themselves with even the most smiling scenes through which love and enjoyment led me. My very passion for pleasure but deepened these gloomy thoughts. For, shut out, as I was by my creed, from a futriie life, and having no hope beyond the narrow horizon of this, every minute of earthly delight assumed, in my eyes a motir,i ful preciousness; and pleasure, like the flower of the ceme tery, grew but more luxuriant from the neighbourhood of death. This very night my triumph, my happiness, had seemed complete. I had been the presiding genius of that voluptu ous scene. Both my ambition and my love of pleasurie had (lrurnl; deep of the rich cup for which they thirsted. Look;,t tip to as I was bv the learned, and admired and loved 1),y tlhe I)ealtiftil and the young, I had seen, in every eye that mlet mine, either the acknowledgment of bright triumphs aiready won, or the promise of others, still brighter, that aw aited me.

Yet, even in the midst of all this, the same dark thou(ghIts had presented themselves;-the perishableness or myself and all around me had recurred every instant to my mind. Those hands I had prest-those eyes, in which I had seen sparnk ling a spirit of lighat and life that ought never to die-those voi(es, thatt had spoken of eternal love-all, all I felt, were but a mockerl of the moment, and wsould leave nothing eterna. but the silence of their dust! ‘As o’er the lake, in evening’s glow, That tele threw its lengtiheiing shade, Upon. the marble stems below There sate a fair Corinlthiani mnaid, Gracefully o’er som volume ben dling; Whlile,, by her sid, tlhe youthful Sage field back her ringlets, lest,,!csccnltale They shotllf o’er-shlad,ow all the aage.” But it was for the evening of that day, that the richest ofour luxuries were reserved. Every part of the Garden was illuminated, with the most skilful variety of lustre; while over the Lake of the Temples were scattered wreathsi of flovwers, through which boats, filled with beautiful children, floated, as tbrough a liquid parterre. Between two of these boats a mock combat was perpetually carried on;-their respective commnanders, two blooming youths, beiug habited to represent Eros and Anteros: the for mer, the Celestial Love of the Patonists, and the latter, that more earthly spirit, which usurps the name of Love among the Fgpicueans. Throu.ohout the whole evening their conflict was maintained with various success; the timid distance at which Eros kept aloof from his lively antagonist lcitg his only saeguard against those darts of fire, with showers of which the other assailed him, but which, falling short of their mark upon the lake, only scorched the few flowers on which they fell, and were extinguished. In another part of the gardens, on a wide,,lade, illuminated only by the mooni, was performed an imitation of the torch-race of the Panathensea by young boys chosen for their fleetness, and arrayed with wings, like Cupids; while, not far off, a group of seven nymphs, with each a star on her forehead, represented the movements of the planetary choir, and embodied he dream of Pythagoras into real motion and song. At every turning some new enchantment broke unexpectedly on the eye or ear; and now, from the depth of a dark grove, from which a fountain at the same time issued, there came a strain of sweet music, which, mingling with the murmur of the water, seemed like the voice of the spirit that presided over its flow; while, at other times, the same strain appeared to come breathing from among flowers, or was heard suddenly from under ground, as if the foot had just touched some spring filat s,t its lnel,dy in motion. Oha, were i t not for this said voice, Stealingr amid our mirth to say, That all ill wllich we mtost rejoice, Ere,ight may be the earth,-worm’s prey; Buit for thits bitter only this  Full as the world is briimmiii’d with bliss, And capled as Ice,Is my soul Off drainling to its dIcptlh the whole, I shld turn earth to heaven, and be, If bliss m ade gods, a deity! Such woais the description I gave of my own feelings in one of those wild, passionate songs, to which this mixture of mirthl and mnelanicholy, in a spirit so buoyant, naturally gave birth. And seldom had my heart so fully surrendered itself to this solrt f vaEue sadness -is at that very moment, Adwhen as I paced thoughtftllyv among the fading lights and flowers of the banquiet, the echo of my own step was all that now sounded, where so many gav forms had lately been revelling. The moon was still bkp, tuhe montinglwi had not yet glimmere d, aind the calm glories of the night still rested on all around. Unconscious whither my pa-ithwtay led, I continued to wainder along, till I, at length, found mvself before that fair statue of Ventus, with which the chisel of Alcamenes had embellished our Garden;-that image of deified woman, the only idol to which I had ever yet bent the knee. Leaning aagainst tie pedestal of the statue, I raised my eyes to heaven, and fixing them sadly and intently on the ever-b,,rning star-s, -s if seeking to read the mournful secret in their light, asked, where. fore was it that Man alone must fade and perish, while thev so much less wonderful, less godlike than he, thus still, lived on in radiance unchangeable and for ever!’ Oh, that there were some spell, some talisman,” I exclaimed, ” to mak!;e the spirit that burns within us deathless as those stars, and open I 50 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. — P CHAPTER

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-~~~~~~~~H EPCREN 5 to it a career like theirs, as bright and inextinguishable throughout all time!” While thus indulging in wild and melancholy fancies, I felt that lassitude which earthly pleasure, however sweet, still leaves behind, come insensibly over me, and at length sunk at the base of the statue to sleep. But even in sleep, the same fancies continued to haunt mie; and a dream, so distinct and vivid, as to leave behind ,t the impression of reality, thus presented itself to my mind. I fiound myself suddenly transported to a wide and desolate plain, where nothing appeared to breathe, or move, or live. The very sky that hung above it looked pale and extinct, Wiving the idea, not of darkness, but of light that had be come dead;-and had that whole region been the remains of some older world, left broken up and sunless, it could not inave presented an aspect more quenched and desolate. The only tihing that bespoke life, throughout this melancholy vwaste, was a small spark of light, that at first glimmered in the distance, but, at length, slowly approached the bleak spot where I stood. As it drew nearer, I could see that its small but steady gleam came from a taper in the hand of an ancient and venerable mall, who now stood, like a pale messenger from the grave, before me.

After a few moments of awful i silence, during which he looked at me with a sadness that thrilled my very soul, he said “Thou, who seekest eternal life, go unto the shores of the dark Nilego unto the shores of the dark Nile, and thou wilt find the eternal life thou seekest! ” No sooner had he uttered these words than the death-like hue of his cheek at once brightened into a smile of more than earthly promise; while the small torch he held in his handl sent forth a glow of radiance, by which suddenly the whole surface of the desert was illuminated;-the light eapraltdi d even to th e d ist an t horizon’s edge, along who se ie I could nows s e e oardens, palaces, and spires, all as imp;lctt a, the rich architectur e of the clouds at sun set. S weet mu. tic, too, c ame float ing c in every direction through the air, ASIA,m al l sides, such varieties of enchantment broke upon n, thait, with th ee aie excess alike of harmony and of radiance, I awokee. That infidels should be superstitious is an anomaly neither iJnu.uual nor strange. A belief in superhuman agency seems na,-tura-l and necessary to the mind; and, if not suffered to tfow ii] the obvious cdi,nnels, it will find a vent in some other. H-1 -nce, m,ay wl -l hae~ doubted the existence of a God, have yet implici tlv placed themselves under the patronage. of Fate or the stars.

Much the same inconsistency I was conscious of in mv own ii feelings. Thou h rejecting all belief in a Divine Providence, I had vw t a faith inl drcans, that all my philo,sophy could not c(mqlmier. Nor was experience itwantilng to confirm me in my delusion; for, by some )f those accidental coiicidences, which make the fortune of soothsayers and prophets, dreams, more than once, had been to me Thus fondly did I sometimes speculate, in those moods of mind, when the life of excitement in which I wa engaged, acting upon a warm heart and vivid fancy, produced an intoxication of spirit, during which I was not wholly my self. This bewilderment, too, was not a little increased by the constant struggle I experienced between my own natural feelings, and the cold, mortal creed of my sect-in endeavouning to escape from whose deadening bondage I but brokw loose into the realms of fantasy and romance. Even in my sobers st moments, however, that strange ritsion for ever haunted me; and every effort I made to chase it from my recollection was unavailing. The deliberate conclusion, therefore, to which I at last c ame, was, t hat to visit Egypt was now my only resource; that without seeing that land of wonders, I could net rest, nor until convinced of my folly by disappointment, be reasoniiable.

Without delay, accordingly, I announced to my friends of the Garden, the intention I had formed to pay a visit to the land of Pyramids. To none of them, however, did I dare to confess the vague, visionary impulse that actuated men; knowledge being the object that I alleged, while Plcasure was that for which they gave me credit. The interests of the School, it was feared, might suffer by my absence; and there were some tenderer ties, which had still more to fear from separation. But for the former inconvenience a temporary remedy’ wa3 provided; while the latter a skilful distribution of vows and sighs allb viated. Being furnished with recoinmendatory letters to Eli parts of Egypt, I set sail in the summer of the year 257, A. D., for Alexandria. To one, who so well knew how to extract pleasure from every moment on land, a sea-voyage, however smooth and favourable, appeared the least ag,reeal)le mode of losing time that could be devised. Often, indeed, did my imagination in passing some isle of those seas, people it with fair forms and loving hearts, to which most willingly would I have paused to offer homage. But the wind blew direct towards the land of Mystery; and, still more, I heard a voice witlii me, whispering f(,r ever, ” On.” As we approached the coast of Egypt, our course betcam,le less prosperous; and we hal a specimen of the benevolence of the divinities of the Nile, in the shape of a storm, or rather whirlwN ind, which had nearly sunk our vessel, and which the Egyptians on board declared to be the work- of their deity, Ty phon. After a day and night of danger, during which we were driven out of our course to the eastwa J, some benigner influ ence prevailed above; and, at length, as the morning freshly broke, we saw the beautiful city of Alexandria rising from the sea, with its proud Palace of Kings, its portico of four hun. dred columns, and the fi- Pillar of Pillars, towering in the midst to heaven.

After passing in review this splendid vision, we shot rapidly round the Rock of Pharos, and, in a few minutes, found our selves in the harbour of Eunostus. The sun had risen, but the light on the Great Tower of the Rock was still burning; and there was a languor in the first wakling movements of that voluptuous city whose houses and temples lay shining in silence around the harbour-that sulfficiently attested the festivities of the preceding night. We were soon landed on the quay; and, as I walked through a line of palaces and shrines, up the street which leads from the sea to the Gate of Canopus, fresh as I was from the contemplation of my own lovely Athens, I yet felt a glow of admiration at the scene around me, which its novel ty, even more than its magnificence, inspired. Nor were the luxuries and delights, which such a city promised, among the least of the considerations upon which my fancy dwelt On the contrary, every thing around me seemed prophetic of love and pleasure. The very forms of the architecture, to my Epicurean imagination, appeared to call up images of living grace; and even the dim seclusion of the temples andi groves spoke only of tender mysteries to my mind. As the w hole bright scene grew animated around me, I felt that though Egypt might not enable me to lengthen life, abe could teach the next bet art-that of multiplying its enjo ments. The population of Alexandria, at this period, consisted of the most motley rmiscellany of i aations, religions an d c see that had ever been orought together in ne city. Beside Oracles, truer far than oak, Or dove, or tripod, ever spoke. It was not wonderful, therefore, that the vision of that night -touching, as it did, a chord so ready to vibrate-should have affected me with more than ordinary power, and even sunk deeper into my memory with every effort I made to for get it. Il,-ain did I mock at m; own weakness; suclh self derision is seldom siic le. In vatiin did I pursue my accus tomed pleasures. Their zest w*as, as usual, for ever new but still, in the midst of all my cenjoymenit, came the cold and saddenln g Consciousness of imior-tatity, and, with it, the recol tection of that vsiptoliary promise, to which my fawicy, in defiance of reason, st ill continue d to cling. At times indulging in reveries, that were little else than a continuation of my dream, I evencontemplated the possible existence of some mighty secret, by which youth, if not perpetuated, mig,ht be at least prolonged, and that dreadful vicinity of death, within whose circle love pines and pleasure sickens, might be for a while asserted. ” Who knows,” I would ask, “but that in Egypt, that region of wonders, where Mystery hath yet unfolded but half her treasures-when still remain, undeciphered, upon the pillars of Seth, so many written secrets of the antediluvian world who can tell but that some powerful charm, some amulet, may there lie hid, whose discovery, as this phantom bath promised, but awaits my corn ing-some compound of the same pure atoms, that form the ersence of the iving stars, and whose infusion into the frame of mmn might tender him also unfading and immortal!” 51 THE

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 5~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~..... the school of the Grecian Platonist was seen the oratory of the cabalistic Jew; wc.ile the church of the Christian stood, undisturbed, over the crypts of the Egyptian Hieropliant. Here, the adorer of Fire, from the East, laughed at the less elegant superstition of the worshipper of cats, from the West.

Here Christianity, too, had learned to emulate the pious vagaries of Paganism; and while, on one side, h t er Ophite professor was seen bending his knee gravely before a serpent, on the other, a Nicosian Christian was heard contending, with no less ravity, that there could be no chance whatever of salvation out of the pale of the Greek alphabet. Still worse, the unrcharitableness of Christian schism was already, with equal vigour, distinguishing itself; and I heard evewry where, on my arrival, of the fierce rancour and hate, with wlhic(h the Greek and Latin churchmen were then persecutinz each other, because, forsooth, the one fasted on the seventh day of the week, and the others fasted upon the fourth and sixth!

To none, however, of these different creeds and sects, except in as far as thev furnished food for ridicule, had I time to pay much attention. I was now in the most luxurious city of the universe, and accordingly gave way, without reserve, t o th e v arious seducti ons that surrounded me. mly d reputation, both as a philosopher and a man of pleasure, had preceded mv coming; and Alexandria, the secorni Athliet of the world, welcomed me as her own. I found my celebrity, in,deed, art as a talisman, that opened all hearts anlt doors at my approach. The usual novitiate of acquaiwta,~c, Xas dispensed with in my favotir, and not only intimacies, but loves and friendships, ripened as rapi(llv in my path, as vegetation raprings up where the Nile has flowed. The dark beauty of the l,;gyptiani women possessed a novelty in my ey,,s that ellhancedl its other charms; and the hue left b)y the sti., o01 theqir rounded cheeks seemed but an earnest of the geni~il urilot he must have kindled in their hearts more enlivened myself, or succeded better in infusing lif e an d gaiety into others.

Among the co m pan y were some Greek women, who a, – cording to -he fashion of their country, wore veils; but, at; usual, ather to set offton than to conceal their beaut y, sowa i bright gleams of which were constantly escaping from ul,lt,-X the cloud. There w as, h owever, ourne femal e, who parti(larly attracted my attention, on wrhose head wa s a chaple of dark-coloured flowe rs, and who sa t veiled an d silent duiing the whole of t he banqu et. She to ok no s hare, I o bse rved, in wh at was passingt around: t nc the iands and the wine wen, by her untouched, nor did a word that was spoken s ee m ad dre ssed to her car. This abstraction from a scen e s o spar k ling with gaiety, though a ppa rently unnoticed b, any one but myself, st r uck me a3 mysterious and stranete. I inquireb of my fair neighb)dour the cause of it, but she lo ok ed grave, and was silent. In e ai th tl y the meau time, the lyre d the cup w en t round; and a young maid from Athpns, ase if iunspiren by the presence of her countryman, took her lute,;l d sungl to it some of the songs of Greece, with a warinth of feeling that bor e me back to tho banks of the Ilisus, an(l, even in the bosom of present plea sure, drew a sigh from n my b nheart for that which had passed away. It was day-break ere our deligse nted p arty rose, and most unwillingly ro-tmbarkd ocl to return to the city. We were scarce afloat, when it wa s disco vered that the lute of the young Athenia n had been left behind; and, w i th a heart still full of its swee t sotendm, I most re adily spramy on shore to seek it. I hastened at once to the banquet-roolo, which was now dim and solitary, except that there, to my utter asto n ish ment, was still aseate d that silent figure, wh ich had awakened so much my curiosity during the evening. A vague feeling of awe came over m,;, as I now slowly appr oasched it. There was no motion, no sounmd of br eathin g in t hat form;-not a leaf of the dark chaplet upon its brow s ti rred. By the light of a dyi ng la mp w hich stood on the tab le befd)r, the figur e, I raised, with a hesit atin g hand, the veil; andi s aw v -what my fncy ad already aticipated-that m vsthe shape underneath was lifeless, w as a skeleton! Star tled and shocked, I hurrie d back with the lute to the boat, anI td was nlmost ai silent as th at shape i tself du ring the remainder of the voyage. This custom among the Egyptians o f placing at muIminy, or skeleton, at the banquet-table, had been for soren, time dis used, except at particular ceremonies; and, even onl such occasions, it had bee n the practice of the luxurious Alexasdrianls to disguise this memorial of mortality in the manncr just dedescribed. But to me, who waas wholly ue prepalred for such a spectacle, it gave a shock from which my imagination did not speedily recovee. This silent and ghasvtly witness ofmirty. seemed to embody, as it were, the shadow in my own heart. The features of the grave were thus stamped u,cn tile idea that had longli hauniited me, and this picture of what I was to be now associated itself constantly with the sunniest aspect of what I was. The memory of the dream now recurred to me more livelily than even The bright, assuring smile of that venerable Spi rit, and his words, ” Go to the shores of the dark Nile, and thou wilt find the eternal life thou seekest,” were for ever present to my mind. But as yet, alas, I had done nothing towards realizing the proud promise. Alexandria was not Egypt;-the very soil on which it now stood was not in ex istence, when already Thebes and Memphis had numbered ages of glory. “No,” I exclaimed; ” it is only beneath the Pyramids of M’emplhis, or in the nmystic Halls of the Labyrinth, those holy arcane a~re to be found, of which the antediluvian world has made Egyjpt its heir, and among which blest thought! the key to eternal life may lie.”

Having formed my determination, I took leave of my man* Alexandrian friends, and departed for Memphis. Some weeks had now pas sed ini such constan t In everchangirg pleasures, that even the melanchlol y voice deep within my healrt, th,)tzh it still ~pooke, was but seldom listenied to, abil “antl l)( )ie a t,v i n t he sou nd of the siren sonks that surrmoundel me. At lenth. as the novelty of these -aly scenes wore off, the same wahice a nw nalo t wm boaning began to mingle with all my joys; and a incident th at occurredl, at this time, during one ofmy ga yest revels, c elIsonced still m, tre to deepen their gloom. Thie celebration of the annual festival of m fa Seraepis happened to tahie place during m y s tay, and I was, more than once, induced to m ini ngle w ith the gay multitudes that f locked to the shrine at Canopus on the occasion. Day and right, as long,as thi s festival las ted, th e great canal, wh, whlich ed from Alexandria to Canopus, was covered with boats full of pilgrims of b,’,th sexes, all hastening:o a-rail t~mlselves of this pious license, which lent the zest of a religious sanietioni to pleasure, and scave a holyday to the follies and passions of earth, in h,: sioilr of heaven. I wva! returning, one lovely night, to Alexandriat. The north wind, that welcome visiter, had cooled and freshened the air, while the banks, on either side of the stream, sent forth, from groves of orange and henna, the most delicious odours. As 1 had left all the crowd behind me at Canopus, there was not a boat to be seen on the canal but my own; and I wsas just yielding to the thoughts which solitude at such an hour insF’res, when my reveries were suddenly broken by the sound >f some female voices, coming mingledcl with laughter and screams, from the garden of a pavilion, that stood, brilliantly illuminated, upon the bank of the canal. Oil rowing nearer, I perceived that both the mirth and the alarm had been caused by the efforts of some playful girls to !each a hedge of jasmine which grew near the water, and in bending towards which they had nearly fallen into the stream. Hastening to proffer my assistance, I soon recognisecl the voice of one of my fair Alexandrian friends; and, springing on the bank, was surrounded by the whole group, who insisted on my joining their party in the pavilion: and, having flung around me, as fetters, the tendrils of jasmine, which thev had just plucked, conducted me, no unwilling captive, to the banquet-room. I found here an assemblage of the very flower of Alexandrian society. Tile unexpectedness of the meeting added new test to it on both sides; and seldom had I ever felt EGYPT was, perhaps, of all othl,rs, the country most calcu lated, from that mixture of the melancholy and the voluptu ous, which marked the character of her people, her religion, and her scenery, to affect deeply a fancy and tempeoiment like mine, and keep both forever tremblingly alive.

Whereever I turned, I beheld the desert and the garden, mingling together their desolation and bloom. I sawv the love-bowei and the tomb Sanding side by side, as if, in that land, Plea 32 4 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Thl imb,.wni,,g of the fruit, that tell,, How rich witl,,In t.e soul of.,,,t.es., dwell,. CHAPTER IV.

Page 53 view page image annihilated, while pyramids endure? Oh, Death, Death. even upon these everlasting tablets-the only approach to immortality that kings themselves could purchase-thou hast written our doom awfully, and intclligibly, saying,’ There is for man no eternal mansion, but the grave!’” My heart sunk at the thought; and, for the moment, I yielded to that desolate feeling, which overspreads the soul that hath no light from the future.

But again the buoyancy of my nature prevailed, and again, the willing dupe of vaiti dreams, I deluded myself into the belief of all that my heart most wished, with that happy facility which enables imagiina tion to stand in the place of happiness. “Yes,” I cried, ” immortality must be within man’s reach, and, as wisdom alone is 1 orthly of such a lilessitig, to the wise alone must the secret have been revealed. It is said, that deep under yonder pyramid, has lain for ages concealed the Table of Eme ral, on which the Thrice-Great Hermes, in times before the flticod, engraved the secret of Alchemy, whiich gives gold at will. Why, then, may not the mightier, the more god-like secret, that gives life at will, be recorded there also?

It Te,as t)y the iowie,r of gold, of endless gold, that the kings, who n1 ow iIelose in those massy structures, scooped earth to its very centrt, and raised quarries into the air, to provide toti themselv s tombs that might outstand the world. Who (c-i tell ]l)it that the gift of immortaslity was also theirs? who knioows ])tit tlhat tli: y thliemselves, triumphant over decay, stili live;-tlios( migity mansionis, which we call tombs, being r ic h aid ev erlasting palaces, within whose depths, concealed from this witheriug world, they still watder, withi the few eI 1c t wh, lhave been sihareis of their gift, throughl a sunless, lout I Xt r illnminated, clysium of their own? Else, Xherefore tlioi.e striuctuires?

lwherefore that subterranean realm,by which the wii}ol’ valle( of Egypt is uni(lernitue I? Why, else, those labyrinths, which InoTIe of eat th hitth e eri beheld-which note of heaven, e-xI(‘I)lt tha t Gol, A ho stands, a itli finger on his htlushe(?d lip, lhttl crer tr-oddc(n’! Vhlile thus I iilg(Lc(d in folid dreams, the sun, already half snotfk beneathl the horizIi, ss taokin calmlv and glori ously, his last look of the 1yntmidls-as hlie hi,l doiie, evening after evening, f)r ates, till they had grown finsiliar to him as the earth itself. O the sid(le totrne(d to lihs ray tlhey tow presented a front of dItzzliii w itenl, c svllil(, li tl-i, other, their great sha(lws., leawithetiii way to thit eastNard, looked like the first stepis if ig.t, hi:;te)ifg to enivelope thie hills of Araby ill he(rl slin,tde. No sooner had the last gleamn of the sun (lisaplpea re,l, than. on every house-top in Mem-phis, gay, gild d ( iiaers we re seen waving aloft, to proclaiim his setting,, while, at tlhe same moment, a ftill burst of harmonoiy was head(l to ptea! froin all the temples along the shores. Startled from my mulsings by these sound.s, I at once reol lected, that, on that very evening, thi( grreat f(,stiva-l of the Moon] was to be celebrated. On a. little Ish i, half-itay over between the gardens of Memphis and the eastern shores stood the temple of that goddess, sure and Death kept hourly watch upon each other. In the very luLxury of the climate there was the same saddening influence. The monotonous snlen(lour of the days, the solemn radiance of the nights-all tended to cherish that ardent melancholy, the offspring of passion and of thought, which had bee as o long th e familiar inmate of my soul. When I sailed from Alexandria, the inundation of the Nile was at its full. The whole valley of Egypt lay covered by its blood; and, as, looking around me, I saw in the light of the setting sun, shrines, palaces, and monuments, encircled by the waters, I could almost fancy that I beheld the sinking island of Atalantis, on the last evening its temples were visible above the wave. Such varieties too, of aniimationi as preoented themselves on every side! While, far s sight could reach, beneath as clear And blue a heaven as ever bless’d this sphere, Gardens, and pillar’d streets, and porphyry domes, And high-built temples, fit to be the homes Of mighty gods-and pyra..ids, whose hour Outlasts all time, above the waters tower!

Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy that inake One theatre of this vast peopled lake, Where all that Love, Religion, Com.,merce gives Of life and motion, ever imoves and lives. Here, tap the steps of temples, from. the wave Asceniding, in procession slow a..d grave, Priests, in whi te gar mnts, go, with sacred wands And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands: While, there, rich barks-fresh frion thos,, sunny tracts Far off, bevond the sounding cataractsGlide iswith their precious lading, to tie sea, Plume,ns of bright birds, rhinoceros’ ivory, Genl.-s f:o the Isle of Meroe, an.I those grains Of gold, wash’d downv by Abyssinianl rains. Here, where the waters wind into a bay Shadowy and cool, some pilgrims on their way To Sais or Bubastus, among beds Of lotus-flowers, that close above their heads, Push their light barks, and ],id, as in a bower Singf, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour; While, haply, not far off, beneath a bank Of h) s,so.ning acacias, manlv a p,rank i’ play’d in the cool current by a train Ofa i nyimphsl, lovely as she, whose chain Aron tidl tw o onquerors of the world was cast, But, for a third too feeble, broke at last!

Enchanted zenith the whole scene, I lingered delightedly on my voyage, visiting all those luxurious and venerable places, whose names have been consecrated by the wonder of ages. At Sais I was present during tlhe Festival of Lamps, and read, by the blaze of innumerable lig,hts, those sublime words on the temple of Neitha:-” I am all that has been, that is, atil that will be, and no man hath ever lifted my veil.” I wandered among the prostrate obelisks of Heliopolis, and saw, not without a igh, the sun smiling over her ruins, as if in mockery of the miss of per ishable grandeur, that had once called itself, in its pride, The City of the Sun.”

But to the Isle of tihe Golden Veisis was, I own, mv fondest pilgrimage;-andI there, as I rambled through its shades, where bowers are the only temples, I felt how far more worthy to form the shrine of a Deity are the ever-living stems of the garden and the grove, than the moe -.?ciois columns the inanimate quarry can supply. Every onere new pleasures, new interests Baaite d me; and thouith Melancholv stood, as usual, for ever tiear, Aher shadow fell but half-way o ver my va,r-tnt path, leavin, the rest but more wselcoinel- brilliant from the contrast.

To rela t e fmy various adventures, duiriti this short voyage, would only le- tain me from events, fir, fair more wotthiy of record. Amidst I all thi e lss variety of attrations, the great object of m y journey hadt been fiorgotten;-the mystc ies of this land of the sun still rem tined, to me, as much mvsteries as ever, and as yet 1 bad bh ee ititiate(l in nothin,r but its pleasures. It aas not till tirt nmems orable evening, when I first stoold i) foce ilthe Iramis of Memphi, and bI)eheld them towering aloft, like the saitch-ti)awers of Time, from whose summit, ashen about to expire, he will lolok his last-it was not till this momnent that the re’tt secret a,ioounced in my dream agai n rose, in all its insertaitl)le drlkess upon my thoughits. Tiere was a solemiitv in the sulnshine r,stitg upon those monuments -a stillness, as of reve rence, in the air that breathed a r oaund them, which seemed to steal, like the music of past times, into my heart. I thiou ht vwh-tt myriads iof the wise, the beau- 1 tiful, and the brare. hl -l s’l;-iit:) dlt since earth first saw those wondlers; aida ii the “i l-li.is of my soul, I exclaimed, — ” Must man alon.e, thlen. p lrish. m:st minds and he ti’ts be whos e bea ms Bring the sweet time of nig ht-fiow crs and dreams. loot the cold Dian of the Nortlh, who chains In vestal ice the current of young veigs; But she, whlo haunts the gay, Bublastiant grove, And owns she sees, from her bright heaven above, Nothing on earth to latch that heaveni, btut love! THa. ris ing of the lmoon, slow and majes ti c, a s if conscious of the honours that awaited her upon eaqth, was welcomed with a loud acclaim from every eminienice, where multitudes stood watching for her first light. And seldom had that lig,ht risen upon ai more beautiful scene. The city of Mem phis still brand, though no longer the unrivalled Memphis, that had borne away from Tlhebes the crown of supremacy, an(] worn it uadispulted thiroug,h ages-n)v, softened by the mild moonlighlit thait harmonized with her decline, shone fortb among her lakes, heil pyramids, and her shrines, liko oue o i 53 THE EPICUREAN. Thus did I exel,Lim, in tli( wor,ls of one )f their owiiegyp tian poets, as, aiiticipa.tiiig the vtrioiis delights of the festival, I cast away from i-ny mind all,rl,)oniy thoughts; and, hasten ing to my little barlz, in wlii(,h I t)oN, lived the life of a Nile bird, on the waters, steered my course to tl-ie islaiid-temple of the Moon. CIIAPTER V.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY those tireams of human glory that must ere long pass away. Even’already iin was visible around her. The sands of thei Libyan desert were gaining upon her like a sea; and there, among solitary columns and sphinxes, already half sunk from sight, Time eemed to stand waiting, till all that now flourIshed around him should fall beneath his desolating hand, like the rest. On thme waters all was gaiety and life. As far as eye could reach, the lights o’ innumerable boats were seen studding, like rubies, the surface of the stream. Vessels of every kind -from the light coracle, built for shooting down the cataracts, to the larie yacht that glides slowly to the sound of flutes-all were aloat for this sacred festival, filled with crowds of the voung and the gay, not only from Memphis and Babylon, but from cities still farther removed from the festal scene. As I approached the island, I could see, slitteriuinon through the trees on the bank, the lamps of the pilgrims hastening to the ceremony.

Laining in the direction which those lights pointed out, I soon joined tlse crowd; and, passing thirough a long alley of sphinxes, whose spangling marble gleamed out from the dark sycaiorce arouid them, reached in a short time the grand vestibule of the temple, where I found the ceremonies of the evening alreadv commenced. In this vast hall, whih as suarounded by a douible range of columns, and lar open over-win e ad to the stars of h eaven, I saw a group of ymaidens, movin i n a sor t of measured step, between wblnl antdne round a s m all shrine, upon which stood o ne of the.ow ie s acred birds, that, on account of the Isicarmio to wime are cdencated tocalm of the w ingsound of w orship of the mpri.

The vestibule was dimly lithtedh ther e being but one samp of naphtha hung on each o f the great pillars that eltcirce it. Brhaving taen my station beside onm onf taoste a tilwars, I had a clear view of ther oung lancers, aa in succession thev passed me. The drapery of all was wvhite as snow; and each wore loosely, beneath tp dacrkbure zonea, s d tona or bandelet, studded, like theaven at midtisg ht, with small s i lver stars. Throu gh their,l ark locre-wa,- wre athed the white lily of the Nile that sa-cred flower be-ing,- accounted no less welcome to the moon, than the golden blossoms of the bean-flower are known to be to the sun. As they passed under the lamp, a gleam of lin ht flas hed from their bosoms, which, I could pernc eiv e, was the reflgcto of te small mirror, that, in the manner of the women of the E’ast, each of the dancers wore beneath her left shoulder. There was ro music to regulate their steps; but, as they gracefully went round the birdI on the shrine, some to the beat of the castanet, some to the shrill ring of a sistrumwhich they held uplifted in the attitude of their own divine Isii continued harmoniously to time the cade nce of their feet; while other.;, at every step,,book a small chain of silver, whose sound, miinglIing, with those of the castanets and sistrums, produced a wild but not unipleas,ing harmony. They seemed all lovely; but there was one whose face the light had not yet reached, so downcast she held. it who attracted, and, at leng-thi, riveted all my looks and thoughts. I know not why, but there was a something in those halfseen fe-atures-a charm in the very shadow, that hung over their imag’ined beaiuty which took my fancy more than all the out-shining- loveliness of her companions. So enchain-ed was I by thisi coy mystery, that her alone, of all the group, could I either see or think of her alone I watched, as, with the same downcast brow, she glided gently and aerially round the altar, as if her presence, like tl-.at of a spi ri t, was a new feeling-I-a new sense-coming as suddenly upon me as that ra dinazince into the vestibule, and, a t once filling my wholeuns and hb aerdbad that bri ght fi t vision bat in gered anothe momenmt beff sred v (yes, I should in my transport have wholly forgot ten who I and where, and thrown myself, ii pros;trate ador at,ion, a t o I ery fee t But scarcely had titat guish of harmony been board, when the sacred bird, which bad, till now, been standing motionless as an image, spread owide his wio gs and flew into the Temple; while hiis, graceful young worshippers, with a fleet hess like his own, fo~llowed-‘and she, who had left at dream in my heart never to be forgotte!n, vanished along with the rest. As she went rapidly past the pillar against which I leaned, the ivy that eonircled it te claudt in her drapery, and dibesiegagoneod some orpiiment, Iwhaicl i fell to the groungid. It wai the s mall mirror which I b ad seen sitheing on h e r bosom. Hastily and tremiiulouslyv T picked it u-p, an~d hurried to restore it; but sheiit was alrsn;an lo.et to my eyes it the crowd. In va in did I trs to follrhof;t empise a,stlready filled, and numbera s of e ager ptirs pssedno towards the portal. But the servan~ts of the( Temple denied alil fitrther entrance, and still, as I presented mnss welcef, their white waupnds barre d thee wat. Perplexed and i ntate d amid thehat Ddrow o f fmlces, regardinig all as cuiemice thazt impl~(ed ed y pr}rs, I stood on tiptoe, gazing into the un s y aisle,,, e ithel a oear t s es aingl he, as I c aught, fi’om time to ti,is o glof ioe of somespuhnrled zo n e, o r lotuworebe grots i ath thc led me to fthcv tob are descovered the fair object sfhouler. posited iBut iot was all in vain; -in every directio,, files of saicred~ nymphs we ~re m-oving,but nowhere could I ditscover her withtohe alone I s ought. In this s tate ofbreatgle ss aty giett ion ad d I staco foe r some time T-bewildered with lhe cobtfuseion of face s and alights, a s tcc a-, with t he cloud- of incense that ro ll ed arok Te d md mey-ti ll, fes – vereata end impatient, I could tin efdre it no longer. Forcins, my way out of the vestibule into the co(, w asth hare rie back through the alleyv o f sphinxes to the sl ore, and flAog myself into my boat. There lies, to the n orth of Mempshi s, a solitary lakn ie, (wh ich at this season of the year, mi ng les with th e rest of the waters,) upon whose sCt o res stands the Necrdup, olis, or City of the Deasea place of melancholy grandeur, c overed over with shrines tam ncl py ra mids, where ninty a ntingey head, proud eve n in death, has tlaino a waiti ng through long ages the resurrection white azed, Theoud crae of a teougha rawnge to sepu ly el fre ts underneath, the humbler d eiz ents o f the to mb are del posited-lookiang out on e ach successive generation tlha’ vis itstibule; wi t thesa cae wid theatur es t he mean time y wore cugh turies aao. itvery ligt and tre e, cowsecrated to deate, froa the aspohodel-flown a m l to the raystiac plaiidtlin, H geands its sweet hess or shadow to this place of tomnbs; and the only noise that disturbs it,; eternal calm, is the low bumming sound of the priests at prayer, when a new inhabitant is added to the Silent City. It was towards t hi s p lace of death that, i n a mood o f mind, as usu al, half gloomy, half bright, I now, almost omncons ciously, directed my bark. The form of the younf Pri es t ess was continually before me. That one brighIt look of hers, the very remem-br-anc-e of,%which was worth althe actual smiles of others, never for a moment left my rmind. Absorbed in such thoug,hts, I continued to row on, scarce knowing whither I went, till, at length, s4tartled to find myself within the shadow of the City of the Dead, I looked up, and beheld, rising in succession befo~re me, pyramid beyond pyramid, each towering more loftily than the other-whiile all were out-topped in grandeur by one, upon whose summit the 34

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THEWEPICUREAN. 55 mystic wisdom of the Egyptians loves to shadow out the History of the Soul; the winged globe with a ser pent-the rays descending frotl above, like a glory-and the Thslban b eetle, as he comes forth after thle waters have passed away, an d the first sunbeam falls on his regenerated winds. In the middle of the chapel, on a low altar of g ran ite, lay a lifeless f emale from, enshrin e d within a case of crystal-a s it is the custom to preserve the dead i n Ethiopia-and looking as freshly beautiful as if the soul had but a fe w hour s departed. Among the emblems of death, on the fron t of the altar, were a slende r lotus branch broken in t w o, a nd a small bird just wingi ng i ts fligh t from th e spray. To these memo rials of the dead, h owever, I paid but little attention;.ar there was a living object there upon which my eyes w’e-~ now intently fixed. The lamp, by which the whole of the chapel wa s illumina – ted, was placed at the head o f the pale i mage i l the shrine; and between its light and me stood a fe male form, ben ding over the monument, a s i f to g aze u pon the s ilen t features within. The position in which this figire was placed, inter cepting a strong light, afforded me, at first, but an imperfect and shadowy view of it. Yet even at thi s mere outline I felt my hear t beat hiigh-and memory had no less share, as it proved, in this feelinag than imagination. For, on the head changing its position, so a s t o let a gleam fall upo n the fea – tures, I saw, with a transport which had almost led me to betray my lurking-place, thait -it as she-the young weorshipper of Isis-tthle same, te very same, wehom I ha d seen, bripghtenihg the holy place wher e she stood, and looking like, B nta n inhabitan t of som e purer world. The movement, by which s he had no w afforded me an oppo rtunity of r e cognizing her, w as made in raising from the shrine a small cross of silver, which lay directly over the bosom ofthe lifeless figure. Bri ng ing it close to her lips, she kissed it with a religious fermour; then turning her eyes mournfully upw ards, hel d t hem fixed wit h a de gree o f in spired earnestness, as if, at that moment, in direct commu nion with Heaven, th ey saw neither roof, nor any other earth ly barrier, betweeni them and the s kies. What a powe r is there in innocence! whose very helpless ness is its safeguard-in whose presence even Passion him self stands tabashed, and turns p i d orshipper at the very alta which he came to despoil! She, who, but a s hor t hour be fore, had presented herself to mly imagination as something I could have risked immortality to win-she, whon gladly, from the floor of her own lighted temple, in the very face of its p roud ministers, I wofld. h have bor ne away in triumph and dared all punishments, divine and human, to m ake her mine-that very creature was no-,A before me, a s if thrown by fate itself, into m y po,weI-staondig there, beautiful andi alone, with lnotihiing but h er innocence for her guard! Yet, no-so touchlincg vwas the puiri ty of the whole scene, so calmh and august that proelection which the dead extended over t hi living, that every earthly feeling was forgotten as I gazed, and love itself became exalted into reverence. But, entranced as I felt in witniessing- such a scene, thus to enjoy it by stealth seemed to me a wrong, a sacrilege and, rather than let her eyes encounter the flash of mine, oar disturb, by a whisper, that sacred silence, in which Youth and Death held communion through undying Love, I would have suffered my heart to break, without a murmur, where I stood.

Gently, as if life itself depended on my every move ment, I stole awray from that tranquil and holy scene lea ing it still holy and tranquil as I had found it-and, gliding back throul,7h the same passages and windings by which I had entered, reached again the narrow staiIrvay, and re-as eended into light. The sun had just risen. and, fr’om the summit of the &fat bian hills, Mwas pouring dow n his beams into that vast valle? of waters as if p~roud of last night’s homage to his own d f rine Isis, now fading away in tlie superior splendour of hen Lord. MWy first impulse was to fly at once fr’om this danger ous spot, and in new loves and pleasures seek forgetfulnons of the wvondrous scene I had just w.:tnessed. ” Once,” I es claimed, ” out of the circle of this erchantment, I know too well my ow n susceptibility to new impres sions, to feel any dough, that I shall soon break the sp~ell that is lrow around me.” But vain were all my efforts and res(lves. Evren while swveamng to fly that spot, I founed mly sters still lingering fondly round the pyramid my eye. still turned towards the portal which severed this enchantress from the world of the living. Hour after ho r did I wander through that City i/ Turning away, with a shudder, from the cemetery at this ttought, I heard the sound of an oar plying swiftly through the water, and, in a few moments, saw, shooting past me towards the shore, a small boat in which sat two female figures, muffled up and veiled. Having landed them not far from the spot where, under the shadow of a tomb on the bank. I lay concealed, the boat agail. departed, with the same fleetness, over the flood. Never had the prospect of a lively adventure come more welcome to me than at this moment, when my busy fancy was employed in weaving such chains for my heart, as threatened a bondage, of all others the most difficult to break. To become enamoured thus of a creature of my own imagination, was the worst, because the most lasting, of follies. It is only reality that can afford any chance of dissolving such spells, and the idol I was now creating to myself must for ever remain ideal. Any pursuit, therefore, that seemed likely to divert me from such thoughts-to bring back my imagination to eayth and reality, from t he vagu e regi o n in which it had been wandering wa s a relief far too s easonable not to be welc omed with eagerness. I had watched the course which the two figaures took, and, having hastily fastened my boat to the bank, stepped gently on shore, and, at a littl e distance, followed th em.

The windings through I*.ch th ey l ed were intricate; but, by the buidht lipgh t of the dadtn, I was enabled to keep the ir forams in view, as, with rapid step, they glided among the monurr.etits. At length, in t he s hade of a small pyramid, whose p eak barely surmounted t he plane-trees that grew niglh, they vanished from my sight. I hastened to the spot, but there was not a sign of life around; and, had my creed extenided to another world, I might have fancied these forms were spirits, sent down from thence to mock me so instantaneously had4 they disappeared. I searched through the neihlbouring grove, but all there was still as death.

At length, in examining one of the sides of the pyramid, which, for a few feet from the ground, was furnished with steps, I found, mnidwav between peak and base, a part of its surface, which, although presenting to the eye an appearance of smoothness, gave to the touch, I thought, indications of a concealed opening. After a variety of efforts and experiments, I, at last, more by accident than skill, pressed the spring that commanded this hidden aperture. In an instant the portal slid aside, and disclosed a narrow stairway within, the two or three first steps of 6,hich were discernable by the moonlight, while the rest were all lost in utter darkness. Though it was difficult to conceive that the Fersons whom I had been pursuing would have ventured to pass through this gloomy opening, yet to account for their disappearance otherwise was still more difficult. At all events, my curiosity was now too eager in the chase to relinquish it;-the spirit of adventure, once raised, could not be so easily laid.

Accordin,gly, having sent up a gay prayer to that bliss-loving QueCn w hose eye alone was upon me, I passed through the portal, and descended into the pyramid. AT the bottom of the stairway I found myself in a low, narrow passage, through which, wi, . ut stooping almost to the earth, it was impossible to proved. Though leading through a multiplicity of dark windings, this way seemed but little to advance my progress-its course, I perceived, being chiefly circular, and gathering, at every turn, but a deeper intensity of darkness. ” Can any thin,,” thought 1, ” of human kind sojourn here?”-and had scarcely asked myself the question, when the path opened into a long gallery, at the farthest end of which a gleam of light was visible. This welcome glimmer appeared to issue from some cell or alcove, in which the right-hand wall of the gallery terminated, and, breathless with expectation, I stole gently towards it. Arrived at the end of the gallery, a scene presented itself to my eyes, for which my fondest expectations of adventure could not have prepared me. The place from which the light proceeded was a small chapel, of whose interior, from the dark recess in which I stood, I could take, unseen myself, a full and distinct view. Over the walls of this orat w painted some of bhose various symbols, by which the i i 55 TIIE EPICUREAN. CHAPTER VI.

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T M LIBARY on tihe preceding night. The lamp still stood burning upon the crystal shrine; the cross was lying where the hands of the young mourner had placed it, and the cold image, within thile sh rii e, wore still the same tranquil lookl, as if resigned to the solitude of death-of all lone things the loneliest. RetI emebering the lips that I had seen kiss that cross, and kindling with the recollection, I raised it passionately to my own; -but the dead eyes, I thought, met mine, and, awed and saddened in the midst of my ardour, I replaced the cross upon the shrine. I had now lost every clue to the object of my pursuit, and, then with all that sullen satisfaction which certainty, even when unwelcome, brings, was about to retrace my steps slowly to earth, when, as I held forth my lamp, on leaving the c ha pel, I perceived that the gallery, instead of terminating here, tookl a sudden and sniake-like bend to the left, which had before eluded my observation, and which seemed to give promise of a pathwayl v still farther into those recesses. Reanir;n ted by this discovery, which opened a new source of ho pe to my heart, I cast, for a moment, a hesitating look at my lamp, as if to inquire whether it w ou ld be faithful through the gloom I was about to encounter, and then, without furthec consideration, rushed eagerly forward. Silence, till, alrea hdy, it rw mid-day, a nd, under thte sse’s me ridian eye, the nlightv pyf r amid of py ramids stood, like a great spirit, shadowlh ss. A,ai did thosve wreill and patsionate feelinmos id, rhiclr, fowr the mom ent, h er presence had sub,lued i nto reveren ce, return to take possession of my imagination and my senises. I even reprloache d n.-self for,he awe, th at had held mp. spellboulnd b efore hep. “What,” thought I, “n ould my comp rnions of the G arden sat, did they kinow that their chiefhe whose path Love had streoed with trophies-ew als now pininr for t simple E.yptian girl, n whose presence he had not dared tc utter a singile sigh, and Acho had vanquished the victor, without even knowing, her triumph!” A blush came over mv cheek at the huimiliatingz thought, ar~d I determined, at all risks, to await her coming. That she should be an inmate of those gloomy caverns seemed inconceivable; nor did there appear to be any etreess out of their depths but by the pyramid. Again, tltcr*.finre, like a sentinel of the dead, did I pace up and down am ong, those tombs, contrastiti ngouriif’lly the burning fever in my own veins with tile cold qluliet of those who lay slumbe,ing a,‘ound. At length the intense glow of the sun over mv head, and, still more, that ever restless agitation in my }leart, became too much fi)r esetn strength like mine to endure. ]Exhausted, I threw myself d mqDat the base of the pyramid choosing my place dlirect’y under the portal, where, even should slumber surprise m!,, my heart, if not my ear, might still keep watch, and her footstep, light as it was, could not fail to awake me. After maniy an inieffctu-al strtugle against drowsiness, I at length sunk into sleep l)ut not into forgetfulness. The same image still hamnted me, in every variety of shai)e, with which imagilation, assisted by memory, could invest it. No,”,, like the goddess Neithat, upon her throne at Sais, she seemed to sit, with the veil just raised from that brow which till then no mortal had ever beheld and now, like the beauutiftl enchantress Rhodope, I saw her rise from out the pyramid il which she had dwelt for ages, THE path led, for a while, through the same sort of narrowak m indiigs as those which I had before encountered in descentiding the stairway; and at length opened, in a similar manne r, into a straight and steep gallery, aloung each side of which sicod, closely ranged and upri,ght, a file of lifeless bodies, whose glassy eyes appeared to glare upon me preter naturally as 1 passed.

Arrived at the end of this gallery, I found my hopes, for the second time, vanish; as the path, it was maniifest, extended no further. Tlie only object I was able to discern, by the glimmering of my lamp, which now burned, every minute, fainter and fainter, was the mouth of a large well, that lay gaping before ire-a reservoir of darkness, black and unfathomable. It nowr crossed my memory that I had once heard of such wells, as being used occasionally for passages by the priests. Leanino down, therefore, over the edge, I examined anxiouslv all within,i in order to see if it afforded the me ans of a descent into the chasn; but the sides, I could perceive, were liad and;mooth as glass, being varnished all over with theft sort of darmr pitch, which the Dead Sea throws out oln its slinly shore. After a more attentive scrutiny, however, I observed, at the depth of a few feet, a;ort of iron step, proctilug dimly from the side, and, below it, another, which, thiugh hardly perceptible, was just sutlfhcient to encourage an adventurous foot to the trial. Thour h all hope of tracinig the young Priestess was now at an eCi(i-it being impossible that female foot should have veintured.is this des(ent-yet, as I had engaged so far in the advenrtu-e, and tihere was, at least, a mystery to be unravelled, I deter,mnined, at all hazards, to explore the chasm. Placing my lamp, therefore, (wtlich wNas hollonv ed at the bottom, so as to be worn like a lrelnet,) firmly upoi my head, and having thus both hands at liberty for exertion, I set my foot cautiously on the iron step, and descended into the well. I found the same footing, at regular intervals, to a considerable depth; and had already counted near a hundred of these steps, whenll the ladder altogether ceased, ard I could descend no further. In vain did I stretch down my foot in search of support-the hard slippery sides were all that it encountered. At length, stooping my head, so as to let the light fall below, I observed an opening or window directly above the step on which I stood; and, taking for granted that the way must lie in that direction, contrived to clamber, with no small difficulty, through the aperture. I now found myself on a rude and narrow stairway, the steps of which were cut out of the living rock, and wound spirally downward in the same direction as the well. Almost dizzy with the descent, which seemed as if it would never end, I, at last, reached the bottom, where a pair of massy iron gates were closed directly across my path, as if wholly to forbid any further progress. Massy and gigantic, however, as they were, I found, to my surprise, that the handl of an in fant might have opened them with ease-so readily did tleo’r stupendous folds give way to my touch, ” Fair Rhodlope, as story tells, Tile bright u..eartlhly niymph, who dwells ‘Mtidl sunless gohl a.l.. jewels hid, The Lady of the Pyramid!” 80 hon- had my sleep continued, that, when I awoke, I ‘ound the moon (tattiln resplendent above the horizon. But all around was loo’xing tranquiil and lifeless as before; nor lid a print on the grays betray that any foot had passed there since my own. Refreshed, however, by my long rest, and with a fancy still more excited by the mystic wonders of which I had been dreaming, I now resolved to revisit the ch apel in the pyramid, and put an end, if possible, t o this strange mystery that haunted me. Having learned, from the expetrienc o e of the preceding night, the inconvenience of encountering those labyrinths without a light, I now hastened to provide myself Kyith a lamp from my b oat. Tracking my wi ay back with some difficulty to the shore, I there fs)Lind not only my lamp, but a lso some dates and dried fruits, of which I was always provided with store, for my roving life upon the waters, and which, after so many hiouirs of abstinence, were now a most welcome and necessarv relief. qihus prepared, I again ascended the pyramid, and was proceeding to search out the secret spring, when a loud, disrnal noise was heard at a distance, to which all the melancholy echoes of the cemetery gave answer. The sound came, I knew, from the Great Temple on the shore of the lake, and was the sort of shriek which its gates-the Gates of Oblivion a.s they are called-used always to send forth fiom their hinges, when opening at night, to receive the newly-landed dead. I had, more than once before, heard that sound, and always with sadness; but at this moment, it thrilled thr,,,{h me like a voice of ill omen, and I almost doubted whether – should not abandon my enterprise. The hesitation, however, was but momentary; -een while it passed through my mind, I had touched tlhe spring of the portal. In a few seconds tnore, I was again ill the passage beneath the pyramid; and, being enabled by the light of my lamp to follow the windings la,e rapidly, soon found myself at the door of the small thapel in the gallery. I entered, still awed, though there was now, alas, nought {ivin Xwithin. They y)oug t Priestess had vanished like a spirit into the darkness; -anld l’. the rest remained as I had left it 56 THE

MIRROR LIBRARY. CHAPTER VII.

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-~~~~~~~~H EPCREN 5 chantress, whose steps had led me to this abode of mystery and knowledge, I instantly plunged into the chasm. Instead of that vague, spectral twilight, which had at first me t my eye, I now found, as I entered, a thick darklness, which, though far less horrible, was, at this moment, still more disconcerting, as my lamp, which had been, for some time, almost useless, was now fast expiring. Resolved. however, to make the most aQ its last gleam, I hastened, with rapid step, through this gloomy region, which appearnd to be wider and more open to the air than any I had yet passed. Nor was it long before the sudden appearance of a bright blaze in the distance announced to me that my first great Trial was at hand. As I drew nearer, the flames be. fore me burst high and wide on all sides;-and the awful spectacle that then presented itself was such as might have daunted hearts far more accustomed to dangers than mine. There lay before me, extending completely across my path, a thicket, or grove, of the most combustible trees of Egypt-tamarind, pine, and Arabian balm; while around their stems and branche s were coiled serpents of fire, whicl, twisting themselves rapidly from bough to bough, spread the contagion of their own wild-fire as t hey went, and involved tree after tree in one general blaze. It was, indeed, rapid as the burning of those rrccd-behs of Ethiopia, whose lig h t is ofte n seen brightening, at night, the distant cataracts of the Nile. Through the middle of this blazing gr ove, I could now perceive my only pat hway lay. There was no t a moment, therefore., to be lost-for the conflagration ga ined rapidly on either side, and already the narrowing path between was strewed with vivid fire. Casting away my now useless lamp, and holding, my robe as so me slight protectiont over my heai,l I ventured, with trembling limbs, into the blaze. Instantlv, as if mv presence had given new life to the flames, a fresh outbreak of combustion arose on all sides The trees clustered in to a bower o f fire abo ve my heard, while the serpents that hung hissing from the r ed branches shot showers of sparkles dow n upon me as I pa ssed. Never re decision and activity of more avail:one minute later, and I must have perished. The narrow opening, of which I haint so promptly availed myself, closed instantly behin d me; and as I looked back, to contemplate the ordeal which I ha d passed, I saw t hat the wh ole rove was al r eady on e mass of fire. Rejoiced to ha ve esca ped this first trial, I instantly plucked from one of the pine-trees a bough that was but just kindled, and with this for my only guide, hastened br eathlessly forward. I had advanced but a few pac es, when the path turned suddenly off, leading downwards, a s I cou ld perceive by th e glimmer of my brand, into a more confined region, th ro ugh which a chi lling air, a s if from some ieigl-)ourinm waters, blew ov er my brow. Nor h ad I procee de d far in thi s c ourse, w hen the sound of torrents-mixed as I thought, from time to time, with shrill wailings, resembling the cries of persons in danger or distress fell mournfully upon my car. At every step the n oise of the das hing wa ters increased, and I now perceived that I had entered an immense rocky cavern, through the middle of which, headlong as a “inter-torrent, the dark flood, to whose roar I had been listening, poured its waters; while upon its surf ace floate d g rim spectre-like shapes, which, as they wvent by, sent forth those di s ma l shrieks I had heard-as if in fear of some aw ful precipice to wards whose blink they were hurrying. I saw plainly that across that torrent must be my course. It was, indeed, fearful; but in courage asd pe r sever ance now lay my only hope. What awaited me on the o pposite tsh orer I k new no t; for all there owas immersed in impenetrable gloom, nor could the feeble light which I carried send its glimmer half so far. Dismissing, howrever, all thoughts but that of Fressing onward, I sprung from the rock on1 which I stood into the flood, trusting that, with my right hand, I should be able to buffet the current, while, with the other, as long as a gleam of my brand remainled, I might hold it aloft to gultide me safely to the shore.

Long, formidable, and almost hopeless wvas the struggle I had now to maintain; and more than once, overpowered by the rush of the waters, I had given myself up, as destined to follow those pale, death-like apparitions, that still wvent past me, hurrying onward, with mournful cries, to find their doom in some invisible gfulf beyond At hmgslth, just as mry strength was nearly exchausted, and the las3t remains of the pinge branch were dropping from my hland, I sawv, outstretching tow~ards me into the water, a lilht No sooner, however, had I passed through, than the astoundrlog din, with whaich the gates clashed together again, was such as migtht have awak ened death itself. It seemed as if every echo th rougho th rthat vast’, subterranean world, from the C atacombs of Alexandria to Thebes’

Valley of Kings, had caught up and repeated the thundering sound. Startled as I was by the crash, not even thi s supernatural clangour could divert my attention from the sudden light that n ow broke around me-soft, warm, a nd w elcome, as ar e the b sta r m hs of his own Sout h to otf. eyes of the mariner who has loia been wandering t hrough the cold seas of the North. LIookii ing for the source of this splendourI, I saw, through an archw ay o pposite, a long illuminated alley, stretch ing away as far as t h e eye could reach, and fenced, on one side, with thlickets of odoriferous shrubs; while along the other extend,M a line of lofty arcades, from which the light, that filled the wi,ole area, issued. As soon, the, asd n f the din of the deep echoes had subsided, there stole gradually on my ear a strain of choral music, which appeared to come mellowed and sweeteled in it s p assage, through man y a spacious hall within tholse s hining arc a des; while among the vo ices I could distinuish some female tones, which, to wering high and clear above all t hae r est, form ed the spire, as it were, into which the harmon liy tapered as it rose. So excited was my fancy by this sudden enchantment, that -though never had I caught a sound fromn the fair Egyptian’s li ps-I yet p ers uad ed myself that the voice I now heards was hers, sounding highest a nd m ost heavenlv of all that choir, and calling to me, like a distant spirit from its sphere. Ani-, mated by thi s th ought, I flew forward to the archway, but fi)unld, to my mortification, that it was guarded by a trelliswask. whose bars, though invisible at a distance, resisted all ,lv eellrts to force them. aWhile occupied in these ineffectual struggles, I perceived, a) the left of the archway, a dark cavernous opening, which ,(eemed to lead in a direction parallel to the lighted arcades. ,Notwithstanding,, however, my impatience, the aspect of this fsassage, as I looked shudderingly into it, chilled my very blood. It inwas ini)t so much darkness, as a sort of livid and ghastly twilight, from which a damp, like that of deathvaults, exhaled, and through which, if my eyes did not deCrive me, pale, phantom-like shapes were, at that very moment, hovering,. Looking, anxiously round, to discover some less formidable outlet, I saw, over the vast folding-gates through which I had just passe d, a blue, tremulous flame, which, after playing for a few seconds over the dark ground of the pediment, settled gradtuatlly into characters of light, and formed the following wV( is; Here the letters faded away into a dead blank, more awfully intelligible than the most eloquent words. A new hope now flashed across me. The dream of the Garlen, which had been for some tinme almost forgotten, returned fteshly to my mind. ” Am I, then,” I excl ai med, ” in the Sth to th-e promised mystery?

and shall the great secret of ternal Life indeed be mine?” “1 Yes!” seemed to answer out of the air, that spirit-voice, which still was heard at a distance crowning the choir with Its single sweetness. I hailed the omen with transport. Love and Immortality, both beckoning me onward who would give even a thought to fear, with two such bright hopes In prospect?

Having invoked and bles-ed that uuknown en THE EPICUREAN. 57 11 Light as a lime-bush, that -cei,,es Soine wand,,itg bid among its leaves.” You, who would try Yon terrible track, T. live, or to die, But ne’er to look back You, who a.,pire To be purified there, By the terrors of Fire, Of Water, and Air If danger, and pain, A.d death, you despise, On-fo,, again Into light you shall rise i Rise into light With that Secret Divine, N-,,, sh,,o.ded from sight By the Veils of the Shrine! But if

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TH MIRO LIRAY double balustrade, with a flight of steps between, ascending, almost perpendicularly. from the wave, till they seemed lost in a dense mass of clouds above. This glimpse-for it was nothing more, as my light expired in giving it-lent new spring to my courage. Having now both hands at liberty, so de,,)erate were my efforts, that, after a few minutes’ strug gle, I felt my brow strike against the stairway, and, in an in stant, my feet were on the steps. Rejoiced at my escape from that perilous flood, though I knew inot whither the stairway led, I promptly ascended the steps. But this feeling of confidence was of short duration.

I had not mounted far, when, to my horror, I perceived that each successive step, as myfoot left it, broke awayfrom beneath me, leaving me in mid-air, with no other alternative than that of still mounting by the same momentary footing, and with the appalling doubt whether it would even endure my tread. And thus did I, for a few seconds, continue to ascend, with nothing beneath me but that awfitil river, in which-so tranquil had it now become-I could hear the plash of the falling fragments, as every step in succession gave way from under my feet. It was a most fearful moment-but even still worse remained. I now found the balustrade, by which I had held during my ascent, and which had hitherto appeared to be firm, growinr, tremulous in my hand, while the step, to which I was about to trust myself, tottered under my foot. Just then, a momentary flash, as if of lightning, broke around me; and I saw, hanging out of the clouds, so as to be barely within my reach, a huge brazen ring. Instinctively I stretched forth my arm to seize it, and, at the same instant, both balustrade and steps gave way beneath me, and I was left swinging by my hands in the dark void. As if, too, this massy ring, which I grasped, was by some magic power linked with all the winds in heaven, no sooner had I seized it than, like the touching of a slring, it seemed to give loose to every variety of gusts and tempests, that ever strewed the sea-shore withl wrecks or dead; and, as I swung about, the sport of this elemental strife, every new burst of its fury threatened to shiver me, like a storm-sail, to atoms! Nor was even this the worst;-for, still holding, I know not how, by the ring, I felt myself caught up, as if by a thousand whirlwinds, and then rouind and round, like a stone-shot in a sling,, continued to be whirled in the midst of all this deafening chaos, till my brain grew dizzy, my recollection became confused, and I almost fancied myself on that whleel of the infernal world, whose rotations Eternity alone can number! Human s t rength could no longer sustain such a trial. I was on the point, at least, of loosing my hold, when suddenly the violence of the storm moderated;-my whirl through the air gTadually ceased, anld I felt the ring slowly descend with me, till-happy as a shipwrecked mariner at the first touch of land-I found my feet once more upon firm ground. At the same moment, a light of the most delicious softness filled the iwhole air.

Mlusic, such as is heard in dreams, .iame floatilg at a distance; and as my eyes gradually re,overed their powers of vision, a scene of glory was revealed to them, almost too bright for imagination, and yet living and real. As fatr as the sight could reach, enchanting gardens were seen, opening away through long tracts of light and verdure, and s)arkllinr, every where with fountains, that circulated, like streams of litfe, among the flowers. Not a charm nvas ihere w aiting, that the fancy of poet or prophet, in their wiarmest pictures of Elysium, have ever yet dreamed or promised. Vistas opening into scenes of indistinct grandeur-streams, shining out at intervals in their shadowy course-and labyrinths of flowers, leading, by mysterious wieldings, to green, spacious g lades full of splendour and repose. Over all this, too, theire fell a light, from some unseei souice, resembling nothing that illsintroes our upper world-a sort of golden moonlight, mingling the warm radianisce of day with the calm and melancholy lustre of night. Nor were there wanting inhabitants for this sunless Paradise. Through all the bright gardens w ere seen wandering, with the serene air and step of happy spirits, groups both of young anlid old, of venerable and of lovely forms, bearing, mss(3st of them, the Nile’s white flowers on their heads, and branches of the eternal palm in their hands; while, over the I verdant turf, fair children and maidens weent dancing to aerial music, whose source was, like that of the light, invisible, but I which filled the whole air with its mystic sweetness. Exhausted as I was by the.painful trials I had undergone, no sooner did 1 perceive those fair groups in the distance, o than my weariness, both of frame and spirit, was forgotten. A thought crossed me that she, whom I s oug ht, might hapln be among them; and n otwithstanding th e feeling of awn with which that unearthly scene inspired me, I was about to fly, on the instant, to ascertain my hope. But while in the act of making the effort, I felt my robe gently pulled, and turning round, beheld an aged man before me, whom, by the sacred hue of’ his garb, I knew at once to be a Hierophan& Placing a branch of the consecrated palm in my hand, he said, in a solemn voice, ” Aspirant of the Mysteries, wel come!”-then, regarlding me fo)r a few seconds with grave at’tention, added, in a tone of courteousness and interest, ” The victory over the body hath been gained! Follow me, young Greek, to thy resting-place.” I obeyed the command in silenice-and the Priest, turning away from this scene of splendour, into a secluded pathway, where the light gradually faded as we advanced, led me to a small pavilion, by the side of a whispering stream, where the very spirit of slumber seemed to preside, and, pointing silently to a bed of dried poppy-leaves, left me to repose.

THOUGH the sight of that splendid s ce ne, wh ose glories opene d upon Imee like a momentary glimpse into another world, had, fof an instant, re-animated my strength and spirit, yet, so completely was my whole frame subdued bv fatigue, that, even had the form of the youg, Priestess herself then stood before me, my limbs would have sunk in the effort to reach her.

No sooner had I fallen on mv leafy couch, than sleep, like a sudden death, came over me; and I lay, for hours, in thiat deep and motionless rest, which not even a shadow of life disturbs. On awaking I saw, beside me, the same venerable person age, who had welcomed me to this subterranean world on the preceding night. At the foot of my conch stood a statue, of Grecian worklnianiship, representing a boy, with wirgs, seated gracefully on a lotuis-flower, and having the forefinger of his right hand pressed to his lips. This action, together with the glorv round his brows, denoted, as I already knew, the God of Silence and Light. Impatient to know what further trials awaited me, I was about to speak-, when the Priest exclaimed anxiously, “Hush!” -and, pointing to the statue at the foot of the couch, said,” Let the spell of that Spirit be upon thy lips, young stranger, till the wisdom of thy instructors shall think fit to remove it. Not unaptly doth the same deity preside over Silence and Light; since it is only out of the depth of contemplative silence, that the great light of the soul, Truth, can arise!” Little used to the language of dictation or instruction, I was now preparing to rise, when the Priest again restrained me; and, at the same moment, two boys, beautiful as the young Genii of the starq, entered the pavilion. They were habited in long garments of the purest white, and bore each a small golden chalice in his hand. Advancing towards me, they stopped on opposite sides of the couch, and one of them, presenting to me his chalice of gold, said, in a tone between singing and speaking, “Drink of this cupOsiris sips The same in his halls below; And the same he gives, to cool the lips Of the Dead who downward go. “Drink of this cup-the water within Is fresh from Lethe’s stream; ‘Twill make the past, with all its sin, And all its pain and sorrows, seem Like a long-forgotten dream.i! “The pleasure, whose charms Are steel)‘d in wo; The knowledge, that harms The soul to know; “The hope, that, bright As the lake of the waste, Allures the sight, But mocks the taste: “The love, that binds Its innocent wreath, Where the serpent winds, In venom, beneath; -All that, of evil or false, by thee Hath ever been known or seen, Shall melt away in this cup, and be Forgot, ax it never had been!” I THE MIRROR

LIBRARY. CHAPTER VIII.

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THE EPICUREAN. these rocky walls descended a cataract whose source was upon earth, and on whose waters, as they rolled glassily over the edge above, a gleam of radiance rested, sihowing how brilliant and pure was the sunshine they had left behind. From thence, gradually growing darker, and frequently broken by alternate chasms and projections, the stream fell, at last, in a pale and thin mist-the phantom of what it had been on earth-into a small lake that lay at the base of the rock to receive it.

Nothing was ever so bleak and saddening as.tht appear. ance of this lake.

The usual ornaments of the waters of Egypt were not wanting to it: the tall lotus here uplifted her silvery flowers, and the crimson flamingo floated over the tide. But they looked not the same as in the world above; -the flower had exchanged its whiteness for a livid hue, and the wings of the bird hung heavy and colourless. Every thing wore the same half-living aspect; and the only sounds that disturbed the mournful stillness were the wailing cry of a heron among the sedges, and that din of the falling waters, in their midway strugg,lle, above. There was, indeed, an unearthly sadness in the whole scene, of which no heart, however light, could resist the influence. Perceiving how much I was affected by it, “Such scenes,”

remarked tihe Priest, “are best suited to that solemn complexion of mind, which becomes him who approaches the Great Mystery of futurity. Behold “and, in saying thus he pointed to the opening over our heads, through which, though the sun had but just passed his meridian, I could perceive a star or two twinkling in the heavens” in the same manner as from this gloomy depth we can see those fixed stars, which are invisible now to the dwellers on the bright earth, even so, to the sad and self-humbled spirit, doth many a mystery of heaven reveal itself, of which they, who walls in theli,ght of the proud world, know not!” He now led me towards a rustic seat or alcove, beside which stood an image of that dark Deity, that God without a smile, who presides over the silent kingdom of the Dead, The same livid and lifeless hue was upon his features, that hung over everything in this dim valley; and, with his right hand, he pointed directly downwards, to denote that his melancholy kingdom lay there. A plantain-that favourito tree of the genii of Death-stood behind the statue, and spread its branches over the alcove, in which the Priest now seated himself, and made a sign that I should take my place by his side.

After a long pause, as if of thought and preparation, “Nobly,” saidl he, ”

young Greek, hast thou sustained t) first trials of Initiation. What still remains, though of vital import to the soul, brings with it neither pain nor peril to the body. Having now proved and chastened thy mortal frame by the three ordeals of Fire, of Water, and of Air, the next task to which we are called is the purification of thy spirit-the effectual cleansing of that inward and immortal part, so as to render it fit for the reception of the last lumin ous revealment, when the Veils of the Sanctuary shall be thrown aside, and the Great Secret of Secrets unfolded to thy view!-Towards this object, the primary and most imn portant step is, instruction. What the three purifying elements thou hast passed through have done for thy body in struction will effect for ” “But that lovely maiden!” I exclaimed, bursting from my silence, having fallen, during his speech, into a deep reverie, in which I had forgotten him, myself, the Great Secret, every thing-but her. Startled by this profane interruption, he cast a look of alarm towards the statue, as if fearful lest the God should have heard my words. Then, turning to me, in a tone of mild solemnity, “It is but too plain,” said he, “that thoughts of the upper woorld, and of its vain, shadowy delights, still engross thee far too much, to allow the lessons of Truth to sink profitably into thy heart. A few hours of meditation amid this solemn scenery-of that wholesome meditation, which purifies, by saddening-may haply dispose thee to ret ceive, with due feelings of reverence, the holy and imperish able knowledge we have in store for thee. With this hope I now leave thee to thy own thoughts, and to that God, be. fore whose calm and mournful eye all the vanities of the world, from-which thou comest, wither!” Thus saying, he turned slowly away, and passing behind th e statue, tof ards w hich he had pointed during the last sen tence, suddenly, and, as if lay enchantment, disappeared from my sight. Unwilling to thr ow a s light on t his s tr ange ceremony, I leaned forward, with all due gravity, and tasted the cup; which I had no sooner done than the young eup-bearer on the other side, invited my attention; and, in his turn, preventing the chalice which he held, sung, with a voice still tweeter than that of his companion, the following strain: ” Drink of this cup-when Isis led Her boy, of old, to the beaming sky, She mingled a draught divine, and said’ Drink of this cup, thou’lt never die!’ Well as I had hi therto kept my philosophy on it s guard against the illusions with which, I knew, this region abounded, the young cup-bearer had here touched a spring of imagination, over which my philosophy, as has been seen, had but little control. No sooner had the words, ” thou shalt never die,” struck on my ear, than the dream of the Garden came filly to my mind; and, starting half-way from the couch, I stretched forth my hands to the cup. But, recollecting myself instantly, and fearing,- that I had betrayed to others a weakness fit only for my own secret indulgence, I sunk back again, with a smile,of affected indiflerence, on my couch while the young minstrel, but little interrupted by my movement, still continued his strain, of which I heard but the concluding words: “And Memory, too, with her dreams shall come Dreams of a former, happier day, When Heaven was still the Spirit’s home, And her wings had not yet fallen away; Thou gh the assurances of immortality contained in these verses would at any other moment-vai n and visionary as I though t them-have sent my fan cy wa ndering into reveries of t he f uture, the effort of self-control I had just made enabled me to h ear them w ith indifference. Having gone through the form of tasting,, his second cup, I agflaiin looked anxiously to the Hierophant, to ascertain whether I might be permitted to rise. His assent hav ing been given, the young pages brought to mv couch a robe and tunic, which, lik e their own, were of linen of the purest white; and having assisted to cloth e me in this sacred garl), they then p lac e d upon my head a chaplet of myrtle, in which the symbol of Initiation, a golden grasshopper, was seen shining out from among the dark leaves. Though sleep had done much to refresh my frame, something more was still wanting to restore its strength; and it was not without a smile at my own reveries I reflected, how much more welcome than even the young page’s cup of immortality %-,as the unpretending, but real, repast now ret before me -fresh fruits from the Isle of Gardens in the Nile, the delicate flesh of the desert antelope, and wine from the Vineyard of the Queens at Anthylla, which one of the pages fanned with a palm-leaf, to keep it cool. Having done justice to these dainties, it Ivan with pleasure [ heard the proposal ofthe Priest, thats we should walk forth together, and meditate among the scenes without. I had not forgotten the splendid Elysium that last night weloomed me -those rich gardens, that soft unearthly music and light, and, above all, those fair forms I bad seen wandering about -as if, in the verv midst of happiness, still seeking it. The -ope, which had then occurred to me, that, among those bright groups might haply be found the young maiden I sought, now returned with increased strength. I had little doubt that my guide was leading me to the same Elysian scene, and that the form, so fit to inhabit it, would again appear before my eyes. But far different, I found, was the region to which he now conducted me;-nor could the whole world have produced a scene more gloomy, or more strange. It wore the appeara,-ce of a small, solitary valley, enclosed, on every side, by rlcks, which seemed to rise, almost perpendicularly, till they reached the very sky;for it was, indeed, the blue sky that I saw shiniing between tl..eir summits, and whose light, dimmed thus and near’y lost’n its long descent, formed the melancholy daylight of this nether world. Down the side of I .- 9 11 Thus do I say and sing to thee, Heir of that boundl…

heaven on high, Though frail, and fall’., nd lost thou be, Drink ofthi3 cup, thou’lt never die!” 11 Glimp.e. of glory, n’,-r forgot, That tell, like gl,,.ins n. s..set sea, What o.ce hatli bee., what o is iot, B.t, oh!

what g.i. hall brightly be.”

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60 THE MIRROR L(BRARY. the visitants of this mysterious realm were, after their descen from earth, never seen or heard of;-being condemned, for some failure is their initiatory trials, to pine away their lives in those dark dungeons, with which as well as with altars, this region abounded. Such, I shuddered to think, miglt probably be my own destiny; and so appalling was the thought, that even the courage by which I had been hitherto sustained died within me, and I was already giving myself up to helplessness and despair. At length, after some hours of this gloomy musing, I heard a rustling in the sacred grove oehind the statue; and, soon after, tlhe sound of the Priest’s voice-more welcome than I had ever thought such voice could be-brought the assurance that I was not yt a wholly abandoned.

Findinw hi s wiay to me tlwrough the gloom, he now led me to the s ame spot, o n which wte had parte d so many h ours before; and, addressing me in a voice that retained no trace of disple asure, bespoke tmy attenti o n, w hile he s h ould reveal to me some o f those divine truths, by whose infusion, he sai d, in to the soul of man, its puri ficati o n can alone be effected. The v-a l ley had now become so dark, that we could no hlountg r, as we sat, discern each other’s faces. There was a melanc in hole o y in the voie of my i n structor that well accorded with the gloom around us: and, saddened and subdued, 1 wnows listened with resignation.

if not with interest, to those sublime, but, alas, I thought, vain tenets, which, with all t he warmth of a true believer, this Hierophomnt ex pounded to me. ie s,po ke f p e teie of the pre-xistece of the soul-of its abode, from all eternity, in a place of splendour and bliss, of which whatever we have m ost bcautifu i n our conceptions here is but a dim traoisc ript, a clouded remembr ance. In the b lue deptlsth of etherlvc, he sail, lay that ” Country of the Soudl”-its boundary alone visible in t he line of m ilky light, which, as by a barrier of stars, separate s it from thel dark ea rth. ” Oh, rea lm of purity! Home of the yet unfallen Spiit!-iwhere, in the lays of her first in nocence, s he w and ered; ere yet her beautv was soiled. by the touch of earth, or her resplendent wings had wither ed aw ay. Methiolks I see,” lie cried, “at this moment, those fielns of radiance-I look back, through the mists of life, into th at luminous world, where the sou ls that have never lost their higho, heavenly rank, still soar, w ith – out a staidn, above the shadowless stars, and there dwell to gether in infinite p erfection and bliss!” As lihe spoke these words, a burst of pure, bri ll ian t light, lilte a sudden opening of heave n, broke through the valley; and, as sooas s my eyes w ere able to endure th e splendour, su ch a vision of glor y and love liness opened u pon them, as t ook even my sceptical spiri t by surprise, a nd m ade it yield, at once, to the pot ency of the spell.

Suspended, as I thought, in air, and occupying the whole of the o pposite r egion of the valle y, there appeare d an immenese orb m t n kc ru g a of light, within which, through a haze of radiance I could see distinctly fair groups of young female spirits, who. in silent, but harmonious movement, like that of the stars, wounid slowly through a variety of fanciful evolutions; seemiing, as they linked and unlinked each other’s arms, to form a living labyrinth of beauty aid grace. Though their feet ap. peared to glide along a field of light, they had also wmings, of the most brilliant hue, which, like rainbows over waterfalls, when played with by the breeze, reflected, every moment, a new variety of glory. As I stood, gazing with wonder, the orb, with all its ethe. real inmates, began gradually to recede into the dark void, lessening as it went, and becoming more bright, as it lessen. ed; till, at length, distant, to all appearance, as a retiring comet, this little world of Spirits, in one small point of in tense radiance, shone its last and vanished. ” Go,”

exclaimed the rapt Priest, “ye happy souls, of whose dwelling glimpse is thus given to our eyes, go, wander, in your orb, through the boundless heaven, nor ever let a thought of this perishable world come to mingle its dross with your divine nature, or allure you down earthward to that mortal fall by which spirits, no less bright and admirable, have been ruined!” A pause ensued, during which, still under the influence of wonder, I sent my fancy wandering after the inhabitants of that orb almost wishing myself credulous enough to believe in a heaven, of~ which creatures, so much likie those I hadh worshipped on earth, weere inmates. At length, the Priest, with a mourn ful sigh at the sad con trust he was about to draw between the happy spirits we had just seen and the fallen ones 0f earth, resumed again his me lunchely History ef the Seoul. Tracing it gradlually.

from tho BP:No now left to mv own solitary thoughts, I w;as fully at; leisure to reflect, with some decree of coolness, upon the inconveniences, if not dangers, of the situation into which my love of adventure had hurried me. However prompt my imag-ination was alwvays to kindle, in its own ideal sphere, I have ever found that, wshen brought into contact with reality, it as suddenly cooled;-like those meteors, that appear to be stars, wihile in tiv air, but the moment they touch earth, are extinguished. And such was the feeling of disenchantment that now suc’eoded to thie awild dreams in wlich I had been indulging. As lang as Fancy had the field of the future to herself; even immortality did not seem too distant a race for her. But ahien human instrumenets interposed, the illusion allva,fishled. From mortal lips the promise of immortality seemed a mockery, and even imag,ination had no wings that could carry beyond the grave. Nor was this disappointment the only feeling that paiii ned and haunted me;-the imprudence of the step, on whic h I had ventured, now appeared in its full extent before my eyes. 1 had here thrown m nyself into the power of the most artful priesthood in the world, without even a chance of being able o escape fronm their toils, or to resist any machinations with which they might beset me. It appeared evident, from the tate of preparation in which I had found all that -woIIdertful apparatus, by which the terrors and spleudours of Initiation l are produced, that my descent into the pyramid was not unexpected. Numerous, indeed, and active as were the spies of the Sacred College of Memphis, it could little be doubted that all my movements, since my arrival, had been watchfully tracked; and the many hours I had employed in waanderiug I and exploring around the pyramid, betrayed a curiosity and spirit of adventure which might well suggest to these wily priests the hope of inveigling an Epicurean into their toils. I was well aware of their hatred to the sect of which I was Chief;-tthat they considered the Epicureans as, next to the Christians, the most formidable enemies of their craft and power. ” How thoughtless, then,” I exclaimed, ” to have placed myself in a situation, where I am equally helpless against fraud atind violence, and must either pretend to be the Idupe of their impostlires, or else submit to become the victim of their vengeance!”’ Of these alternatives, bitter as they both %%ere, the latter appeared by far the more welcome. It wN’asv with a blush that I even looked back upon the imiockeries I had already yielded to; and the prospect of being put through still further ceremonials, and of b eing tutored and preached to by hypocrites whom I so much despised, appeared to me, in my present mood of mind, a trial of patience, compared to which t he fl ame s a nd whi rltwinds I had alre ady encount ered were pastime.

Often and impatiently did I look up, between those roclky walls, to the brig-Iht sky that appeared to rest upon their suimmits, as, pacing round and round, through every part of the vallev, I ecldeavoured to find some outlet from its gloomy precincts. But vain were all my endeavours; that rocky barrier, wvhich seemed to end but in heaven, interposed itself every where. Neither did the image of the young maiden, tlou ah constantly in my mind, now bring with it the least conlsolation or hope. Of what avail was it that she, perhaps, was an inhabitant of this region, if I could neither behold her smile, nor catch the sound of her voice-if, while among preaching priests I wasted away my hours, her presence was, alas, diffusing its enchantments elsewhere. At length, exhausted, I lay down by the brink of the lake, and gave myself up to all the melancholy of my fancy. The pale semblance of day-light, which had hitherto glimmered around, grew, every moment, more dim and dismal. Even the rich gleam, at the summit of the cascade, had faded; and the sunshine, likse the swater, exhausted in its descent, had now dwvindled into a ghostly glimmer, far worse than darkness. The birds upon the lake, as if about to die with the dying light, sunk down their heads; and, as I looked to the statue, the deepening shadow s gave such an expression to its mournful features as chilled my very soul. The thought of death, ever ready to present itsel4;to my imagination, now came, with a disheartening w eight, such as I hadl never before felt. I almost fancied myself’ already ill the dark vestibule of the grave removed, for ever, from the world above, and with nothing but the blank of til eternal ~leep before me. It had happened, I knew, freqluently, that I 60 THE MIRROR L[BRARY. ICHAPTER IX.

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:~~~~~~~~H EPCRA 61 Irst moment of earthward desire to its final eclipse in the shadows of this world, he dwelt upon every stage of its darkening descent, with a pathos that sent sadness into the very dtepthls of the heart. The first downward look of the spirit tox, ards earth-the tremble of her wings on the edge of Heaven-the giddy slide, at length, down that fatal descent-and the Leathern cup, midway in the sky, of which when she has once tasted, Heaven is forgot-through all these gradations he traced mournfully her fall, to that last stage of darkness, when wholly immersed in this world, her celestial nature becomes changed, she no longer can rise above earth, nor even remember her former home, except by glimpses so vague, that, at length, mistaking for hope what is only, alas!

recollection, she believes those gleams to be a light from the Future. not the Past. ” To retrieve this ruin of the once-blessed soul-to clear away from around her the clouds of earth, and, restoring her lost wings, facilitate their return to Heaven-such,” said the reverend( man, “is the great task of our religion, and stuh the triumph of those divine Mysteries, in whose inmost dept oo the life and essence of that holy religion lie treasured. How-,, ever sunk, and changed, and clouded may be the Spirit, yet as long as a single trace of her original light remains, there is still hope that ” Here the voice of the Priest was interrupted by a strain of mournful music, of which the low, distant breathings had been, for some minutes, audible. but which now gained upon the car too thrillingly to let it listen to any more earthly sound. A faint lig}: too at that instant broke throughl the valleyand I could percei- e, not far from the spot where we sat, a female figure, veiled, and crouching to earth, as if subdued by sorrow, or under the influence of shame. The feeble light, by which I saw her, came from a pale, noon-like meteor whi ch had gradually fo rm ed itself in the ai r as the music approaclwcd, and now shed ove r the rocks and the lak e a gl imme r as cold as that by which the D ead, in their own kine dom, gazss upo each other. The music, too, wh ich appeared to rise f rom out of the lake, fill of the breath of its dark waters, sptoke a despondency i n every no te which njo language could exp-ess; and as I listened to its tones, and look ed upon that fallen Spirit, (for such, the holy man whispered, was the form before us,) so entirely did the illusioIl of t scene take pose ss siion nf me, th a t, with almost painful an xiety, I notw awaited the result. Nor had I gazed long before th a t form rose slowly from its droopire position;the air around it irew bright, and the pale meteor ov er head assumed a mo re ch ee rful and living light. The veil, whic h ha d be fo r e shrouded the face of the fiiuare, became every minute smor we transpare nt, and wthe featthres, one by one, gradually disclosed themselves. H aving trembli ngly weartd hed the progress of thc r apparition, I now started itom me seat, and half exclaimed, “It is she!” In another minute, this veil had, like a thin mist, mel ted away, a nd the y oung priestess o f the Moon stood, for the thir d time, revealed befo,re mv eyes! To rh in stantly tow ards her was my first impulse-but ish e arm of the Priest held m,w firmly back. The fresh light, which h ad begun to flow in from all sides, collected itself in a floo d of glory around t he spot wh e re she stood.

I nstead of melanch oly music, strain s of the most exalted rapture were heard; andg a the young maiden, buoant as the inhabitants of t he fairy o rb, amid a blaz e of light like that which fell upon her in the Temple, asc en ded slowly into the air. “‘Sta y, beautiful vision, stay!” I exclaimed, as, breaking from the hold of the Priest I flung myself prostrate on the ground the only mode by which I could expressg the admiration, even to worship, w ith which I was filled. But the vanishing spirit heard me not: receding into the darkness, like that orb, whose heavenward track she seemed to follow, her form lessened by decrees away, till she was seen no more; while, gazing, till the last luminous speck had disappeared, I allowted myself unconsciously to be led away by my reverend guide, who, placing me once more on my bed of poppy-leaves, left me there to such repose as it was possible, after such a scene, to enjoy. and fancies in which, duriobg my descent from earth, I had indulged. I had now see n once mor e th at maichless creat ur e, who had been my guiding star into this mysterious realm; and that she was destined to be, in s ome way, con – nected with the further revelation s tha t awaited me, I sraw no reason to dou bt. There was a sublimi ity, too, in the doce trines of my reverend teach er, and even a hope i n the prw – mises of immortality held out by him, which, in spite o f retd son, won insensibly both upon my fancy and my pride. The Future, however, w;as now but of secondary consider& tion;athe Preseft, and that deity mf the Prese taesnt, woman, were the objects that engrossed my whole soul. It was, indeed, for the sakoe of such beings a lone that I considered irnr mort ality desirable o e, nor, withlout them, would eternal life llhaase appeared to me worth a single prayer. To every fliuther trial of my patience and faith, I now made up my mind to submit without a murmur. Some kind chance, I folidly persuaded myself, might yet bring me nearer to the object of my adoration, and enable me to address, as mortal wNoma., one who had hitherto been to me but as a vision, a slha(le. The period of my probation, however, teas nearly at an end. Both frame and spirit hiad now stood the trial; anid as the crowning test of the purification of the latter was that power of seeing into the w(orl(l of spirits, with whiich I tqad proved myself, in the Valley of Visions, to be credowed, there now remained, to complete mv Initiation, but this one nii(ght more, when, in the Temple of Isis, and in the presence of her unveiled iim-age, the last grand revelation of the Secret of Secrets wN as to be laid open to me. I passed the morning of this day in c,,a “ally with tl’;e same venerable peirsonage, wliho had, fii),’ Iirst, presided over the ceremonies of my instruct’ – -nd who, to inspire me with due reverence for the. . r and magnificence of his religion, now conducted r,..., ougli the long range of illuminated galleries and shrin.ps, that extend under the site upon which Memphis and the Pyramids stand, and form a counterpart under ground to that mighty city of temples upon earth. He then descended with me, still lower. into those wind – ing crypts, where lay the Seven Tables of stone, found by Hermes i’t the valley of Hebron. “On these tables,” said ie, “is written all the knowledge of the antediluvian race-the decrees of the stars from the beginning of time, the annals of a still earlier world, and all the marvellous secrets, both of heaven and earth, which woull have been, Returniing to t he r egion, forom w hich we had descended, we next visit ed, in succession, a sepie s of small shrines represen1ting the various objects of adoration throughout Fgrypt, andt a r t thes furnishing to the iest al occa sion f or explH tining the mysterious nature of animal wtorship, and thle r(pfinsd do-. trines of theology that lay veiled under its forms. Ever y shrine was consecrated to a particular fatith, and contained a living image of th e deity which it adlored. Beside the -eat of Mendes, with his refulgent star upon his breast, I saw the crocodile, as presented to the eyes of its itolator ait Arsinoe, with costly gems in its loathsome ears, and rich bracelets of gold encircling its feet. Here, floating through a tank in the centre of a temple, the sacred carp of Lepidotum showed its silvery scales; while, there, the Isiac serpents trailed lo guidly over the altar, with that sort of movementei wh i ch is thought most favoural)le to the astI)ilrations of their votaries In one of the snmall (chapellls we found a beautiful child, employed in ftedinig and wvatchiing over those golden l)eetlet which are adored for tll(hir brightnless, as emiiblems of the aun; while, in another, stood a sacred ibis upon its pedestal, so like, in plumage and attitude, to the bird at the young Priesteas, that most gladly would I have knelt down atnd worshipped it for her sake. After visiting all these various shrinies, and healing the reflections which they suggested, I wras next led by my guide to the Great Hall of the Zodiac, on whose ceililg was delinea ted, in bright and undying colours, the map of the firmament, as it appeared at the first dayswn of time. Here, in pointing out the track of the sun among the spheres, he spoke of the analogy that exists between moral and physical darkness-of the sympathy with whic h all spiritual c’eatures regard the sun, so as to sadden and decline when he sinks into his wintry hemisphere, and to rejoice when he resumes his own empire of light. Hence, the festivals and hymns, with whiich moat 61 THE EPICUREAN b,lt fo,- this*key, Lost in the U,ive,,s.1 S”I --------- CHAPTER X. TRiz apparition wi’-,h which I had been blessed in that Valmy of Visions-for sc the place where I had witnessed these wonders was called-‘.)rought back to my heart all the hopes

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62 TH IRRLBAY of the monotonous trial my patience had to suffer. After a short interval, however, the flashes ceased;-the sounds died away, like exhausted thunder, through tle abyss, and dark ness and silence, like that ofthe grave, succeeded. Resting my back once more against the pillar, and fixing my eyes upon that side of the Sanctuary from which the pro mised irradiation was to burst, I now resolved to await the awful moment in patience. Resigned, and almost immova ble, I had remained thus for nearly another hour, when sud denly along the edges of the mighty Veils, I perceived a thin rim of light, as if from some brilliant object under them;-r(e sembling that border which encircles a cloud at sunset, when the rich radiance from behind is escaping at its edges. This indication of concealed glories grew every instant more strong; till, at last, vividly marked as it was upon the dark ness, the narrow fringe of lustre almost pained the eye-giv ing a promise of a fulncss of splendour too bright to be en dured. My expectations were now wound to the highest F pitch, and all the scepticism, into which I had been cooling down my mind, was forgotten. The wonders that had been presented to me since my descent from earth-that glimpse into Elysium on the first night of my coming-those visitants from the land of Spirits in the mysterious valley-all led me to expect, in this last and brightest revelation, such visions of glory and knowledge as might transcend even fancy itself, i-oi leave a doubt that they belonged less to earth than heaven. While, with an imagination thus excited, I stood waiting the result, an increased gush of light still more awakened my attention; and I saw with an intenseness of interest, which made my heart beat aloud, one of the corners of the mighty Veil raised slowly from the floor. I niiow felt that the Great Secr et, w hatever it might be, was at hand. A vague hope e ven c r o ssed my mind-so daholly ha d imag ination now r sumed her empire-a t tha st l d prosplendid promise of my dre a m was on the very point of being realized! With surpris e, however, and, for the moment, with so me disa)pointmelnt, I p e rc eived, th at the massy corner of the Veil w,as but lifted sufficiently from the groun d to allow a female figure to emerge from under it-and then fell over its mystic splendou,‘s as utterly dark as before. By the strong light, too. that issued when the drapery was raised, and illuminat ed the profile of the emerging figure, I either saw, or fancied tl,at I saw, the same bright features, that had already so often mocked me with their momentary charm, and seemed desw tined, in-deed, to haunt my fancy as unavailingly as even the fond vain dream of Immortality itself. Dazzled as I had been by that short gush of splendour, and distrusting even my senses, when under the influence of Pa much excitement, I had b~ut just begun to question myself as to the reality of my impression, when I heard the sounds of light footsteps approaching me through the gloom. In a se.

cond or two more, the figure stopped before me, and, placing the end of a ribanid ge ntly in my hand, said, in a tremulous whisper, “F Follow, and be silent.” So sudden and strange was the adventure, that, for a momernt, I hesitated-fearing that my eyes might possibly have been deceived as to the object they had seen. Casting a look towards the Veil, w%hich seemed bursting with its luminous secret, I was almost doubting to which of the towo chances I should commit myself, when I felt the riband in my hand pulled softly at the other extremity. This movement, like a touch of mag-ic, at once decided me. Without any further deliberatioin, I yielded to the silent summons, and following my guide, who was already at some distanc-,e lbefore me, found myself led up the same flightt of marlel( stteps, tby which the Priest had conlduc~ted me into the Sancetuary. Arriv ed at their summit, I felt. the pace of my conduc~tress qulick~en, and giving one more look to the Veiled Shrine, w hose glori s we left burning uselessly behind us, hastened onward into the gloom, full of confidence in the belief, that she, w ho now held the other end of that clue, was one whom I w~as ready to follow devotedly through the world. of the nations of the earth are wont to welcome the resurrec tion of his orb in spring, as an emblem and pledge of the re ascent of the soul to heaven. Hence, the songs of sorrow, the moirnfil ceremnonies-like those Mysteries of the Night, up on the Lake of Sais-i- therich they brood over its autum nal de scett into t he shades, as a tpmpe of the Spirit’s fall into this world If death. len d isc ourse es such as these te hours passed away; and thiough th er e was nothing in the light of this sunless region t a o mi tr ae e ye toe da. lie e of day, my own feelings told me a that the fight dre ne ear;- igor, in spite of my incredulity, could I refrai n fr om a slight flut ter of bho pe, as that promise d moment a,’ retelationly drew nigh e, when the My stery of Mys teries was t o dde made all my own. Thlii conssummation, however, aas less near than I expected. My patience had s till further trials to encounter. It was necessaryv, I now frimnd, that, during the greater spart of the night, I should keepy watch p in the Sof c tuTar of tle Teple, alone and in ut ter dirlzness:tlh ptreparing myself, by meditation, for the awful nacrtamnit, whene the irradiattiona from behind the sacred Veils Ors to burst upaon me. A t the appointed hour, we l eft the Hall of th e Z odiac, and pr,ceed(ed througl a long l ine of m arble galleri es, where the lams we re? mo re thinly scattered as e advan ced, till. at length, fae flerrtd ours elves in total darkness. Here the Phiest, a e taoe isp e igame by the a, and leading down a flight of steps, iyto a pla,e wlheie’e the sa m e deel) gloom prevailed, said, with a voice trembling, as if from excess of awe, “Thou t art o within the Sa,ctuo yv of o ur go dde ss, Isis, and the veails, that conceal her sacred h imtge, are before thee!” After exhorting me earliestly to that tr air of tIhougstt, which best accord-d with t e irt o the spiritof the llace ee I stood, and, a bov e all, to that full and Ltihes itatiugll ftitit, with which alone, he said, the inltifes ta tioen of such mysteries should be ap proached, the Ively manl too l eave ft’ me, and re-ascended the steps; hile ses o spell-bitsemd did I feel by that deep dark ness, that the las t sonund of his fwiwtsteps died upon my ear, befor e I ventured to stir a limfb fr’ioo the position in which he had left me. The prospec t of the long watch I had now to look forward o ass dreadtful. Even dan”eter itsel,If, if in an active form, .vostldhave been far preferable to thisi sort of saf,but dull, pro ation, by whichl patie ac te conle virtue put dto the gproof. Having as tfcertairoed how far the sp ace a round te was free freom obstzalues, I evid(lavoured to i)ertile the ime by pacigt, ip and dl,w-n withiro tose linmits, till m I becatm e tired of the moinotodotis (chlioes of mv own tread(l. iir a, then to what I felt to be a m a s sive pidlar, Iaur, lealong wearily against it, I surrendered mvselt’ to a train of thoughts and feelings, far diffr rettt from those a withl which the good Hierophant had hoped to iuispire rue. ” If these priests,” thouglht I, ” possess really the secret o f life, dwhy are taey themselves the victims of death? fwhy sink into the grave with the cupe of immortality in t their tands? But no, safe boasters, the eternity they so lavishly promise is reserved for atother, a filture world -hat ready resource of all priestly promises-that depository of the airy pledges of all creeds. Another SorldWITH such rapidity was I hurried along by my unseen guide, full of wonder at the speed with which she ventured througi: these labyrinths, that I had but little time left for reflection upon the strangeness of the adventure to whicl, I had com mitted myself. My knowledge of the character of the Mem phian priests, as well as some fearful rumoturs that had reach 62 THE

MIRROR LIBRARY. CHAPTER XI.

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THE EPICUREAN. mids, was still, thoungh divested of many of these wonders, a scene of interest and splendour such as the w hole world could not equal. While the shores still sparkled vith mansions and temples, that bore testimony to the luxury of a living mt arc,-Iie voice of the Past, speaking out of unnumbered ruins, w hose sutlnmits, here andl there, rose blackly above the wave, to(l of’ timmes long fled, and generationls long swept away, before m lihse giant remains all the glorw of the present stood humbled. Over the southern banl k of the Lake hung the dark relics of the Labyrinthh;its twelve Royal [‘alaces representing the mansions of the Zodiac its tlihudering por tals and constellated halls, having left nothing now behind but a few frowning ruins, which, contrasted with the soft groves of acacia and olive around them, seenmed to rebuke the luxuriant smiles of nature, and threw a melancholy grandeur over the whole scene. The eff ects of the air, in re-animatin g the y oung Priestess were less speedy than I had expected;-her eye s ap here still closed, and she rema ined pale and insensible. Alarmed, I now rested her head (sashicl had been, for some tine, supe ported by my arm ) agai nst the base e o f one of the columns, with my cloak for its pillow, while I hastened to procure some water from the Lake. The temple stood high, and the den scent to the shore was precipitous. But, my Epi cure an habits having but little impaired my activity, I soon descended, with the lightness of a d esert dedeer, to the bottom. Here, plucking from a lofty bean-tre e, w h ose flowers stood, shinin g like gold, above the Mater, one of those large hollowed leaves that serve as clips for the Hebes of the Nile, I filled it from the Lake, and hurried back with the cool draught t *wards the Temple.

It was not, however, without some difficulty that I at last succeeded in bearing my rustic chalice steadily up the steep; more than once did an unlucky slip waste all its contents, and as often did I return impatiently to refill it. During this time, the young maiden was fast recovering her animation and consciousness; and, at the moment when I appeared above the edge of the steep, was just rising from the steps, with her hand pressed to her forehead, as if confusedly recalling the recollection of what had occurred. No sooner did she observe me, than a sholt c,y of alarm broke from her lips. Looking anxiously round, as though she sought for protection, and half-audibly uttering the words, ” Where is he?” she made an effort, as I approached, to retreat into the Temple. Already, however, I was by her side, and taking her hand, as she turned away from me, gently in mine, asked, ” Whom dost thou seek, fair Priestess?”-thus, for the first time, breaking the silence she had enjoined, and in a tone that might have re-assured the most timid spirit. But my words had no effe ct in calming her apprehension. Trembling, and with her eyes still averted towards the Temple, she continued in a voice of suppressed alarm, ” Where can he be?-that venerable Athenian, that philosopher, who ” ” Hec-e, here,” I exclaimed, anxiously, interrupting her”behoh)I(l him still by thy side-the same, the very same, who sass tltie steal from under the Veils of the Sanctuary, whom thouii hast guided by a cluie through those labyrinths below, and whll now only waits his command. from those lips, to lev{,tc himself through life and death to thy service.” As 1 sl,,,! these words, she turned slowly round, and looking timidly in my face, while her own burned with blushes, said, in a tone of doubt and wonder, ” Thou!” and then hid hei eyes in her hands. I knew not how to interpret a reception so unexpected. That some mistake or disappointment had occurred was evidenlt; but so inexplicable did the whole adventure appear to me, that it w as in vain to think of unravellinlg any part of it. Wteak and agitated, she now tottered to the steps of the Temple, and theire seating herself, with her forehead against the cold marble, seemed for some moments absorbed in the most anxious thought; while silent and watchful I awtaited her doecision, though, at the same time, with a feeling which the resullt proved to be prophetic that my destiny was, from thenceforth, linked insep~arably with hers. The inward struggle by which she was agitated, though violcult, was not of long continuance. Starting’ suddenly from her seat, wsith a look of terror towards the Temp~le, as if the fear of immediate pursuit had alone decided her, she pointed eagerly towards the East, and exclaimed, ” To the Nfile, without delay!” clasping her hands, after she had thus spoken, with the most suppliant fervour, as if to soften the abruptneus of the mandate she had given, and appealing to me at the ed me, c oncerning the fate that ofte n attended unbelievers in their hands, awaken ed a momentary suspicion of treachery in my mind. But, when I recalled the face of my guide, as I had seen it i the sm all chapel, with that divine look, the very m emory of which bro ught pur ity into the heart, I found my suspicion s a ll vanish, and f elt shame at having harboured th e m but an instant. In t he mea n while, ou r rapid course continued without any Interrua )tion, throhugh vwindings even more capriciously intricate than any I h ad y et passed, and whose thick gloom seemed never t o have been bro ken by a singl(t glioe er of light. A1y u nseen condluctress was still at some s before me, and the a light clue, to vhiicli I cl dpnri as i ft it were Destiny’s own thread, w as s til l kept, bv the speed w’i heter course,s a t ftll stret ch be twee n us. At length, suddenly stoberain, wshe said, in a breathless hisper, “Seat thyself here;” ad, at thef hee d t e same moment, led me by the hand t o a sort of low car, in wh ich, ob eying her brief command, I lost not a moment in pl acing myself, whil dr the m aiden, no less promptly, took her seat by my side. A sudde n c lick, l ike th e touclrin of a spring, was t hen heard, and the car- whichi, as I had felt i n e ntering it, leaned halfway over a steep desc nt-on being let loose from its statio io, s hot down, almost perpendicularly, into the darkness, wi rd ith a ra idity lwi( h, at first, nearly deprived me of breath. The Mwheels slid smo othly and noiselessly in grooves, and the imipetus, which the car acquired in descending, was sufficient, I perceived, to carry it up an eminence that succeeded-from tie s ummit of which it acgain rt i cshed down another declivity, eve n still more londl a an d precipitou s than the fo)rmer. In this m ann er Bue sroc ee d e,d, by alternate fall s and r ises, till, at lengzth, from the ktst and steepest elevation, the car descended uponl a level of de ep sa ngd, where, after running for a few lyards, it b y degrees lo st its motion, and stopped. Here the maident, asighting atain, fllaced the riballd in my naidg, and ao’ain I fol lowo d her, tiho al waitsh m ore slowness a:~d difficulty than betbre, as our way noe led up a flight of l:p mesn a nd time-wor steps, n whose ascent seemed to the ,‘tri md and insecure foot innterminable. I’erceivice, wiith iri.t Hlenuor my guide advanced, I w as on t he poi2rt ot m akini an effort to assi.,t her p togoress, whe n the creak of an openig deor above, and a faint gleam of light which, at the sa me roiecnt, shonoe upon her figure, appris e d me th at here were at trcst n arrive d wi thin r each of’ sunshine. .r,rfitll y I f)llooked through thiw opening, and, by the dim iht, could discern that w e were now in the sanctuary of a vt, ruined temple-hav ing entered by a s ec ret passage und-r the p edestal, upo n whic h a n image of the idol of the p lace odelce stood. The first movement of the young maiden, after csing again the po rta l under the pedestal, wa s, without even ,t serle l ook towards me, to cas t herself down up on her i,nnes, wit h he r hand clasped and uplifted, as if in thanksorivill or prayer. But she was unable, evidently, to sustain lherself in this position;her strength could hold out no ionder. Ov ercome by agitation and fatigue, she sunk senseless upon the pavement. Bewilder ed as I was myself, by the strange eavents of the rwiwht, I stood for some minut es looking upon her in a state of Ihelplessness and alarm. But, reminded, by my own feverish senisations, of the reviving effects of the air, I raised her gently in my arms, and crossing the corridor that surrounded the sanctuary, found my way to the outer vestibule of the Temple. Here, shading her eyes from the sun, I placed her, reclining upon the steps, where the cool ncrth-wind, then blowing freshly between the pillars, might play, w ith free draught, over her brow. It alas, indeed as I nows sawt, with certainty the same becautiful and mysterious girl, who had been the cause of my ~escent into that subterranean world, and who now, uinder ~ uczh strange and unaccountable circumstances, wvas my guide back again to the realms of day. I looked around to discover the re we were, and beheld such a scene of grandeur, as, could my eyes’have been then attracted to any object bult the pale form reclining at my side, might well have induced them to dwrell on its splendid beauties. I was now standing, I found, on the small island in the centre of Lake Ma~ris; and that sanctuary, where we had ;ust emerged from darknress, formed part of the ruins of an ancient temple, which wvas, (as I hlave since learned,) in the grander days of AIrathis, a place of pilgrimage for worsh-ippers fromn a1l parts of Eg;ypt.. The fair Lake, itself, out of whose war, rs ollce rose pavrilions, palaces, and even lofty p)Ta 63

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64 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Ithe nimble lizards upon the bank appeared to move less imbly, as the light fell on their gold and azure hues. Ove. l come as I was with watching, and weary with thought, it was not long before I yielded to the becalming influence of the hour. Looking fixedly at the pavilion-as if once more to assure myself that I was in no dream or trance, but that I the young Egyptian was really there-I felt my eyes close as I gazed, and in a fbw minutes sunk into a profound sleep. tsame time, with a look that would have taught Stoics them elves t e nderness. I lost not a moment in obeying the welcome command. Wi th a thousand wild hopes naturally crowding upon my fancy, at the t houghts of a voyagse, ounder such auspices, I desc ended rapid ly to the shore, and hailing one of those boats that ply upon the L ake for hire, ao han g ed speedily for a pas sag;e down the canal to the Nile. Having learned, too, firom the boatma n, a more easy path up the rock, I hastened back to the Temple for my fair charge; and, without a word or look, th at coulad alarm, even by it s kindness, or disturb the innocent confidence which she now evidently reposed in me, led her d own by t he wididing pa th to the boat. Every th i ngo a round looked sunny and smiling as we em barked. The morning wa s in its first fr eshness, and tile pq. h of the breeze mirht clearly b e tra ced ov er the Lake, a s it went wakebnin up the waters from their sleep of the ni ght. The gay, golden-h-ins,ed fbirds that haunt these s hores, w ere, inal ev e ry direction, s yimmiti, al ong th e Lake; while, with a graver coiia ciousa ess of beauty, the swan and the p e lican w ere seen dressing their w h ite p lu m age in the mirror of its wave. To add to the liveliness of th e scene, there ca me, at intervals, ain th e br eeze, a stdeet tinkline of mus ical instruments from boats at a distance, e mployed thus early in pursuing the fis h of th ese wa ters, that allo w themselve s to be decoyed into the Rets by music. Th e vpeissel I had selected for our voyage was one of those urnall pleasure-boats or yachts-so much in use among the luxu rois navigators of the Nile-iis the centre of which tises a pa vilion of cedar or cypress wood, adorned richly on the outside, with religious emblems, a nd gaily fitte d up, wi th in, for feasting and repose. To the door of this pavilion I now led my compan ion, an d, after a fw word s of kindness-temipered cautiously with as much reerve a s the deep tend er ness of my feeling towards her would admit-left her to court that restoring rest, which the agitation of her spirits so much required. For moysell; though repose was hardly less necessary to me, the state of forment in which I had been so long kept, ap peared to render it hopeless. Having thrown myself on the deck of the vessel, under an awning which the sailors had raised ifer me, I continued, for some hours, in a sort of vague day-dream sometimlles passing in review the scenes of that stubterranealn drama, and sometimes, with my eyes fixed in drowsy vacancy, receiving p assively the impressions of the bright scenery through which we passed. The banks of the canal were then luxuriantly iswooded. Undei the tufts ot’tile light and towvering palm were seen the orang(,,e and the citron, iilterlacing,- their b)otughs; while, here and there, huge tamalisks thickened the shiade, and, at the very edge of the bank, the willow of Bab-,lon stood lbeldinig its graceful branches into the water. occasionally, out of the depth of these groves, there shone a small temple or pleasure-housc; while, now and then, an opening in their line ot’ foliage allowed the eye to wander over extensive fields, all covered with be-ds of those pale, sweet roses, for which this district of Egypt is so celebrated. The activity of the morning hour w,as visible in every direction. Flights of doves and lapsewings were fluttering,, among the leaves; and the white heron, which had been roosting all night in some date-tree, nlow. stood sunning its wings upon the green bank, or floated, like living silver, over the flood. Tile tlosswers, too,!,oth of land and water, looked all just freshly awakeniedl;-andl, most of all, the superb lotus, which, having risen along with the sun from the Xwave, was now holding up her chalice for a full draught of his light. :Such w ere the scenes that now successively presented themselves, and mingled wsith the vague reveries that qoated through my minld, as our bout, with its high, capacious sail, swept along the flood. Thougfh the occur.,r..ces of the last fe’w days could not but appear to me one continued series of Mwonders, yet by far the greatest marvel of all was, that she, whose first look fad sent wild-fire into my heart-whom I bdthought of ever since with a restlessness of passion, that would have dared all danger and wrong to obtain its object .she wvas now at this moment resting sacredly within that pavilion, while guarding her, even from myself, I lay motion ses at its threshold. Meanwhile, the sun had reached his meridian height. The busy hum of the morning had died gradually awvay, and all around bras sleeping in the hot stillness of nloon. Trhe Nilegoose, having folded up her splendid wings, weas lying moioless on the shadow of tile sycamores ill the water. Even IT was by the canal through which we now sailed, that, in the more prosperous days of Memphis, the commerce of Up per Eg ypt and Nubia was transported to her ma-gnificent Lake, and from th ence, hav ing pa id tribut e to the queen of cities, %,%as poured forth again, through the Nile, into the ocean. The course of this canal o to the river was n ot direct, but ascending in a so uth-easterly direction towards the Said; and in calms, or with adverse winds, the passage w as tedious. But as the breeze was now blowing rs ly fr eshly om t he north, there was ever y pro spe ct of our reaching t he ri ver before nightfall. Rapidly, too, as our galley swept along the flo od, its motion was so smooth as to be hardl y fe lt; a nd the quiet gurgle of the b waters, and the drows y song of the boatm an at the prow, werealin it the only s o unds that disturbed th e d eep si lence which prevailed. The sun, i ndeed, had ne ar ly sun k behind the Libyan hills before th e sleep, into which these sounds had contributed toa lull me,,wtis broke n; and the first object on w hich my eyes rested, in awitog, w as that fair young Pries tess -seate d witn in a po rch which shaded the door of the pavilion, and bend iging intently over a small volume thiat lay un rol led on her lap Her face was but half-turne d towards me; and as sh once or twice, raised her e yes to the warm sky whose light fell, softened through tile trellis, over her cheek, I found all those feeling s of reverence, w hich she had inspired we wi th in the chal)el, return. There w a s even a purer and holi e r charm around her countenance, thus s een by the natpral li ght of day, than in’those dim and unhal lowed regi ons below. She was now looking, too, direct to the glorious sky, and lier pure eyes and that heaven, so w orthy oof each other, met. After contemplating her f or a fe w moment s, with little less than adoration, I r ose ge ntly from my resti iig-place, and ap proached th e pavilion. But the mene movemtenet had startleN her from her devotion, and, blushing and confused, she cover ed the volume with the folds of her r obe. In the art of winning upon female confidence, I had long of course, been schooled; and, now that to the lesson s of gallantry the inspiration of love was added, mmy ambition te please and to interest could hardly fail, it may be supposed, of success. I soon found, however, how much less fluent is the heart than the fan cy, and h ow very diffsrent may be the operations of making love and feeling it. In the few w iords of greeting now exchanged between us, it wa”s evident t h at the gay, the enterprising Epicurean was little less embarrass ed than the secluded Priestess;-and, after one or two inef fectual efforts to converse, the eyes of both turned bashfully away, and we relapsed into silence. From this situation-the result of timidity on one side, and of a feeling altogether new onl the other-we were, at length4 relieved, after an interval of estrangement, by the boatmen announcing that the Nile was in sight. The countenance ofthe young Egyptian brightened at this intelligence: and the smile with which I congratulated hel upon the speed of our voyage was responded to by another fiom her, so full of gratitude, that already an instinctive sympathy seemed e,+ tablished between us. We were now on the point of entering that sacred river, of whose sweet waters the exile drinks in his dreams-for a draught of whose flood the royal daughters of the PItolemies, when far away, on foreign throues, have been known to sigh in the midst of their splendotir. As our boat, with slack-en  sail, was gliding into the current, an inlqry from the boat men, whether they should anchor for the night in the Nile, first reminded me of the ignorance in which I still remained, with respect to the motive or destination of our voyage.

Embarrassed by their qulestion, I directed my eyes towrards3 the Priestess, whom I saw wvaiting for my anlswerl with a look of anxiety, which this silent reference to her wtishes att once dispelled. Unlfoldingt cagefuly the v olulme wvith1 whichl I had seen her so much occupied, she tool; fi’o br etween’l its fohtls a small 64 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 0 CH.PTER

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~~~~~~~~H EPCREN 6 leaf of papyrus, on which there appeared to be some faint lines of drawing, and after looking upon it thoughtfully for a few moments, placed it, with an agitatedl hand, in mine. In the medan time, the boatmnen) had taken ill their sail, and the yacht dri)ve slowly d,)w i the river with the current; while, by a li,t wicli had beh(i kiindiedl at sunset onil the d(ck, I s~lesd e x.ainin~ the 1eaf that the PrIiestess had given meher d irk eyes fixerl a lxiouslv onl my co)uiitenance all the w hi le. The lines trced uponl the papyrus were so ftilit as to be almost ivisible, ani I waas for some timne wholly unable t o firm a coijec,u e as to their import. At leng th, however, I 3suceeded ii mi:kisii out that they were a sort of map, or autliiues-tracedl sightly and unsteadily with a Meniphian reed(-of a part of that mountainous ridge by which Upper Egypt is bounded to tl.e east, together with the names, or rather enmblems, of the chief tewns in its immediate neighboutrhood. It was thither, I riowv saw clearly, that the young Priestess wished to pursue her course. Without further delay, therefore, I orIdered the boatnmen to set our yacht before the wind, and( ascend the current. My command was promptly obeyed: tlie awhite sail again rose into the region of the breeze, and the satisfaction that beamed in every feature of the fair Egyptiii shiowed that the quickness with which I had attended to her wishes was not unfelt by her.

The moon had wow risen; anind thoug,h the current was against us, the Etesian wind of thie season blew strongly up the river, and we were soon fl,tiing before it, through the rich plains and?roves of the Said. The love with which this simple girl had inspired me, was pilltly, perhaps, from the mvstic scenes and situations in which I had seen her, not unmingled with a tinge of superstitiotis awe, under the influence of which I felt thle natural buoyancy of my spirit repressed. The few words that had passed between us on the subject of our route had somew hat loosened this spell; and what I wanted of vivacity and confidence was more than compensated by the tone of deep sen sibility whiich love had awakened in their place. We had not proceeded far, before the glittering of lights at a distance, acd the shooting up of fire-works, at intervals, into the air, apprized us that we were then approaching one of those night-fairs, or marts, which it is the custom, at this season, to i)ld upon the Nile. To me the scene was familiar, but to my voun, companion it was evidently a new world; and the mixture of alarm and delight with which she gazed, from unider her sveil, upon the busy scene into which we now,nv sailed, gave an air of innocence to her beauty, which still more heightened it. every charm. It was one of the widest parts of the river; and the whcle surface, from one bank to the other, was covered with boats. Aloiin the banks of a green island, in the mniddle of the stream lay anchored the galleys of the principal traders-large floating bazaars, bearing each the name of its owner, emblazoned in letters of flame, upon the sterni. Over their decks were spread out, in g,ay confusion, the products of the loom and needle of Etypt-rich carpets of Memphis, and likewise those variegated veils, for which the female emnibroiderers of the Nile are so celebrated, and to which the name of Cleopatra lends a traditional charni. In each of the other galleys wvas exhibited some branich of Egyptian workmanship-vases of the fragrant porcelain of On-cups of that frail crystal, whose lihes change like those of the pig,eon’s plumage-enamelled amulets graven with the head of Anubis, and necklaces and bracelets of the black beans of Abyssiniao While Commerce was thus displaying her various luxuries in one quarter, in every other, the spirit of Pleasure, in all its couintless shapes, swarmed over the waters. Nor was the festivity confined to the river alone; as along the banks of the island and on the shores, illuminated mansions were seen glitteringr tlrough the trees, from whence sounds of music and merrimnt came. In some of the boats were bands of minstrels, who, from time to time, answered each other, likve echoes, across the wave; and the notes of the lyre, the flageolet, and the sweet lotus-, n ood flute, w ere heard, in the pauses of revelry, dying; along the waters. Mecanwshile, fr’om other boats stationed in the least lighted p~laces, the workers of fire sent forth their wonders into the air.

Bursting out suddenly from time to time, as if in the *very exuberance of joy, these sallies of flame appeared to reach the sky, and there, breaking into a showver of sparkles, shed such a splendour around, as brigffhtened even the white Arabian hills  making them shine as doth the brow of Mount Atlas at night, ~n the fire from his own bosom is playing around its snows. im opportunity this mart afforded us, of provuidihg ourselves with some less remarkable habiliments than those in which we had escaped from that nether world, was too seasonable not to be gladly taken advantage ofby both. For myself, the strange mystic garb which I wore was sufficiently concealed by rry Grecian mantle, I hich I had fortunately thrown round me on the glitlirt of my watch. But the thin veil of m y companion was a far less efficient disgu ise. She had, indeed, flslrn g away t he golden beetles from her hair; but the s ac r ed robe of h ien order ewas st ill too vis ible, and the st ars o f the bandelet shoneo brightly through her veil. Most gladly, therefore, did she avail herself of this opportunity of a chane; and, as s he t ook from out a casketwhich m, aith the v o lu me I had seen h e r reading, appea red it be her only treasure-a small jewel, to give in exchange for the simple garment s she had chosen, ther e fell out at the same time, the very cross of silver which I had seen h er kiss, as may be remembered, in the monumental chapel, an d wh ich, was afterwards pr es se d to my ow n lips. This link between us, (for such it now appeared to my imagination) called us) again in my heart all the burning feelings of that moment;and, had I not abruptly turned away, my agitation would but too plainly have betrayed itself. The object, for which we had delayed in this gay scorn., having been accomplished, the sail was again spread, a:0 we proceeded on our course up the river. The souil~hs ay,, the lights we had left behind died -raduially away, and act now floated along in moonlight and silence once more. Swe.n:t dewvs, worthy of being called “the tears of Isis,” fell rcfreshingly throtu,gh the ail, and every plant and flower sent its fragrance to meet them. The winid, just strong encDCmgh tI, bear iis smoothly against the current, scarce stirred the slatde1vw of the tamarisks on the water. As the inhabitants fi’~, m all quarters,ere collected at the night-fair, the Nile was mioe thalt] Usually still and solitary. Such a silence, indeed, pr;‘vailed, that, as we glided near the shore, we could hear the ruistling of tile acacias, as the chameleons ran up their stems. It,,,as, altogt,lter, sulci a night as only the climate of FEgyi,t can b)otast, when the w]hle scene around lies lulled in tlhalt sort of bright tranquillity, which may be imagined to light the slumbers of those happy spirits, who are said to rest in the Valley of the Moon, on their way to heaven. By such at light, and at such an hour, seated, side by side, on th. delck of that bark, did we pursue our course 11p the lonely Nile-each a mystery to the other-our thoughts, our objects, our very names, a secret;separated, too, till now, by destinies so different; the one, a gay voluptuary of the Garden of Athens; the other, a secluded Priestess of the Temiiples of Mem>11i3; and the only relation yet established betweeni us being tlhat dangerous one of love, passionate love, on one side, and the most feminine and confiding dependence on the othelr. The passing adveniturc of the night-fair had not only dispelled a little our mu,tuial reserve, but had luckily furnished us with a subject on whii(h we could converse without embarrassmenit. From this topic I took care to lead her, without any interruption, to others-being fearful lest our former silenice should return, and the music of her voice again be lost to me. It was only, iindeed, by thus indirectly unburdening my heart that I was enabled to avoid the disclosure of all I thought and felt; and the restless rapidity with which I flew from subject to subject was but an effort to escape from the only one in which my heart was really interested. ” How bright and happy,” said I-pointing up to Sothis, the fair Star of the Waters, which was just then shining brilliantly over ouir heads-” How bright and happy this world ought to be, if, as your Egyptian sagees assert, yonI pure and beautiful lumlinlary was its birth-star!”

Then, still leaning back, and letting my eyes wander over the firmament, as if seekinlg to disengagre them from the fascination which they dreaded ” To the study,” I exclaimed, ” for ages, of skies like this, may thee pensive and mystic character of your nation be traced. That mnixture of pride and melancholy which naturally arises at the sight of those eternal lights shining out of darkness; -that sublime, but saddened, anticipation of a Fulture, which steals sometimes over the soul in the silence of such an hour, when, though Death appears to reign in the deep stillness of earth, there are yet those beacons oflImmo~ tality burnling in the sky.”

Pausingf, as I uttered the word ” immortality,” with sigh to think how little mny heart echoed to my lips, I looked in the face of my companion, and saw that it had lighted up, as I spoke, into a glow of holy animation, such as Faith dlon 65 THE EPICUREAN.

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66 THE MIRROR LfBRARY. gives;such as Hope herself wears, when she is dreaming of heaven. Touched by the contrast, and gazing upon her with mournful tenderness, I found my arms half opened, to clasp her to my heart, while the words died away inaudibly on my lips,” Thou, too, beautiful maiden! must thou, too, die for ever?” My self-command, I felt, bad nearly deserted me. Rising abruptly fiom mv seat, I walked to the middle of the deck, and stoo0, for some moments, unconsciously gazing upon one of those fires, whicli-according to the custom of all who travel l) nighrt on the Nile our boatmen had kindled, to scare ac ay tihe crocodiles from the vessel. But it was in vain that I endeavonred to compose my spiit. Every effort I made huit more deeply convinced me, that, till the mystery which hng riound that maiden should be solved-till the secret, with which my own bosom laboured, should be disclosed -it was fruitless to attempt even a semblance of tranquillity. My resolution was therefore taken;-to lay open, at once, the feeliigs of my own it-art, as far as such revealnent might be hazarded, withcut startling the timid innocence of my companion. Thus resolved, I resumed my seat, with more, composure, by her side; and taking from my b6som the small mirror which she had dropped in the Temple, and which I had ever since worn suspended round my neck, presented -it with a trembhin hand to her view. TThe boatmen had just kindled one of their night-fires near us, and its light, as she ~ aned forward to) loo-k at the mirror, fell upon her facLe. The quick blush of surprise with which she rec,ognised it to be hers, and her look of bashful yet eager inquiry, in raising her eyes to mine,,,ere appeals to wvllich I was not, of course, taird in answering. Beginning with the first moment w,heni I s-aw her in the Temple, and passing hastily, but with wrsthat burned as they went, over the impression which she had then left upon my heart and fancy, I proceeded to describe the particulars of my descent into the pyramid -my surlrise and adoration at the door of the chapel-my encounter with the Trials of Initiation, so mysteriously pret, ared for me, and all the various vis~ionary wonders I had witaessiel in tiat region, till the moment when I had seen ner st,e .ing fiom under the Veils to approach me. Th(,:,igh, iii detailiang these events, I had said but little of the feelirs they had awakened in me though my lips had sent back mamy a sentence3, uniuttered, there “,as still enoug-h that co)uld nieittior be subdued nor disguised, and which, like that light firom unler the veils of her own Isis, glowed through every wordi that I,poke. Wh~en I told of the scene in the chapel-of th e s ilent interview which I had witness ed between the dead and tile li’ving the maiden leaned down her head and wept, -i s from a he dirt full of ticars. It seeme,e a pleasure to her, however, to lifrtei t; and, when she lohkea at me heare there was an earnest and affectionate cordiality in her eyes, as if the kniowledge of my having, been present at that imoi’n-ii ful scene, had openedi a new source of sympathy midintelligence between us. So neiglhbouiring, are thie fountrains of Love and of Sorrow, and. so imperceptibly do they ofteii muingl their streams. Little, indeed, as I was guided by art or design, in my manner and conduct towards this innocent girl, not all the most experienced gallantry of the Garden could have dictated a policy half so seduictive as that which my new mas,,ter, Love, now taughlt me. The same ardo-ur which, if shown at once, and without reserve, minihIt probably hia,,e startled a hieairt so little prepared fi)r it, being now chieckedI and softened by the timidity of real love, won its way without alarm , and, when most diffident of success, was then most surely on its way to 1-i was so, near the dawn of day when we partedl tlhat w( found the sun sinking westward wten we re,joined cach other. The smile, so frankly cordial, with which she met me, mighi have been taken fo r tlaai greeting of a lodjg-melloceka frlcn shi p, did not the blush and the caas t-down eyelid t hat feol owed betray symptoms of a feeling newer and lesp i ccalm. For myself, lightened as I was, in some degree, by the avowal which I fao m ade, I was ),e t too cofistcious of te 1ih e i hap spd eca thus given to our intercous,I dra, not to fgp t0l some l it tle alarm at t he pro spect of returning to the themed. We w e re both, tmorefor e, a like willing to allow our ttftti qotenty veuturedo lok pn,‘by the varie ty of strange I wects t hat pres e n ted tahsmltemislves on the wad, a ion. n sui bect th at evidautly both were aline on wil ling to aypri i f d. thch. The river was now all stirarim g wi th cobmert e athem life Every inst ant w e met with boat, descegymlibeo th e set wholly iscdeenecadewnt of aid faom iail o r aar, that t he been sat idly o n the dfre c shly rtisei frm ether biritardosiing undr playing upon theiwr douenle-em Aer lookineg as. Tfew geat e rceu,ter of these boaits came ldnw’itli thos..e large emeralds, from the mine in thoadse rl, n te i on urnres, it iao said, are brifhte.t at the gall of the G n lon; hve sonict breougt cargoes o f franlmkit vcesepoic from the awacia mtr oves near the Rretrsp Sema. On the decars of others, tha t hao f en, asle to the Golden Mountains beyond Syenie, wereheae d b,,(locs an,d fi’agments of that sweet-smellihg pro l whai ies yea eart cty Ia,hed down, ga y the Gr ee n Nile oul Nallia, it thai smasel of the floe,ds. Our comipaniions up the stream were fitr h,‘ss nuimero)us. Occas ionally a bo at, returvie g lightene d from the fbir ofr last night, shot rapidly past us, with tSiose pa high saitofl catcth every breeze from over the hills;-nwhile, now and then, we overtook one of those barhess full of bees, tnot a re s e nt -,t this seasof to colonise the gardea, of the sow tl, and tat i awd,vah tage o f the first flowersh altenr the irelatedtioul has passed 1 For a shorting ti) n teis down stomet ivrie ty of ojects enaobleui us to divaert so faar our coandersatioth al. to kee p it from lient inm upo n the o ne, sole sub ect, round whirst h it constantly Fovero ed. But nig wfnowto fas advanced b e to imi feexpected, wa s not long staecessful. As evening af d v alaced, ther wh ole scen e became more wsolitary. tWe less f requent ly ventured to look upo n each i oth e r, and o ur intervals of silence grew juces lo ofg. It wps near scnset, -,,lyhien, in passing a small temple o n taeh sh,re, whose porticoes w ere now fill of the evening ligh t, we saw issuing, fr’om at thiicke,t of acanithus near it, a train of young maideins graicefully linked tog.,ethier in the dzance by stems of the lotus and r at arms’ length bet ween them. obein ri tresses were alsd wreatled with this gey emblem of the seau son, and in such It’ofti.sion were its white flowers twisted around their whasts and arm.,, that thley migh-t have been takleni, as they ligh~tly, b-oundied along, the bank, for Nymphs of the Nile, then fi’eshly ris~en from their brighIt gardens under the wave. After looking- for a few minutes at this sacred dance, the maiden turned away her eye.,, wNith a look of’ pain, as if the remembrances it recalled were of no welcome itorture. This momentary retrospect, thiis glimli,se into the. past, appeared to offer a sort of clue to the secret for which I puinted;and accordingly I proceeded], as gradually and de.licateiy as my imipatience wvould allow, to ava til mys,elf of the openiing Her owil franikness;, however, relieved nme, fi’om the embarrassment of muchel ques.,tioningi,. She appeared even to feel that the confidence I sought was due to me; and beyondI the natural hesitation of maidlenly modesty, not a shadie t,f reserve or evasion a,ppearedl. To attem-ipt to repeat, ill her own to-uching words, thes 66

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<:itx.c-:., tilt' n ittzoa'es Vwitlll' (clne111S{11 O(Ip oI t oe Iountaln ot w-hic slc she l'oke bt tatstedl, au feeling what thousan ds o f fu mrlrrr1ers, sii'e her, lave lelt-thfat Christianity is the true and o!dy religionl ot' 1he sorrowful. " This, stuldy of hler secret houlrs be~came still more dlear to i her, as well tiom the peril with w,llich, at that period, it was aht twtiiehded, as fincm tlld necesity she F elt herself fnder tf coe healin fo-om thacsae awoould v her the screcious light that had u beed llBu s kiarseledt idr her o t hi at. Te o timid to e nc ounter the+ fiercew pers(ecultion,f wrhich awaited all wh Io wsere suspected of tt leanlill,. to) Christianlity, she conitinued to officiate inl the pompls alnd ceremlonlies otf t~he Temle ~l:-though, often, with sucth remnorse sof soul,N thalt she woutld pause, in then midst of theC rite's, and4 pray+ inward'l'(ly to) God, that he w ould forg'ive th~is prt~fitna~tionI of hli 81irit. "In tlle meanttime her daulgltter, thc youngT Alethc, grew up still lovelbier tlmntl hetrse lf, unl addled, e very hsour, b~oth to her happyinless alnd her fears. Whlen arrivetd at a suflqcienlt age, she was"l taughrit, likec t~le other c'ldldren of thec priezstesses, t~_ takes a shml'e ill the stervice and~ ceremonlies of the shrines The? dllty of somc o~f those younglt servitors uas to lookv afte.

the tioxewes fier the atltar;-of others, to take care that the satcred vastes uerc filled eviery daty w ith fresh water from the Nile. Thle tatsk of someli was;1 to prelserve, in perfcet polish, those silvecr imagfes of thc Mloon which the priest~s ca, rried in p)rocessionls; wvhile others wele, als w0e have seen, emp~loyed in tbed~ing the consecrated anlimals, and inl keelting thtir p~lume~ anld scatles b~right for' the admirinlg ees of their worshippers. "The office allotted to Alethc-thle most hlonoulrable the se nfliuor minlistries-u-as to wtrait upoul the sacred b~irds ot' the Moon, to feed them daily wsith those eggfs fi'omn the Nile w hic h they loved, and p~rovide for their use that purest w ater, whichl alonle these delicate birds will touc~h. Trhis employment was thle delight, of her chlildish hours; and that ibvis. which Alciphron (the E~piculreanl) sawt her danlce round inl the Temple, was, of all tile sacred flock<, her especial favoulrite, and hnd b~een daily fonldled anld fed by her from insfancy. " Music, as b)einlg one of the chief spells of this enlchanted region, was an accomplishmenlt required of all its minlistrants, anld the harp, the Iyre, anld thc s.acred flute, sounded nlowhere so sweetly as througfh thcse subterranean gardens. l'he chief object, inldeed, in the education of the youth of the Tcmple. was to fit them, by every grace of art anld nature, to give effecto the illusion of those shows andl phantasms, in wvhich the entire charm and secret of Initiation lay. " Among the means employed to support the old system o!

superstitiona, again~st the infidelity and, still m~ore, th~e new F'aith thalt menlaced it, was anl increased display of splendour atnd marvels inl those mysteries for wh-ich Egyp~t has so) long been celebrated. Of thcse ceremonlies so manly imitations had, ulnder valrious names, multiplied throughotut E urope, that at lenlgth the parent sup)erstitionl raln a risk of be;.ng eclipsed by its p~rogeny; and, in order still to rank ats the first P'riest hood inl thse world, it becalme necessary tot those of Egypt te remainl still the be~;mp.w~lAtora ,~t}t.r! in recrn the dictates of his eloquent toog ue; -hile til.' s'Li:tm: ~;umb)er of' y'oung females, seletettd for thle bealuty of tt ir p,';mrLirshif, were employed in arranging and trans rib ingt til pr,'c [;iou s leavses i' A:lg g' tle scribe s so s elected w eas th ecm irlyolng Theodea wh;-sse rare~its, though attached to the Pagan worship, w ere not unwilI'i:: to profit bjy the acconiplisliments of theirdla~ul-ght tec, thls occupied iIl a task, which they looked on as puiure ld ii'}rtrical. To the maid h1 self, hocever, her employmci et broug;hrt far other feeliins arid con(sequlences. She rea td attx iously as sh.c wrot, and the d11 nc t:'uths so eloqrientlv illsrs trated, iontt th:lir i ay, b,y degrees, from the paige to li rer t heart. Dr ~epy, too, as thec wruitteri ords aflectedl her, the 'iscrurses efion the lips of the 1r'at teacher himselfL whtich she had fieoqrent opportunitics of hearing, sunknlm s till nlotte deeply into her nind. There w as at oIcet a sublinmity and gentleness in his iews of reiirion, which, to the telnder hearts and lively imagina tiont s of women, never fidled to airpeal c ith conrvincr ing power.

Accordingly, the list of lfis fimalt prliins was niumilerous aid the nimes of Barbara,.Illiania, i Herndis, aoyd I others, bear horouorabll testimony to his influence other tthat sex. "'Io TheeraI ti'le fbelingr with whitch }lis discourses insp~iredI her, *.;s like a n,iwv sroul-a conisciorisniess of sliritual exist- I elinC, nleve r before felt. Bv t}he eloquence of the comment s he I was awaskened into admriration of the text; and whnc, by the e ki ld~less of a Cateclhumnie'r ofthe school, who had been struc;k byv h,- innocenut zeal, sle, for the first time became possessor of it copy of the Scrilturos, she could iiot sleep for thinkiug of htr sw a icd tre asure. WVith a mixture of pleasure anid fear she hid it fioim all eyes, arid was like one who had reerived a dcirie guest uridier her roof, and felt fearfifl of betrayirig its diivi- | nity ti) the world. h "At heart so awakie w ould have bcen with ease securedl to ~e fuith, had her opportunritics of hearing the sacre wd w o rd continlued. But circumstalnces arose to deprive. her of thifs advastage. The mild Origeri, long harassed anid thwarted in i' labours by the tyranny of Demetrius, Bishop of Alexandria, | was obliged to relinquish his school, and fly fiom Egypt. The | | occupation of the fair scribe, was, therefore, at an end: her intercourse with the followers of the new faith ceased; and the l owing enthusiasm of her heart gave W ay to more worldly inmpressions.

"Among other earthly feelings, love conduced not a little. tv wean her thoughts from the true religion. While still very coring, she became the wife of a Greek adventurer, who had r,me to Egypt as a purchaser of that rich tapestry, in which s a tir needles of Persia are rivalled by the looms of the Nile. | Having taken his young bride to Memphis, which was still the great mart of this merchandise, he there, in the midst of his b speculations, died-leaving his widow on the point of becom- h lag a miather, while, as yet, but ini her nineteenth year. a " For single andi unprotected females it has been, at all 1 times, a favourite resource, to seek for employment in t he ]setvcof some of those great temples by which so large a por- 1 t

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THE MIIRROR LIBRARY. before-when the acacia-bou-gh, which she herself had plucked, seemed to acquire a sudden sacredness ill her eyes, as soon as the priest hadl breathed upon it-on all such occasions Theora, though with fear and trembling, would venture to suggest to the youthful worshipper the distinction that should be drawn between the sensible object of adoration, and that spiritual, unseen Deity, of which it was but the remem brancer or type. “With sorrow, however, she soon discovered that, in thus but partially letting in light upon a mind far too ardent to rest satisfied with such glimmerings, she but bewildered the heart which she meant to guide, and cut down the feeble hope around which its faith twined, without substituting any other support inl its place. As tlhe )eauty, too, of Alethe began to attract all eyes, near fears crowded i1pon the notner’s heart; -fears, in which she w,as but too muLch justified by the characters of some of those around her. “In this sarte rl 1)e( as sn.ly e-silv be (onceived morality did not always go lihai(1 in Nl, with rw igi oin. The nypocritical aI(d lllol)itionls Olcti,, vIl() wal at this period, High Priest of Meopl , zas a i;, inii,,evry resp)ect, qualified to presidei over a cysti- – of’ s,cl sipl,iid fraud. He had reach ed that effy tin e timie ot lifet, when enough of the warmth ad r-igour of youth remains to ( give aiimaition to the counsels of age. But, in his instance, youth had left only the baser p siots behind, while {ge( but }wlr’mlit with it a more refined maturity of niischief. The adis intages of a faith appealing a l most who lly to the seises(, were well understood by him; nor had he failed eitli r to dis..:.er that, in order to rendes religion sut)bs,rvinit to his own iiite rests, he must shape it ad roitly to the initerests and pa.ssionis of others. ” The state of anxiety and reinsorse in which the mind o the hapless Tiheora w as kept bh the scenes, however artfully veiled, which she daily w itnessed around her, became at length intolerable. No perils that the cause of truth could bring with it would be half so dre adftil as this endurance of sinful ness and deceit. Her child was, as yet, sure and innocent; but, without that sentinel of the soul, Religion, how long might she continue so? ” This thought at once dec idedl her: all other fears vanish. ed before it. She resolved instantly to lay open to Alethe the whole secret of her soul; to makeni this child, who was her only hope oil earth, the sharer oif all her hopes in heaven, and then fly with her, as soon as possible, fronm this unhallowed spot, to the tfar desert-to the mountainis-to any place, how ever desolate, where God and the consciousness of innocence might be with them. “Thiie promptitude with which her young pup)il caught from her thie divinie truths was even beyond what she expected. It was like the lighting of one torch at another, so prepared was Aletlhe’s mind for the illumination. Amply, indeed, was the anxious mother now repaidl for all her misery, by this perfect communiion of love and faith, and by the delight with whi.h she saw her beloved child-like the young antelope, when fi*st led by her dam to the well-drink thirstily by her side, at the source of all life and truth. m “But such happiness was not long to last. The anxieties that Theora hall suffered began to prey upon her health. She felt her strength da,tily decline and the thoughts of leaving. alone and unguarded in the world, tlitt treasure which she had just devoted to Heaven, gave her a feeling of despair which Lbut hastened the ebb of life. Had she put in practice her resolution of flying from this place, her child might have been now beyond the reach of all she dreaded, and in the sol, tude of the desert would have found at least safety from wrong But the very hapinisiess she had felt in her new task diverted her from this project;-and it was now too late, for she was already dying. “She still continued, however, to conceal the state of her health from the tender and sanguine girl, who, though observ ing the traces of disease on her mother’s cheek, little knew that they were the hastening footsteps of death, nor even thought of the possibility of ever losing what was so dear to her. Too soon, however, the moment of separation arrived; and while the anguish and dismay of Alethe were in propor tion to the security in which she had indulged, Theora, too felt, with bitter regret, that she had sacrificed to her fond con sidenition much precious time, and that there now remained but a few brief and paisiful moments, for the communication of all those wishes and instructions on which the future destine of the y o ung orpha n depended. “‘She hatl, indeed, time for little mlore than to placeth “Accordingly, every contrivance that art cou ld d evise, or tabou r execute-every r esource that the wonderful knowledge of the Pr iests, in pyrotechny, mechanic$, and dioptric.s, could command-was brou ght into action to heig hten t he effe ct of their Mysteries, and give an air of enchantment to every thing connected with them. “1 The final scene of beatification-the Elysium, into which the Initiate was received formed, of course, the leading attraction of these ceremonies; and to render it captivating aulike to the senses of the man of pleasure, and the irtagiiation of the, spiritualist, was the great object to which the attentioln of the S acred College was d evoted. By the i nfluence ofmtie Priests of Memphis oei those of the o the r Temples they had succeeded in extending their subterranean frontier, both to the north and south, so as to inclhde, within their ever-lighted Paradise, some of the gardens excavated for the use of the other Twelve Shrines. ‘ The beauty of the young Aletke, the touching sweetness of her voice, and the sensibility that breathed throughout her every look and movement, rendered her a powerful auxi’iary in such appeals to the imamination. She ].ad been, accos.! ingly, in her very childhood, selected from among her fair companions, as the most worthy represenitative of spiritual loveliness, in those pictures of llysium-those scenes of another world-bv which not only the fancv, but the reason, of the excited Aspirants w;as dazzled. ” To the innocent child herself these shows, were pastime. But to Theora, who knew too wvell the imposition to which they were subservient, this profanatioin of all that she loved was a perpetual source of hlo-rror and remorse.

Often would she when Alethe stood smiling before her, arrayed, perhaps, as a spirit of the Elysian world-turn away, with a shudder, from the happy child, almost fancying she saw already the shadows of sin descending over that innocent brow, as she gazed upon it. ” As the intellect of the young maid became more active and inquiring. the apprehensions and difficulties e~ the mother increased. Afraid to communicate her own pre(cious secret, lest she should involve her child in the dangers that encom passed it, she yet felt it to be no less a cruelty tha, a crime to leave lier wholv immersed in the darkness of Paganism. In this dilemma, the only resource that remained to her was to select, and disengage from the dross that surrounded them, those pure particles of truth which lie at the bottom of all reli gions; those feelings, rather than doctrines, of which God has never left his creatures destitrtte, and which, in all ages, have furnished, to those who sought after it, some cltue to his glory. “The unity and perfect goodness of the Cryeator; the fall of the human soul into corruption, its struggles with the dark ness of this world, and its final redemption and re-ascent to the source of all spirit;-these natural solutions of the pro blem of our existence. these elementary grounds of all reli gion and virtue, which Theora had heard illustrated by her Christian teacher, lay also, she knew, veiled under the the ology of Eg’ypt; and to impress them, in their abstract purity, upon the mind of her susceptible pupil, was, in default of more heavenly lights, her sole ambition and care. ” It was generally their habit, after devotiurg their morn ings to the service of the Temple, to pass their,venings and nights in one ofthose small mansions above ground, allotted, within the precincts of the Sacred College, to some of the most favoured Priestesses. Here, out of the reach of those gross superstitions, which pursued them, at every step, below, she endeavoured to inform, as far as she could venture, the mind of her beloved girl; and found it lean as naturally and instinctively to truth, as plants long shut up in darkness will, rhen light is let in upon them, incline themselves to its rays. a” Freq uently, as they sat together on the terrace at night, md~irins that glorious assembly of stars> whose beauty first misled mankind into idolatry, she would explain to the young listener by what gradations of error it was that the worship, thus transferred from the Creator to the creature, sunk still lower and lower in the scale of being, till man, at length, presumed to deify man, and by the most monstrous of inver ions, heaven was made the mere mirror of earth, reflecting back all its most earth.!y features. ” Even in the Temple itself, the anx’-ous mother would en dlearour to interpose her purer lessons among the idolatrous ceremonies in which they were engaged.

When the layofrite Ibis of Alethe took its station upon the shrine, and the young maiden was se,‘l approaching, with all the gravity of wor ship, thq vecry bird which she had played with but an hour I 168

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T EPIURAN 6 sacred volume solemnly in her hands; to implore that she would, at all risks, fly from this unholy place; and, pointing in the direction of the mountains of the Said, to name, with her last breath, the venerable man, to whom, under Heaven, she looked for the protection and salvation of her child. “The first violence of feeling to which Alethe gave way was s-ucceeded by a fixed and tearless grief, which rendered her insensible. for some time, to the dangers of her situation. [ier s(-le comfort consisted in visiting that monumental chapel where the beautiful remains of Theora lay. There, night after night, in contemplation of those placid features, and in prayers for the peace of the departed spirit, did she pass her l,ielv and-however sad they were-happiest hours. Though thre mystic emblems that decorated that chapel were but ill-, stited to the slumber of a Christian, there was one among t.em, the Cross, which, by a remarkable coincidence, is an emnblem alike common to the Gentile and the Christian-bei,g, to the former, a shadowy type of that immortality, of which, to the latter, it is a substantial and assuring plodge. ” Nig,htly, upon this cross, which she had often seen her lost mother kiss, did she breathe forth a solemn and heartfelt vow, never to abandon the faith which that departed spirit had bequeathed to her. To such enthusiasm, indeed, did her he’art at such moments rise, that, but for the last injunctions ftr -m those pallid lips, she would, at once, have avowed her p rilous.

secret, and boldly pronounced the words,’ I am a Christian,’ among those benighted shrines! “But the will of her, to whom she owed more than life, was to) be obeyed. To escape from this haunt of superstition must now, she felt, be her first object; and in planning the ma,iis of effecting it, her mind, day and night, was employed. It wsi. with a loathing not to be concealed, that she now found herself compelled to resume her idolatrous services at the s,ri, e. To some of the offices of Theora she succeeded, as is to, ctstmn, bv inheritance; and in the performance of these t-l t.;-aiictified as they were in her eyes by the pure spirit slh. h-Ld soeen eng,aged in them-tbere was a sort of melanc;5lv pleaLsure in which her sorrow found relief. But the part she as again forced to take, in the scenic shows of the 51x’ri(os, brought with it a sense of degradation and wrong w’iich shei could no longer endure. ‘ Alre tdy )lad she formed, in her own mind, a plan of escatpe, in which her acquaintance with all the windings of this .n-stic reahm gave her confidence, when the solemn reception ,f Alciphron, as an Initiate, took place. “From the first moment of the landing of that philosopher it Alexondria, he had become an object of suspicion and ,watchfulness to the inquisitorial Orcus, whom philosophy, in civ shiap e, naturally alarmed, but to whom the sect over which hlie vyiun Athenian presided was particularly obnoxious. rie acconmplishments of Alciphron, his popularity, wherever ie went, and the bold freedom with which he indulgecd his ,it It the expense of religion, were all faithfully reported to he High Priest by his spies, and awakened in his mind no ,iillly elis towa rds the stra nger. In dealing with an inidol, such a personage as Orcus could know no other alterna-t ive but that of either converting or destroying him; and hrugih Iis spite, as a man, would have been more gratified ,y the latter proceeding, his pride, as a priest, led him to ,refer the triumph of the former. ” The first descent of the Epicurean into the py-amid be ame speedily k wnotsi, and the alarm was immediately given d the priests belowv As soon as they had discovere d that ~u-ec young philo sopher of A h ens was the intrud er, and that A, snot onlv still co ntinued to linger round the pyramid, but ~ aa observed to look often and wistfully towards the portal, a wavs concluded that his curiosity would impel him to try a se.cond descent; and Orcus, blessing the gfood chance which iaad thuls brought the wild bird into his net, resolved not to auffir an opportunity so precious to be wasted. a”Instantly, the whole of that wrondlerful machinery, by which ‘.he phantasms and illus~ions of Inlitiation are produced, were put in activ e preparation throughout that subterranean realm; ~.nd the increased stir and vigilance awakened among its inmates, by this more than ordinary display of the resources of priestcraft, rendered the accomplishment of Alethe’s purpose, at such a moment, peculiarly difficult. Wholly ignorant of the i-~portaalt share which it had been her own fortune to t *e in attracting the young philosopher dolts to this region, she bt~t heard of.

him vaguely, as the Chief of a great Greeij.*e t, who had been le,l lay either culriosity or accident, to,ql — himself to the first trialls of Inzitiation; and whom: the priests, she could see, wer e endeavouring t o e nsnare in their toils, by every art anl lur e wit h which their dark sc ience had gifted them. ” To her miiind, the image of a philosopher, such as Alc.e phron had been represented to her, came associat ed with ideas of age and reverence; and, more t han once, th e possibility of his being made instrumental to her deliverance flashed a hope across her h eart in w hich she could not refrain from ins dulFitng. Often had she bee n told by Theaira of the lany Gentil e sages, who had laid their wisdom down humb ly at the foot of the Cuoss; and t houg h this Initiate, she feared, could hardly be among the number, yet the rumours which she had gdathered fr om the servants of the Temple, of hi s undisguised contempt for the errors Heatheer n ism, led her to hope she might fipnd tolerance, if not sy mpath y, in her appeal to him. “Nor was it solely with a view to her own chance of delivera nce that she thus connected him i n her t hou ght s with the plo an w hich she meditate d. The look of proud and selfgratulating malice, w ith which the Hig h Pries t had mentiona ed this’ Infidel,’ as he styled him, when giving her instrnlctions in th e scen s e ewas to act beforein the sphlosopeh er in the valley, too plainly i nformed her of the dark destiny that hung over him. She knew how niany X ere the hapl ess candidates for Initiation who had been doomed to a durance worse than that of the grave, for but a word, a i w hisper, breathed against the sacred absurdities that they witness e d; a nd it was evident to her tha t the venerable Greek (fo r such her fancy represented Alciphroni) Mwas no less interested in escaping froin the snares and perils of this region than herself. ‘ Her own resolution was, at all events, fixed. That visionary scene, in which she had appeared before Alciphronlittle knowing how ardent w%ere the heart and imagination over which her beauty, at that,t mome nt, exercised its influence -Ewas, she s(:lemnly resolved, the very last unholy service, that superstition or imp)osture should ever command of her. ” On the following nig-ht the Aspirant %%,as to watch in the Great Temple of Isis. Such an opportunity of approaching and addressing him might never come again. Should he. from compassion for her rituationi, or a sense of the danger of; his own, consent to lend his aid to her flight, most gladly would she accept it well assured that no danger or tr c,a(‘ lery she might lislk (-otld be half so odious and fearful as those which shie 1 ft behind. Should he, on.llte contrary, ireje(ct the proposal, her determination was equally fixed-to trust to that Go)d whose eve w atches over the innocent, and go forth alone. ” To reach the island in Lake M(mris Adwas her first great object; and there occurred fortunately, at this time, a mode of effe(eting he l purpose, by whitchi both the diffi(culty and dangers of the attempt would!)e much diminished. The day of the a’.uual visitation of the Iliglh Priest to the Place of- Weeping as that island in the centre of the Lake is called-Mwas now fast approachinig-; and Alethe knew that the self-niovinig car, by which the High Priest and one of the Ilierophants are conveyed dowvn to the chambers under the Lake, stood then waiting in readiness. By availing herself of this expel dienit, she would gain the double advantage both of facilitating her own flight, and retardlinig the speed of her pursuers. ,, Haviyg paid a last visit to the tomb of her beloved mother, and wept there, long and passionately, till her heart almost failed il the strugg,leIaliavitng paused, too, to give a kiss t4 her favoturite ib)i.s, which, although too much a Christian tc worship, she was still child enough to love-shle went earlv, with a trembling step, to the Sanctuary, and there l-id herself in one of the recesses of the Shrine. Her intention was to steal out from thence w hile it wvas yet dark, andl before the illumination of the great Statue behlind the Veils had begun. But her fears delayed her till it was almnost too late; already was the image lighted up, and still she remained tremb~lingo in her hiding-place. ” In a few minutes more the mighty Veils would have been withdrawn, and the glories of that scene of enchantment htid open when, at.length, summoning all her courage, and taking adviantage of a momentary absence of those epmnloyed in preparing this splendid mockery, she stole from under the Veil, and found her way, through Fhe gloom, to the Epicuriah. There was then no time for explanation; she had but to trust to the simple words,‘Follow, and be silent;’ alna the implicit readiness with which she found them obeyed filled3 her with no less surprise than the philosopher himself h tf3 fek in hearing them. .” In a second or two they waere onl their waly tht,oug~h tile 69 THE F.PICUREAN.

Page 70 view page image s’i.‘i’i ted with it in her niomocv ed I lie devotion of wum iii’ at a ccrtaiii s iin a d hour lare flocks of llrds assi mlle in to ijecs tu-‘coi~ecatc-lie vey prfictiiisbutthe ra ine, of Folclic this rocky moulitaili forms ollC of the ~‘er we o belef tI ichothr a n ths slentricc intiji rock, till the cleft closes upon one of thli]i urln! cc, whi’nl a i iii~ttha lve ioll i imaelytrimph Bt te svei V Through the ravine, rendered famous by this Clhatrmr-flit of’’~‘iardi-isii~to hichI v’is risignhertha of such the multituide consider it-there ran, in anl( iewlt times, a cmii of he e(“r 5(050tec Soltar-th inftiece uchcanal from the Sili, to some great and foi orton city, nuwv r wold s’s oer hr miid-ail te horor ithburied in the desilt. To} a short distance fium tle livar this vili i ce li’ 11 mist tach er t reard he rproitecanlal still exists, hutl after halviug passed throug~h the defile, ufidl 110′ wio’s shenowsmie-in ll tis po~pet Iits scantywatl isdisappear, anldare w~holly lost under the san~ds ii ~ii bu nespI~c fter fewshorthour, my ream It was in the iieiohbourhoiid of this pl~ace, as I cotldl cidieit of ls~5) IC wooli b at’i nd, nd ticha drk casm from the delineations on0 the leaf-wohere a flisit of hirils to‘1 Oen ctweiio’s f~tes,as oul disevr tem, presented the namce o)f thec moutitain-that the alsodle of the wid as elrth foim icai on, asunder.Solitary, to whorn Aletlie was about to consimrl lerself, wvan It as t ne he w nowwholy ii my ower t faredsittiated. Little as I kintew f the geosruzlihy oif Egyvpt, it at o’vi i see but ll()sof eath, ad thesolitde ofthe ducki me, that t e hail lunc Siii(( lift this mi t!t oii be at ay I umet. sigl houht f wrng r dceit tuard coding (ight; atid, as the wind had beeon, ever since, ~liisircg evesaveted he acrlege Evn peS~in isel fee a olywards the horizon, wve musot be nlow, at least, a day’s sail to of th cautuar-andLove,pureLove stod in he pace f I is discovcry, I confess filleds my heart with.i fi-eing of Reii~~~~~~l’in. ~~~~~joy which I found it difficult to coulceal. It seemed as if As hug a I now ot er sory I culdinduge,at last foirtune was conspirig with love iln my behalf, and, bay tI s 1 in rreas ofthefutre Bt, ow-wat xpetatin, hatdelaying the moment of our separation, afforded me a chance prii’pet rcaind tMy sisge canceof appnesslayiiiat least of happiiiess. Her look and manner, too, walen inl tli hoe hwe~ci esuive ofbeng bleto ivet hr tougtsformed of our mistake, rather encouraged than chilled thlis fromthef~tl po~e t he editted ofweaingher by secret hope. In the first maoment of astonishment hier eves per-asiili nd r~Tieii, fom tat ustee fith,whih Iop~ened upon me with a suddeimess of splendour, under wh~ic h hadhefie ate an no fered sa ofattchig hr, er-I felt my own wink as though lightning hadl crossed them.

~~rtiiii~~~s for ever ~~~~ver of her lip), which showed the conflict of feeling theti going Iiithei~~atin o thse houhts I ad tared rommy on within, crossedl her arms upoti her bosomn, auld looked restligplac an cotume topaceup nd own,undr adown silently upon the deck; her whole countenance siuking liuruig in tll ehaused bth b thoght nd folin, Iinto an expression, sad, bult resigfnedl, as if she now felt that ~iin don aid hatbhz ofligh, ito slep,whih t my fate wsas on the side of wrongs, and saw Lovo already stealnCO On aakig I oun thevei of lete lad crefuly ver I was not slow, of course, in availing myself of what I fan’ my bow, hileshe,herslf, at nar m, uner te shdow cied to be the irresolution of her mind. But, still, fearful of of te sil loki anxousy uon tat eaf,whih he moherexciting alarm by any appeal to fee~ling~s of regard or teuxderbad gven er ad emloye apprenty incompriug Its(lSS, I but addressed myself to her imagination, and to that outlneswit th cor eof he ive, a wel a wih te frmslove of novelty atidt wonders, whic h is e ver ready to be awaof te roky illsby wichwe wre pssig. Se lokedkenaed withiii the youtlifiil breast. WVe were nows a.pproaching paleandtiouled andros eaerlyto eet e, s ifshehad that regioni of miracles, Tiu bes. “IJii a daly or twvo,1′ said I, bug and impateutly waited or my waking we shall see, towzerilig alio(vo the wauters, the colossal Ave, Herheat, t ws pain ha ben dstubedfro it sett- 00 of Sp~hinxes, and the bright Olielisks of the Sun. We rity andw~ bginnng t tae alrm a itsown eeligs. shall visit the plain of Memlnon, and liiholdl those migh’t;. sta-l liut thughlagelyconcios oftheperl t whch he as tiues that fling their shitdows at sunrise ever the Libyan rlls; widleen; l tli di-‘t’ice betw eiil us anld all that most kinidleil ie d he e o s r e to g thoih he m to iin zny 1,ilesion ail tl~e same time chilled mnc hopes. 5 fi~ ri a h is b a no aprioi lt o t0,l i h u. li,u ched ciimmtialioii of thoul itht and foeeiliugs, I l nllw al teicto th brd ta o w n, a d l a e te s otdvi t’io weell, I (lionglit, both h’-r sex’ nature arid my own, to feel tm t wae allt thaiilov BAt thou ghd acknowledged tr um h. B t athe asve n I lsi n, o nqii 1 )( o tei oid wors ii< of ted ic re w o ws,il sto e, rt its t yp te a n u si ttitene Isuche c u ir e. ~ e h d i id i p s e l it i t i i aOn sni'o'rer o ld aro e i n m ye miud oine – i lo k fr mheh r l inwi s et t o g y fohh o t n he s n w s a r a v s u ~ g ( feari ii, eellr hrpr s ne -li ke~ thea flaer torembli g i the hi~r leez h o t w r fte s li a p s,le a l o n e2 a h o un l i n ke d a s s h ie w a s i n t h e w o r s ld t o b t m y o n BtIe a a l, a t d e l, l e h i l d l l, a d f e u fevl t iere br i s~e e m e a slsee p ofr f ires, b e tes herl soulve a n dhea en

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TH LPCUREAN. 71 We shall hear the image of the Son of the Morning respond-

Ing to the first touch of light. From thence, in a feAw hours, a breeze like this will transport us to those sunniy islands ne ar the cataracts; there, to wandaer, among the sacred palm- groves of Phile, or sit, at nozontide hour, in those cool alcovs e s, which the waterf(i,l of Syene shadows under its arch. Oh, who is there that, with senes of such loveliness within reach, would turn c(,ldlv away to the bleak desert, and leave this fair world, with all its enl(ihantients,. shining unseen and unen joyed? At least “I added, taking tenderly her hand in ine‘- let a f,xw more da s be stolen from the dreary fate to which thou hast d(otedl tlihyself, and then -” She had heatd -,Int the -last few words-the rest had been lost upon iher. Sttrtled by the tone of tenderness into which, in despite of all my resolves, I had suffered my voice to soften, shle l)o1

(lfd for * iistaint with passionate earnestness into rmy face; then, Idrl)ppig upon her knees with her clasped hands upraised,l exclaimed-”

Tempt me not, in the name of God I imrplore thee, tempt me not to swerve from my sacred duty. Oii! ta!cl mle instautly to that desert mountain, and I will bles, tile foir ever.” This appl)ea-l, I fault, could not be resisted-even though my heart were to lbreak foi it. Having silently intimated my assent to ir piraLyer, by a slight pressure of her hand as I raised her fron the deck, I proceeded immediately, as we were still in full career, for the south, to give orders tiat our sai s,lshoId lie istitly lowered, and not a moment lost in retracin,g our ~‘OllF.Me. Il giving t-hee directions, however, it, fur the first time, occuriedl to mn, tihtt, as I had hired this yacht in the n iei(dohhouilhooidl of’lmphis, where it was probable the flight ofthe youn,g Prie stess would be most vigilantly tracked, we should run the risk of betiayir., to the boatmen the place of her retreat;and there Was now a most favourable opportunity fior taking precautions against this danger. Desiring therefore, that we shotlid be lauded at a small village onl the shiore, un der pri tence of payiian a visit to some shrine in the neigehbotirhiood, I there dismissed our barge, and was relieved from fear of further observ.ltiou, by seeing it again set sail, and resume its course fleetly up the current. From the bolts of all descriptions that la-y idle beside the bank, I noIv selected one, in every respect, suit!d to my puirpose-being, in its shape and accommodations a milniature of our fi,riier vesse l, but, at the same time, so light and small as to be manageattble by myself alone, and requiring, with the advantage of the current, little more than a hand to steer- it. This boat 1 succeeded, dwithlout much difficulty, in purchasing, and, after a short delay, we were again afloat down the currett;the suI just tlhei sinking, in conscious glory, over his own gol(leii shlrines, in the Libyan waste. Tile e veting was cahnler and Galore lovely than any that had yet sn illed,it,oi osur vo)yatge; aiin, as we left the shore, a strain of sweet iilii,y came soothingly over our ears. It was the voice of a yourg Nubian girl, whom we saw kneeling before anll acacia, uponi the bank, and singing, while her coimreanions stood artound, the wild sonig of iivocation, w:..h, in her counitry, they address to that enchanted tree: solitude daaws hearts t ogether, and ho w much more we se emed to bel ong to each other, than whenth ere w ere eyes around us Thime same feeling, but without the same sense of it3 danger, was manifest in every look and word of Alethe. The consciousness of the one great effort which she had made appeared to have satisfied her heart on the score of duty while the devotedness with which she saw I attended to her every wish, waso felt with all that trusti ng gratitude which, i n woman, is the day-spring of love. She was, t herefore, happy, in nocently happy; and the confiding, and even affectionate, unreserve of her mannier, while it rendered my trust more sacred, mud it also far more diticuilt. It was only, however, upon subjects unconnected with situation or fate, that she yie,lided to such interchange of thought, or that her voice veltured to answer mine. The moment I alluded to the destiny that anwaited us; all her cheerfulniess fled, and she became saddened (nid silent. When I described to her the beauty of my own i] native land-its founts of inspiration and fields of glory-lher eyes sparkled with sympathy, antid sometimes even softened into fondness. But when I ventured to whisper, that, in that glorious country, a life full of love and liberty awaited her; when I proceeded tc contrast the adoration and bliss she might command, with the gloomy austerities of the life to which she Maas hastening-it was like the coming of a sudden cloud over a sumnmer sky. Her head sunk, as she listened;-I mwaited in vain for an an swer; and when, half playfully reproaching her for this si lence, I stooped to take her hand, I could feel the warm tears fast falling, over it. But even this-feeble as eras the hope it h(ld out-wa s still a glimpse of hap))iniess. Though it f)reboded that I should lose her, it also whispered that I was loved. Like that lake, in the land of Roses, whose waters are half-sweet, half-bitter, I felt my fate to be a compound of bliss and pain-but its very pain well worth all ordinary bliss. And thus did the h-outrs of that night pass along; while every moment shortened our happy dream, and the current seemed to flow with a swifter pace than any that ever yet hurried to the sea. Not a feature of the whole scene but lives, at this moment, freshly in my memory;-the broken starlight on the water;-tthe rippling sound of the boat, as, witholut oar or sail, it went, like ia thing of enchantment, down the streamn;-the scented fire, burning beside us upon the deck, and then that face, on which its light fell, revealing, at every moment, some new charm-some blush or look, more beautiful than the lust! Often, while I sat gazing, fo)rgetful of all else, in this world, our boat, left wholly to itself, would drive from its course, and bearing us away to the bank, get entangled in the water flowers, or be caught in some eddy, ere I perceived where we were. Once, too, when the rustling of my oar among the flowers, had startled away from the bank some wild antelopes, that had stolen, at that still hour, to drink of the Nile, what all emblem did I think it of the young heart then beside me -tasting, for the first time, of hope and love, and so soon alas, to be scared from their sweetness for ever! “Oh! Abyssitian tree, WVe pray, we pray to thee, By the glow of thy golden fruit, AOfl the vilt o f thy flowe r And the greeting mute Of thy bough’s salute To the stranger who seeks thy bower. THE night was iow fiar advanced-the bend of our coumse towards the left, and the clositng in of the eastern hills upon the river, gave warning of our approach to the hermit’s dwell ing. Every minute now appeared like the last of existence; and I felt a sinking of despair at my heart, which would have been intolerable, had not a resolution that suddenly, and as if by inspiration, occurred to me, presented a glimpse of hope, wvhi ch, in some dcgree, calmed my feelings.

TMuch as I had, all my life, despised hypocrisy-the very sect I had embraccd being chiefly recommended to me hy the war they coitinued to wage upon the cant of all otheIt it was, nevertheless, in hypocrisy that I now scrupled not X take refuge from that calamity which to me was far wote than either shame or deathi, niy separation from Alethe. In my despair I adopted the humiliating plan-deeplyhumiliating as I felt it to be, even amid the joy with which I welcomed it-of offeritig myself to this hermit, as a convert to his faith, and thus becoming the fellow-disciple of Alethe under his care From the moment I resolved upon this plan my spirit felt lig,htened. Though having fully before my eyes the mean labyrinthl of impost -:e into which it would lead me, I thought of nothing but the oaence of our continuing still together. Is “Oh! Ablyssiniai tree, How the traveller blesses thee Whenl the night no Ioon allows, Anid the sunset lour is near, And thou b,end’st thy boughs To kiss his brows, Sayill,A’

Com.e, rest thee here.’ Oh [ Abyssin,ianl tree, Thus bow thy head to me!”

I I i.i 71 THir El -r-UREAN. CHAPTER XV. In the burden of this son,- the companions of the young Nubianjoined; and we heard the words, 11 Oh!

Abyssinian tree,” dying away on the breeze, long after the whole group had n lost to our eves. Whether, in the new arrangement which I had made for cnir voya,-e, ai-iy motive, besides those which I professed, had a share, I can scarcely, even myself-so bewildered were thenmyfeelin,, s-determine. Butnosoonerbadthecurrent borne us a.way fro,-n all human dvellin,,, and we were alone = the watei-s. wit. not a soul near, than I felt how closely such

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2 THE MIRROR

LIBRARY.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ this hope, all pride, all philosophv, w%as forgotten, and every Memphis she had been taught by her mother to sing to ti thiiu seemed tolerable, but the prospect of losing her. rising sun. Thus resolved, it w as with somewhat less irluctant feelings Scarcely less startled than my companion, I looked up, ard that I now undertook, at the anxious desire of mny companion, saw, at the very summit of the rock above us, a lighit, appear.

to ascertain the site of that well-know n mountaiii in the neighli- ing to come from i small opening or window, thr J igh which bourhood of which the anchoret’s dwelling lay. We had those sounds likewise, that had appeared to me z) supernaalready passed one or.o stupendous rocks, whico stood, de- tuial, issued. There cotld be no doubt, that we had now tached, like fortresses, o ver the river’s bl ink, and w hici h in found-if not the dwelling of the anchorite-at least, the haunt some degiee corresponded with the descreiption on the leaf. of some of the Christian brotherhood of these locks, by whose So little was there of life now stirring along the shores, that assistance we could not fail to find the place of his retreat. I had begun almost to despair of anv assistance from inquiriv, The agitation, into which Alethlie had been thrown by the when, on looking to the w estern bank, I saw a boatman amoing’ first burst of that psalmody, soon yielded to the softening rethe sedges, towing his small boat, with some difficulty, up colle(tions w hich it brought back; and a calm came over her the current. Ilailiiig him as we passed, I asked,-”

W,here 1irow,i such as it had n(eer befiore worni, since we met. She stands the Mountain of the Birds?”.aid he hadl hardly time, seelmed to feel as if she had now reached her destined haven as hlie pointed above us, to answer “There,” when Awe per and hailed, as the voice of heaven itself, those solemn sounds ceived that we were just then entering into the shadow, which bv which she Mas we lcomed to it. this mighty rock flinos across the whole of the flood II lier tiaiqiillity, however, I was very far fiom yet sym InII a few moments we had reached thie mouth of the ravine, pI)atlising. Full of impatience to learn all that awaited her or which the Mountaiii of the Birds forms one of the sides, as well as mvself, I pushed our boat close to the base of the and throughl which the scantv canal from the Nile flows. At rock,. so is to bring it directlv under that li,ghted window on the sight of this awful chasm, within some of whose drearv the summit, to explore my way up to which was now my imrecesses (if we had rightly interpreted the leaf) the dwoelliiig mediate object. Having hastily received my instructions of t’ie Solitaiy was to be found, our voices sunk at once into fiom Alethe, and made her repeat again the name of tim a low whispler, wh-lile Alethe turned round to mne Fithli a look Christian whom Xe sought, I sprang upon the bank, and was of awe and ea,ernliess, as if doubtful whether I had not already not long in discovering a sort of path, or stairway, cut rudely disappeaied irom her side. A quick movemeint hosewvr, of out of the rocl, and leading, as I found, by easy windings, her hand towards the raviue, told too plainly that her plurpose up the steep. was still unchanged. Immediately checkiing, therefore, witli After ascending for some time, I arrived at a level space my oars, the career of my boat, I succeeded, after no0 small or ledge, which the hand of labour had succeeded in convert exertion, in turning it out of the current of the river, and ing into at garden, uid which was planted, here and there, steering into this bleak and stagnant canal. with fig,-trees and palms. Around it, too, I could perceive, Our transition firom life and bloom to the very depth of through the glimmering light, a number of small caves or idesolati(on was immediate.

While the water on one side of grottos, into some of which, human hbeiiisgs might find an en the ravine lay buried in shadow, the white skeleton-like crags trance; while others apipeared of no la rger dimiensions than of the other stood aloft in the pale glare of moonlight.

The thos.e tombs of the Sacred Birds which are seen ranged around sluggish stream through which we moved yielded sullenly to Lake Meris. the oar, and the shriek of a few water birds, which we had I was still, I fotund, but half-wiy up the ascent, nor was roused from their fastnesses, was succeeded by a silence, soI there visiblei any fiurther means of continuiing my course, as dead and awful, that our lips seemed afraid to disturb it by the inittistiri froni hence rose, almost perpendicularly, like a a breath; and half-whispered exclamations, ” How dreary!” wall. At length, however, oil exploring more closely, I dig -” fow dismal!” were almost the only words exchanged covered behind the shade of a fig-tree, a large ladder of wood, between us. resting firmly against the rock, alirt aflibeding an easy and safe We had proceeded for some time through this gloomy de- ascent ul) the steep. file, when, at a short distance before us, among the rocks upon Havin,g ascertained thus far, I again descended to the boat which the mnioonlight fell, we could perceive, on a ledge ele- for Alethe wihom I found trembling talready at her short soli vated but a little above the canal, a small hut or cave, which, tude; and lhaving led her up the staisrway to this quiet gar firom ai tree or two planted around it, had siome appearance den, left her lodged there secutrely, amid its holy science of being the abode of a human being. “This, then,,” thought while I pursued my way upward to the light upon the rock I, “is the home to which she is destined!”A chill of despair At the top of the lollng ladder I found myself o1n another camne again over my heart, and the oars, as I sat gazing, laly ledge or platform, somewhat smaller than the first, but plant motionless in my hands. ed, in the same manner, with trees, and, as I could perceive I fiound Alethe, too, whose eyes had caught the same object, by the mingled light of mornliing and the iioon, emnbellished (,rawi,ig closer to my side than she had yet ventured. Lay with flowess rs. I was inow near the summlit;thliere remained ing her hand agitatedly upon mine, ” We must here,” said but another short ascent, and, as a ladd,er iagainst the rock, she, “part for ever.” I turned to her as she spoke; there supplied, as before, the means of scaling it, I wis in a few was a tenderness, a despondency, in her countenance, that at Inililites at the opening from which the light issued. once saddened and inflamed my soul. “Part!” I exclaimed, I had ascended gently, as well from a feeling of awe at passionately” No!the same God shall receive us both. the whole scene, as fiomni an Unwillingness to disturb rtudely Trijhy faith, Alethlie, shall, from this hour, be mine; and I will the rites on which I intruded. My approach, therefore, being live and die in this desert with thee!” uiheard, an opportunity was, for some moments, aflforded Her surprise, her delight, at these words was like a mo me of observing the group within, before.nmy appearance at mentary delirium. The wild, anxious smile, with which she the window was discovered. looked into my face, as if to ascertain whether she had indeed In the middle of the apartment, which seemed to have heard my words aright, bespoke a happiness too much for been once a Pagan oratory, there was coilected an assembly reason to bear. At length, 10ie fulness of her heart found re- of about seveos or eight persons, some male, some female, lief in tears; and, murmuing forth an incoherent blessing on kneeling in silence round a small altar;-while, among them, my name, she let her head fall languidly and powerlessly on as if presiding over their solemn ceremony, stood an aged my arm. The light from our boat-fire shone upoii her face. man, who, at the moment of my arrival, was presenting to I saw her eyes, which she had closed for a moment, again one of the female worshippers an alabaster cup, which she opening upon me with the same tenderness, and-merciful applied, with profound reverence, toher lips. The venerable Providence, how I remember that moment! was on the point countenance of the minister, as he pronioiinced a short prayer of bending down my lips towards hers, when, suddenly, in over her head, wore an expression of profound feeling that the air above us, as if coming direct from heaven, there burst showed how wholly he was absorbed ill that rite; and when forth a strain of choral riusic, that with its solemn sweetness she had drank of the cup-which I saw had engraven on its filled the w hole valley. | side the image of a head, with a glory round it-the holy man Breaking away from my caress at these supernatural sounds, bent down aud kissed her firehead he maiden threw herself trembling upon her knees, and, not After this parting salutationi the whole group rose silentiy dt ring to look up, exclaimed wildly, “My mother, oh my from their knees; and it was then, for the first time, that by mother!” a cry of terror from one of the women, the appearance of a It was the Christian’s morning hymn that we heard -the stranger at the window was discovered. The whole assem same as I learned afterwards, that. on their high terrace at bly seemed startled and alarmed, except him. that sunerici 12 THE MIRROR LIBRARY.

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THE EPICUREAN. 73 person, who, advancing from the altar, with an unmoved look, raised the latch of the door adjoining to the window, and admitted me. There was, in this old man’s features, a mixture of elevanonl and sweetness, of simplicity and energy, which commnanded at once attachment and homage; and half-hoping, hlalf-fearing, to find in him the destined guardian of Aletlie, I looked anxiously in his face, as I entered, and pronounced the tuame ” Melailius!”-” Melanius is my name, young stranger,”

lie answered; “and whether in friendship or in enmity thou comest, MAIelanius blesses thee.” Thus saying, he made a sign withi his right haud above my head, while, with involuntary respect, I bowed beneath the benediction. ” Let this volume,” I replied, ” answer for the peacefulness of my mission “-at the same time placing in his hands the copy of the Scriptures which had been his own gift to the mother of Altthe, and which her child now brought as the credential of her claims on his protection.

At the sight of this sacred loede, ewhich hie iinstantly recognized, the solemnity which had at first marked his reception of me, softened into tenderness. Thoughts of other times appeared to pass thirough his mind: and as, with a sigh of recollection, he took the book from mv- lhands, somei( words on the outer leaf caught his eye. They were few -but contained, most probably, the jast wishes of the dying Theora; for, as he read them over eagerly, I saw tears in his aged eyes. ” The trust,” he said, with a faltering voice, is precious and sacred, and God will enable, I hope, his servant to guard.it fait!iflly.” During this short dialogue, the other persons of the assembly had departed-being,, as I afterwards learned, brethren from the neighbouring bank of the Nile, who came thus secretiy before daybreak, to join in worshipping their God. Fearfil lest their descent down the rock might alarm Alethe, I hurried brieflv over the few vwords.of explanationi that renaine(l, and leaving the venerable Christian to follow at his eisure, hastened anxiously down to rejoin the young maiden. rich city, Antinoe, though he mingled not with its multitude, his name and his fame were ever among them, and to all who sought after instruction or consolation, the cell of the hermit was always open. Notwithstanding the rigid abstinence of his own hbrb;ts, he was yet careful to provide for the comforts of others. Corn tent with a rude pallet of straw, himself, he heAd always I,.}; the stranger a less homely resting place. Fror hi grotto, the wayfaring and the indigent never went unref,-hr-hd; and, with the aid of some of his brethren, he had forIre, gardens along the ledges of the mountain, which gave arn air of life ana cheerfuiness to his rocky dwelling, and supplied him with the chief necessaries of such a climate fr’it and shade. Though the acqluaintance he had faJrned with the mother of Alethe, during the short perioe of her attendanice at the school of Origen, wa s soon interru} ted, andi never afterwards renewed, the interest w h ic h bre h,,lte then tbke in her fate was far t too lively to be for gotten He had seen the zeal with which her young heart welc mied instruction; and the tho ugh t that so promising, a candi late for heaven should have Relapsed into idolatry, c a me often, with disquietin g apprerlera sion, over hi s mind. It was, oe therefore, with true I Csure, that, but a year or two befo r eale Theoa’s deth, he hd learned bv a private con mmunication from her, transmitted through a Cluristian embtalm-n er of Memplhis, that ” not only bad her ow n hea rt takeen root i n the faith, but that a enew bud ha d flowered with t he same divine hope; ad that, ere long, he mi ght see them both transplanted to the desert.” The coming, therefore, of Alethe was far-less a surpris e to. him, tha n her coming tihus alone sas a shofck and a sorrow e and the silence of their firs t meet ing she owed how painfully bo th remembered th at the tie which had brought them together was no lo nger o f this wol -I-thLbt the lfaid, wuhic h should have been then joined with their s, was h sh oosw moulder lug ig the tomb. I now saw, tha t even religion like his wa s not p roof again st the sadness of mortality. For, a s t h e old man rput aside the ringlets f ro m he r fo rehead, and contemplated in tha t clear countenance the reflection of what her m other had been, there mingle d a mournfulness with his piety, as he said, ” Heaven rest her soul!’ which showed how little even the cer tainty of a ieaven for those we love can recon cile us to the paip n of having lost the m on earth. The full light of day had now risen upon the des ert, and our host, reminded, by the faint looks of Alethe, )f the m an y anxious hours w e had passed M, ithout sleep, proposed. th at we should seek, in the chamber s of the rock, such rest as a her mit’s dwelling could offer. Pointing to one of the largest of these openings, as he addres sed me-og Thot wilt fi nd,” i hae said, “in that gro otto a bed of fresh doum leasses, and may the consciousness of havin g protec ted the orlhan sweeten thy sleep!” I felt how dearly this praise had been earned, and already almost repented of having deserved it There was a sadness in the countenance of Alethe, as I took le ave of her, t o which the forebodings of my oyu n heart but too fatithfully respon ded nor co uld I help fearindt, as her hand parted ligeri,gly from mine, that I’ had, b ththi s sacrifice, plated her beyond my reach for ever. Having lighted for me a lamp, which, in these recesses, even at noon, is necessary, the holy man led me to the en trance of the grotto. And here, I blush to say, my careel of hypocrisy began. With the sole vi, s (ot obtainling another glance at Alethe, I turned humbly to solicit the benediction of the Christian, and, having conveyed to her, while bending reverently down, as much of.the deep feelings of my soul as looks could express, I then, with a desponding spilt, hurried into the cavern. A short passage led me to the chamber itllin the psalis of which I found covered, like those of the Rotters of’ Lycopolls, with paintings, which, though executed long ages ago, looked as fresh as if their colours were but laid on yesterday. They were, all of them, representation.s of rural arnd domestic scenes; and, in the greater numb~er, the melancholy ima. ginetlon of the artist had called in, as usmal, the presence of Death, to throw his shadow over the picture. My attention was particularly drawns to one; series of ~ub jects, throughout the whole of which tile same group consisting of a youth, a maiden, anld two aged p~ersons, who appeareid to be the father and mothel’ of the girl were represented in all the details of their daily life. Thle looks ands~ attitudes of the young people denoted that they were lovcrB: ME. LAN IUS was one of the first of those zealous Christians ff Egypt, who, followin,- the recent example of the hermit, Paul, bade farewell to all the comforts of social existence, and betook themselves to a life of contemplation in the desert. L,ess selfish, however, in his piety, than most of these ascetfcs, Melanius forgot not the world in leaving it. He knew that man was not born to live wholly for himself; that his relation to hum an kind was that of t he link to the chain, and that eve n hi s sol itud e s hould b e tu rned to the advantage of (thers. In flving, therefore, from the din and disturbance of life, he sought not to place himself beyond the reach of its E,ympathies, but selected a retreat where he could combine all the advantages of solitude with those opportunities of being useful to his fellow-me, which a neighbotrhoodl to their populous haunts would afford.

Tpoat taste f br the lor b tenan ea, t is the gloom of subterranean recsses, which the oe of Mi sraim inheri t from their Ethiopian ancestors, had, by hollowing out all Egypt into caverns and crypts, supplied these Christian anchorets with an ample choice of retreats. Accordingly, some found a shelter in the grottos of Elethya;others, among the royal tombs of the Thebaid. In the middle of the Seven Vallevs, where the sun rarely shines, a few have fixed their dim an(] melancholy retreat; while others have sought the iieiglhbourhood of the red Lakes of Nitria, and there, like those Pag;ani solitaries of old, who fixed their da-elling among the palm-trees near the:Dead Sea, pass their whale lives in musing amidst the sterility of nature, and seem to find, in her desolation, peace. It was on one of those mountains of the Said, to the east of the river, that Mlelanius, as we have seen. chose his place of secltsion-havin,- all the life and fertility of the Nile on one side, and the lone, dismal barrenness of the desert on the other. Halfway down this mountain, where it impends over the ravine, he found a series of caves or grottos dug out of the rock, whic,h had, in other times, ministered to some purpose of mystery, but whose use had long been forgotten, and ,heir recesses abandoned. To this place, after the banishment of his great master, Oriven, Melanius., with a few faithful followers, retired, and there, by the example of his innocent life, as well as by his fervid eloquence, succeeded in winning crowds of converts to ifith. Ploced, as he was, in tk, neighbourho -l of the 73 TI-LE EPICUREAN. CHAPTER XVI.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. To speak of peace to a heart throbbing, as mine did, at that moment, was like talking of some distant harbour to the mariner sinking at sea. In vain did I look around for some sign of Alethe;-in vain make an effort even to utitter her name. Consciousness of my own deceit, as well as a fear of awakening in the mind of Melanius any suspicion that might tend to frustrate my only hope, threw a fetter over my spirit, and checked my toilgue. In humble silence, therefore, I followed; while the cheerful old man, with slow, b,ti firm step, ascended the rock, by the samle ladders which I had mounted on the preceding nig-ht. During the time when the Deciiit Pers,ec(utioni was raing} many Christian>, as he told me, of the – ighibourliood, had taken refuge under his protection, in th,es grottos; and the small chapel upon the summit, whet e Ii h(l fotund his flock at prayer, was, in those awful times of suiteriiig, tiheir usual place of retreat, where, by drawin,,g iup) these ladders, they were enabled to secure themselves f’rom pursuit. The view, from the top of the rock, extending on eithei side, embraced the two extremes of fertility and desolation; nor could the Epicurean and the Anclioiet, who now stood gazing from that height, be at any li..s to iiidulge their respective tastes, between the living luxutriance of the world on one side, and the dead, putlseless repose of the desert on the otheli. Wheni a e turned to the river, what a picture -f animati o n p resented itself! Neati us to the south, were the graceful colonnades of Aintinoe, its proud, populouis streets, and triuimphal monumnenits. On the opIposite shore, rich plains, all teeming w ith cultivation to the water’s edgy, seemed to offer up, as firom verdant altars, their fquits to tbh, sun; while, beneath us, the Nile, o n ore of tho-e sweet nights When Isis, the pure star of lovers, lights Her bridal crescent o’er the holv streamW,,he wan.derin,g y,outhls and maidens watch her beam, And number o’er the nights she hath to run, Ere shbe again es,. ace her bridegroom sun. Throuali all these scenes of endearment the two elder per beions stood bv;- thhir chrln counteenanc es touched with a share af that bli, ut ir tos e perfect lightf the y oung l ov ers we re pasking. The us far, all was ham ppiness;-but the sad lesson oaf mortality ans yet to come. In tdle last picture of the series, one of thee filures %as missing. It was that of the younck mabklezl, Xetho h ihadyd isappeared from among them. On t he bink of a Idark lake stood the three who remained; while e boat, just ( le Ittrt ing ” fior the City of the Dead, told too plainly the end of their diream of happiness. This memorial of a sorrow of t)tler times-eof a sorrow,’ anc ient as dea th itself-wras not wantitr to deepen the melancholy of m m i d. or to add to f e th e eight of the many bodigs that pressed uipon it. After a night, as it seemed, of anxious and unsleeping ‘oigh.t, I rose f rom my bed, and returned to the garden. I found the Chlistian h-seat ed u the le t he s had o oe of one of his trees, a t a sna,ll table, on which there lay a volume un c firsed, whili ah I)eaetitfil ante lope was sleeping at hi s feet. Struck by the moe ntr,mast wnhiclh hie presented to those haughty pries ts, whom I id esel seen surrou nded by the pomp and gorgeousness of temples, ” Is th is, nt then,” ttouoht I, ” the faith befor h i e wt p ici now trpmoles-its temple the ldeser t, its treasury a book, and its High Priest the solitary dweller o f the roeod? He ham l i)ro t)ailed for me a simpl e but hospitable repast, of which fruits fip)rf e his own11 atr daen, the white bread of Olvra, and the jfice of tik ho,ey-ca in e, formed t he mos t costly luxuries. His of:her to me,has- even more cord ial a nd fatherly than before; oit tsi- abdreace of Alethe, and, still more, the ominous reserve, t i t h wshich he not only, himself, refrained from all naepstio n of her otame, but eluded the few inquiries, by wh ich I so aozlit to leatd to it, seemed to confirm all the fpprehensions I had f bilr ina parti pc em from her. She had acq,,l tiitted him, it was evident, with the whole history of our flilght. m y reputation as a philosopher-my desire to bte,me a Christia n-all was alreTadv known to the zealous anchoree, and the sslabjt’ct of mv conversi on w as th e verv first on which he entered. Oh, prid e of philosophy, how weot thou then RlmledSs, and wi th what sh aime did I stand in the preseicle of that ,{ trabele ntl,, not daring to let mv eves en cou nte r hi ae, w-, itl wholeheeitatid,g trust in the sincerity of mv intention le, i, telcoinel me to a participation of his holy ho p e, and ipntprinted the Kissa of Chavrit y om ny infidel brow. Embae-wra s e d as I copull not alult feel by the humiliating coatscioiisness of h )pocrisy, I w as eiven still more perplexed by my alhost totail i g’n(rance of the real tenets of the faith to which I professed nmy self’ a convert. Abashed and confused, and with a heart sick at its okv n deceit, I listened to the animated and eloqwh ent d grsatulations of the Christian, as th ough thesy we rec word. ib a ream, ditiout any link or meaning; nor could disguise, but by tht4 mo)ckery of a reverent bow, at every pause, the total want )f self-possession, and even of speech, under which I laboured. A ft,w minutes in,re of’ such trial, and I must have avowed my impost,ire. Bu,t the holy man perceived my embarrassmeait; and, w}t’thr r mistaking it for atwe, or knowing it to be ignorance, reliec,,,(] me fron my pe,‘plexity by, at once, changing the theme. ltav-rg gentlv awakened his antelope from its sleep, ” You h,ave doubtless,” he said, ” heard of my brother-anchoret, Paul, who, from his cave in the marble mountains, near the Red Sea, send.s hourly the blessed’sacrifice of thanksg’ivinDg’ to hea,ven. Of his walks, they tell me, a lion is the companion; but, for me,” he added, with a playful and significanltsmile, “wtho try my powers of taming but on the gentler’

animals, this feeble child of’ the desert is a far fitter playmate.”

Thlen, -taking his staff, and putting the time-wornl volume which he had been perusing into a large goat-skinl poulch, that hung by his side, ” I will now,” said he, ” conduct thee liver m11 rocky kingdom, that thou mayest see in what dre al aad bzarren places that’ sweet fruit of the 6piit’ Peace, may be gathered.” – the glorious stream, Tlhat late b)etween the!raniks was seen to ghlde With shrines and iarble cities, on each side, Glittering, like jewels strung alol.g a chainHad now senit forth its wa,ters, a d o’er plain Antd valley, like a giant from. his be,d Rising with outstretch’d limbs, superbly spread. From this scene, on one side of the nmourntain, fire had bult t, turn round our eyes to the other, and it itwas as if Nature her self had become suddenly extinct;-, ia wide waste of sands, bleak and interminable, wearying out the nun with its sameness of desolation;-black, burnt-up rocks, that stood as barriers, at which life stopped;-,-whiile the only signs of animation, past or present, were the foot-Tprints, here and there, of an antelope or ostrich, or the bones of dead camels, as they lay whitening at a distance, mnarking out the track of the caravans over the waste. After listening, while he contrasted, in a few eloquent words, the two regions of liii and death on whose confines we stood, I a dain descended with miy guide to the garden that we had left. From tht’nc, tulrnlinig into a path along the mo~l,tain-side, he led me to another row of,gottos, facing the desert, which had been once, he said, the al,(:d) of these brethren in Christ, who had fled withl himn to this solitude from th e crow ded world-but which death had, withl in a few short mollths, rendered tenantless. A clross of red stonie, and a few faded trees, were the only traces these solitaries had left behind. A silence of some minutes succeeded, while we descended to the edge of the canal; and I saw opposite, among the rocks, that solitary calve, which had so chilled me with its aspect on the preceding night. Beside the bank we found one of those rustic boats, which the E yvptians construct of planks of white thorn, bound rude(lv to,-the( r with bands of papyrus. Placing ourselves in this b[oat, an.d rather impelling than raowing it across, we made our ara t]rougih the ft)ul and shallow flood, and landed direc-tly iun..TH EiCUEA.  einto a bower. She had here reminded me, by this sacred memorial, of the vow which I had pledged to her under the Hermit’s rock; and I now scrupled not to reitermat the same daring Hpr om ise, though conscious that through hypocrisy alone I co)uld fulfil it. Eager to prepare myself for my task of imposture, I sat down to the volume, whlicli I now found to beh the Hebrew Scriptures; and the first sentence, oil icihy eyes fell, was to” The Lord lath commauded the blessing, even Life for evermore!” Stairtled by these words, in which it appeared to me is if the Spirit of my dream had a,,in pronounced his assuring, prediction, I raised my eyes from,i the page, and l~ peated thie oeter and over, as if to try whether in these sounds there lay uiy cliarn or slpell, to re-awaken that faded illusio n in my sotfl. Bit, iio-tie raiiik frauds of the Memiphiaii priestlioo,l had dipspeile d all my trust in the pro mises of religion. My he(at had a gin l rapsed into its gloom of scepticism, and, to the word of “Life,” the only answer it sent back was, “Death!”

Being impatient, however, to possess mvselfof the elements of a faith, upon whiichi-whitever it might promise for here after-I filt that all my hapliness here dep ended, I turned over the pages with an earnestness and avidity, such as never even the most favou0ritc of my studies had awakened in me. Though, like all who seek but the surface of learning, I flew desultorily over the leaves, lvig ting only on the more promi nent and shiling points, I yet fonu d myself, even in this urn disciplined career, airre,ste.1d, at every page, bly the awful, the SUl)efiijiatuiial sublimity, the alterinate melancholy and grandeur of the imag,Les Illa,t crowded upon imie. I had, till now, known the l iebrew theology but through the platonisiug refinement of liil,, in like manner, for my knowl(-dge of the Christian doctrine I was indebted to my brother Eplicureans, Lucian aud CClsus. Little, therefore, was my mind prepared for the siin1)le ma jesty, the high tone of iiispliratioii-tile poetry, in shloirt, of heaiveni that breathed touthe r o gh ou t these oracles. Could admiration have kindled faith, I shlould, that night, have been a beiicver; so elevated, so awed, as my imagiiiation by that wonderful book-its warnings of we, its annou nemets of glory, and its unrivalled strains of adoration and sorrow. Hour after hour, wii thfli same eager and desultory curi osity, did I turn over thi leaves -aud wiei, at length, I lay m down to rest, myi fancy A-as still haunted by impressions it had received. I went again th rough the various scenes of which I had read; again called uli, in sleep, the bright im ages that had passed liefore me; and when awakened at early dawn by tile solemn Hymn from the chapel, imagined that I was still listeming to the sound of’ the winds, sighing mrourn~fully through the harps of’ Israel oin the willows. Startling from my ied, I fiurried out u1)on the rock, with’ hope that, among the tones of that moniiig clioir, I might be able to distinguish the sweet voice of’

Aletlie. But the strain had ceased;-I caught only the last notes of tile Hymn, as, echoing up that lonely valley, they died away into the silence of the desert. With the first glimpse of light I was again eagerly at my study, and, notwithstanding the frequent distraction both oi my thoughts and looks towards the distant, half-seen grottos of the Aiichoret, continued my task with unabating persever ance throughout the day. Still alive, however, only to the eloquence, the poetry of what I studied, of its claims to au thliority, as a history, I never once paused to consider.

My fancv ihiie beiri interested by it, to fancy alone I referred App ted bsm wn goom imanat~ons I urne toard a tissue of oriental allegories, iii which the deep melancholy the a; c ad nowitistndinthedisust ithwhih I of E~gyptian associations was interwoven with the rich and niva~tni~men Isawa lghtwitin Atsuc a omet, across the canal, to my cave. Though lie was accompanied anv et Oflif waswelome an I aile th unxpeted only by his graceful autelope, which came snuffing the wild appeaioct wit plesure On eterig, hweve, I ound air of the deseit, as if’ scenting its home, I felt his visit, even the hamer ll C loelyas hadlef it Theligt Ihad thus, to be a most welcome relief It was the hour, he said, WhatII d bu lii on, culdhavepreare thi reep- of the iiihahitanits of the wilderiiess til eolleet the fi,~sh dew neart for the last few hours, found a vent at once, and I burst into tears. Accusto,med to human weakness anid., perhaps guessing at some of the sources of nmin,,- the good Hermrit., without appearing to take ainy notice of this emotion, proceeded to exipatiate, with a cheerful air, oil, what he called, the comforts of my dwelling,,.

Sheltered from the dry, burning wind of the south, my porch’wouldl inhitale, he said, tile fresh breeze of the Do,,-star. Fruits fr’om his own mo)untaini-garden should furnish my repast. The,ell of the ne,,ighbearing rock would surply my beverag,e; aind “1here.” lie continiued low,%eringhis voice into a more solemn toie s he placed upon the table the volume which he had brouglit” here, my son, is that ‘wl flvng- waters,’ -inwichi alone thiou wilt find lasting, refreshment or peace!” Thus saying~, lie des,cenided the rock to his boat; and, after a few plashes of his oar had died upon my car, the solitude and silence that reigned around me was complete. WHAT a fate was mi n e!-abut a few weeks sinice, presidiii d n over that gay Festival of the Gardeni, r itall t he luxuries of existence tributary in my train; and tiow self-htimlflcd into a solitary outcast the hypocritical pupil of a Christian antbi ret-with oluot even the excuse of rrifygiotos efnaticismr or any other madness, b ut tha s of love, will love, to extendate my f a ll! Were ther e a hope that by this daum,ailidtinyfg wa ste of existence, I miwei ws t put-chase tow afdd then a somentualimaery glimpse o f Aeh o tha bed brig of hi even rme upthe ounthe desert, with acstco a chance, would be welcome. But to live aid live tbus  without her, was a nbuisert vst thicos I oifthelroc fsaw nor could endure. Hating even to l-o ok upon the den to which I was doomed, tI hur0ned out into the air, atd fimnd mv v, aolong the rocks, borthe desert. Tiensy fld Even thhe s un him iii lit h lat blood-ried hue, which b e so often wears, in this climate, at his setting. I saw the sands, stretching, ),,t, like a sea to the horizon, as if their waste extended to the very verge of the world and, in the bitterniess of mv feeling,,, re..oiced to see so large a portio~n of creation re~-cted, even by thfis barren liberty, frbm the encroaching g-raszp of man. The thought seemed to relieve my wounded pride, and, as I wandered over the dim and boundless solitude, to) be thus free even amidst blight and desolation, appe-aredi to me a blessing. The only living, thing, I saw was a restless swallow, whose wingsT. were of the laeiue with the gray sanids over which he fluttered. “Whyli (thou,-lt I) may not tlhe mind, like, this bird, pairtak-e of the colour of tile des~ert, -anid symr,thise in its aus-terityv, its fi-ee,t,)i-, and it.; calm?‘7-thuis vatf~ly endearouting,, between despondendetce and defiance, to encounter with somi-e degree of fortituide what yet my heart sickened to .orntempla-tt.

But the effort was unavailing. Overcome by that vast solitude, whose repose was not the slumber of peace, but rather the sullen and burning silence of hiate, I felt my s~pirit give wvay, and even love itself yielded to despair. Tali~ my seat en a trag,menit offa rock, and covering my eyes with my hands, I made an effort to shut out the overw;helmin~g prospect. But -,ll in vaiii-it was still before me, with every additional horror that f~ancy could suggest; and when, aanlook,ing, forth, I b~eheld the last red ray of the sun, shooting, across the melancholy and lifeless waste, it app-ea-red to me like the light of that comet which once deso1-at(,ki this world, and thus luridly shione out over the ruin that it II,-( made! Appailled by my own g-loomy imaminations, I turned toward,; tlc aine; and, notwithista-nding the disgust with which I }l’i,l fl. ,l fr’om my dwelling-, was not ill pleased to) find mry wa,,-~er the rocks, to it again. On approaching the cave, ri~ o is’ atonishment, I saw a lighIt within. At su-chi a moment, any, v,estige of life was welcome, and I hailed the unexpected apern~.with p-leasure. On entering, however, I found the chamber all as lonely as I bad left it. The light I had seen camen, fi’omi a Ilamp) that burned brigh~tly on the table; be, sieit wvas unfolided the volume which Melaniius had brought, andi~ up,oni the~ open leaves-oh, joy a-.d siirprise-lay the wellknown cross of Ale~the! AViiat 1haznd, but her own, could have prepared this recepti,on f~,r Ti,-?

The,eiry thiough,,t sent a hope. into my heart, befor-e whiich all despondency fled. Even the gloom of the dlesert was fe-‘g-otteni, and my rude cave at once brightened, THE EPICUREKN. 75 CHAPTER XVII.

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76 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. I eartll3. That mortality, of which the fountait-head had itasted, tinged the who e streamn; anid when I read the, wNord,% N “all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again,” a feeling, like a w in d of the dines of the dsot e wigeringly over me. Lo:m t Beauty, Glory, every thing mo s t brigolit a nd wirslmipped earth, appeared t o be sinking before my eyes, under thep’iou dreadful d oom, into one d semeral mass of corruption and silence. Porsskessd by the image of desolat ion I had t hus called tsod, I laid my bead upon the book, in a paroxysm of despair Death, in all his most gpphcatly varieties, passed ethre it-e; and I had cotttinued thus vti some time, as under the influ. e nce of a f e arful vision, auhen thie touch of a ha nd upon my should e rioul d er tGo used me. Looking up, I s aw te Ainchoreti l.ta,d iseg bi my side;ahip countengance beaming duliiteh th at sublime tranquillity, which a hope, be~ond this earth, alone can be stow. How I did envy him! AVe again took our way to the seat upon twShe Modintaino – the gloom w,litleit a my own mied mak ing every thing iqrounia more gl,oomy. Forgetting myv hypocrisy in nmy ftelings, I proce ed ed at once to make an avowal t o him of al l the doubts and fears lhihmy s tudy of the worl Sc ning had awakened. sThouns, lie d at,de andw li ac “ber ied, of th od oi e thresh hold of our fiaitid. To t hotias t seen but the first ruodime,nts of th)el Diviue plan; its full and consuimmate perfection hath not yet opened upon thy mind. Howev e r glorious thiat mani fester tioni af Divinity on Moutnt Siniai, it t m ias but thi e otreruuner of another, stil l more gloriouis, which, in the finlness of’ time, was to,iutlst atepotin the world; when all, tphe hr o hefhore had seem ed dim aid iGcompdwlete, toais to be uerfkctd, tde With airomi ses, shadowed out by the I sp irit of prd toylpsh,cy,’ realized; puihas,en the seal of silence, under waiciht the future had so lohg laien, ias t o be r an oken, nd todwh e gentl( aad gIrian andim mor tality proclaimed to th e world!” Ob serving ofy f eatures brighten at these was the words, ti pious man continued.

Anticipatilg some of theh holy knowledge that was ini store f or me, he traced, through all its wonders anid mercies, the great w-o-rk of RedemptioD, dwelling in dletail upon evthe ers oiraeulous circumstance overnitsec ivlted witha ita-the exalted nature, of the Being, by whose ministry it wasao compl~lsled, the niobl.est anid first created of the Sons of God., interior only, to the on- e, self-existeit Fatheri; -th e ms steriougs incarnation of this heavenly messepger;athe ariratles t hat authenticated his divine miss,ion;the e,xample of obedience to God and love to man, which lie set, as a shininig light, be. fobre the world for ever;-aid, lastly arid chiefly,.his death anid resurrection, by which the covenant ofnmercy -,%as secale], and “1life, arid immortality b~rough-t to light.” “Such,” continued the Hlerii-it, “w Aas the Mediator, pro mised through all time, to I make reconciliation for iniqi-ity,’ to change de~/th into lift?, and bring I healing on his winigs’ to a darkened world.

Such was the last crowning dispensa tion of that God of benevolence, in w-,hose bands siii ind death are buit instruments of everlasting good; anid who, through apparent evil aind temporary r-etrib~utioni, briniging ajl thingts I’out of darlness into his marv,:lous lgt’proce’eds watchfully anid unchaingingly to the gn’eat, final object of his provideincesthe restoration of the whole human race to purity and happiness!” With a mind astonished, if not -touched, by these discouLrseeN I returned to my cave, and fimund the lamp, a,, before, ready ]lighted to receive me. The volume which I had been hiith erto studying, was r-epla(iced by a,nother, w%hichi lay open up -1 the table, with a branicl_ of fi’esh pa,-lm between its leaves. m,-y dwelling ancl,whVich formed the southern wall or screen of the defile. Near the summit we found a seat, where the old man paused to rest. It commanded a full view over the desert, and was by the side of one of those hollows in the iock, those nattral res ervoirs, in which are treasured the dew,s of night for the refreshment of the dwellers in the wilderness. Having learned friom me how fitr I had advanecd in my study s “In vonder lizlit,” said lie, pointing to a small cloud in the east, whuich lad been foirmed on the hoizoni bv the Ii ize of the desert, aud.as iow faintly reflecting the splendouot of sunset-’” in the mid,t of that light stands Mount Sinai, of whose glory thou hast read,; upo whose summit was the scene of one of those awfil revelationn, in which the Almighty has renewed from time to time his communication’with Mari, and kept alive the remembrance of his own P’rovidenee in this world.” After a pause, a., if abs()rbed in the immns~i,ity of’ the, subject, the holy man continued his sub)lime theme. Lookiigng back to the earliest antils f time, he slioued how cor.,t-ntly ever-y relapse if’the litttieimn race into idolatrv has been fiillowed bv soime manifestation of Ditvne power, e,iastenii~g the str,ohi tiad pr,uod bv punishment, a-d wirtltis bask the humble lo,-,,(.

It a to preserve, he said, uniextingutishe(d tipon earth, that great and vital tiotli-the Cr-attion of the voi by one Supreme Being, that God chose, fiom n pmong the iiati(,ns, an humble and enslaved race t’,Iat lie brought .tIem out of their captiv-ity’” on eagles’ wings,,,, still surrounding evern step of their course witli miracles, has placed tletm befo re the eves of all succeeding generations, as the depositaries of his will and the ever-duting memorials of -his, power. hiassin, then, il review the long train of i nspire d interpreters, whose pens and whose tong-ues were mad(, the echoes of th e Divine vo ice, lie traced throughout the events of suecent aiaiss te m radeul safdin,g o f the gold f r d ark scheme of Prtavidenice-darkness without, but all light aod gliorytithin. The gli m p ses of a coming redemption, visible even through the p,rat o f Heaven;-the long series o f prophecy through w hicri this hope runs. burviol and alive, like a sfoark alon a chain;the se )w and merciful preparation of the rendar ts of mapkingd for the reat trial of their with and obedience that nis att hand. no t only no miracles trat anspealed to the living, but bl prophecies lanc hea future to carry co nvict ion to thie y’et iintorlt;” through -ill these glorious an(]

be-neftcient gradtion s we may track,” said the, “the glmoeifest footstep, of a Creator, advancint to his traod, ultimate end  the, salvation. ()f his- c,reatures.” After some hours devoted to these holy inistructionis,,ae returned.,, to the ravine, and Melan-ius left me at my cave; p~raying, as lie parted from me w~ith a benevolence which I but ill, alas! dese-rved that my soul mighIt, under these lesso,ns, be “as a.. w,ateired gard(en, ” and, ere long, IIbear fruit unito lire etern~al.”

Next morninig, I was ag,aini at my study, and even more ea-or in the( aw.Nakening, tatsk than before. W~ith the commentairy of the Hermit freshly in my memory, I again read through,.,w%ithi atteiiti,)n, the B(ook of the Law. But in vain did I s-eek the promise of immortality in its pages.’,It tell-, me,” said I, “1of a God coining down to earth, but of the ascent of Man to heaven it speaks n~ot. The rewards, the punishtmenits it announces, lie all on this s-ide of the grave; nor did even the Omnipotent offer to his own chosen servants a hope beyonid the impass-ab~le limits of this world. Where, t N this mod e of existence I ha d now passe d some dolals;  my mornings devoted to reading, my nighits to listening, tnder the wida canopy of heaven, to the holy eloquen~ce of Mkelarius. I I 76 THE’k4lRROR LIBRARY. CHAPTER XVIII.

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&olitude when I ky restin at the door of my cave after the minutes, to the holy eloquence ci our teacher;-all, all was rudy of the day I a taitled by heaun my name called happiness of the most heart-felt kind aud u!i s even the loudly from the oppo ite rock nd looking up sew, upon doubts, the cold lingei iii doubts ib it sull Ilulir like a mist, solitude, when I lay resting at the door of my cave, after the study of the day I wvas startled by hearing my name called loudly from the opposute rockis; and looking Up, savw, upon the cliff near the deserted rottos, Mclanius and-oh! I could sot doubttomy Aletile by his sidle! Though I had never, sinlce the first nsight of my return from the dlese rt, ceased to Rlatter m)y>elf with the fancy that I was still living in her presence, the ac tual sight of her once more made me feel for what a long age we had been separated. She was clothed all in white, and, as shw stoodl in the last remains of the sunshine, appeare (l to my too prophetic fancy like a partina spirit, whos e las t f o otsteps o n earth that pure glorw ~mcircled. With a delight only to be imagined, I saw them descend the rocks, anld, placing themselves ill the bout, proceed directly towa nls my cave. To disg uise fi’om Melanius the mnutual delight Keith which wve again met was impossible,-~nor did Alethe eveni attempt to make a secret of her joy. Though blushing at her own lhappiness, as little could her frank nature conceal it, as the clear waters of Ethiopia can hide their gold. Evenr look, e ery word, bespoke a fulness of affection, to which, doubtful as I was of our tenure of happiness, I knew not how to respond. I w^as not lonlg, howelier, left ignorant of the brigfht f~ate that awaited me; but, as we wandered or rested among the rocks, learned every thing that had been arranged since our parting. She had made Ache Hermit, I found, acquainted with all that hd passed bet;s~on us; had told him.

without reserve, every inc’ident of out voyage-the avowals, the demonstrations of atffectioni on one side, and the deep sentiment that gratitude had aw ikened on the other. Too wise to regard w affections so natural with severitv-knowing that rhey wi ere of heaven, and but made evil by man-the good Hermit had heard of our attachment with pleasitre; and, fully satisfied as to the honour aud purity of my views, by the fidelity with which I had delivered my trust into his hands, saw, in my Wifection Or the young orphan, but a providential resource against that friendless solitude in which his death must soon leave her. As, listening eagerly, I coullecte~d these particulars fr’om their discourse, I could hardly trust my ears. It seemed a happiness too great to be true, to be real; nor can words convey any idea of the joy, the shame, the wonder with which I lis – tene~d, while the holy man himself declared that he awaited but the moment, when he should find me worthy of becoming ~ member the Christian Churchl, to give me also the hand of Alethe in that sacred union, which alone sanctifies3 love, andi makes the faith, which it pledges, holy. It was Lut yesterday, he added, that his young charge, herself, after a prepa.nion of prayer and repentance, such as even her pure spirit tequired, had been admitted, by the sacred ordinance of bapl, into the bosom of the faith;-and the white garment she a, and the ring of gold on her finger, ” were symbols,” minutes, to the holy eloqtuenace of~ our teacher;-all, adl wsv happiness of the most heart-felt kind~, and such’l as e’ven the doubts, the cold linlgeringt doub~ts, Illat still hulas, like a mist, around my heart, could neither c loud nor chill. As soon as the mooniliglit nights returned, we used to veiture into the desert; and those sands, which ihad lately looked so desolate, in my eyes, now assumed even a cheerful and smiling aspect. To tite light, inn{;celit heart of Alelhe, every thing was a source of enljoyment. Foar her, even the desert had its jewels and flowers; and, sometimes. her delight was to search among the sands for those beautifies p~ebbles of’ jasper that abound in them;-sometimes her lyes would spa rkle with pleasure on finding, perhaps, a stuiited marigold, or one of those bitter, scarlet flowers, that lend their diy mockery of ornament to the desert. II} all these pursuits and pleasuire/ the good Hermit took a share-mingling occasionally with t hem the reflections of a benevolent c iety, that lent its own cheerfill hcte to all the woracs o f creationt a nd saw the con, soling truth, ” God is Love,” written legibly every where Such was, for a few weeks, nay blissful life. Oh, mornings of hope! oh, h nights of hatppiess! wit h what melancholy pleasure do I retrace your flight, and how reluctan tly pass to the sad events that followsed. During th is time, i n c o mplia nce with the wishes an f Hio elanius, who seemed unwilling lhat I should becomlle wholly estrangfed from thle world, I used occasionally to pay a visit to the neighbouring city, Anltinee, wthich, being the capital of the Thebald, is the cenltre of all the lulxury of Upper Egypt. But here, so changed alas my every feeling by thall zl-absorbing passion wrhich- nowa possessed mne, that I samllteredl alongo, wholly unlinterested by either the scenes or the people that surrounded me, and, sighing for that rocky solitude wvhere my Alethe breathed, felt this to be the wvildernless, and that tile world. Even the thoughts of my own native Athens, that at every step were called up>, by the light Grecianl arch-itecture of this impemial city, did not awaken one single regret ill my heart  one wishl to exchange even an hour of my desert for- the be st luxuries and henours that auwaited me in the Gardlen. I saxe the arches of triumph;-I wralked under theC sup~erb portico, which encircles the whole city with its marble shade;~I stood in the Circus of the Sun, by whose rose-coloured pillars the mysterious movements of the Nile are measured;-on all these p~roud monuments of glory and art, as well ats on the gay multitude that enlivened them, I looked with an unheeding eye. If they awakened in me any thought, it was the moulrnful idea, that, one day, like Theb~es and Hellopolls, this pageant would pass away, leaving nothing behind but a few mouldering ruins-like sea-shells found where the ocean has been-oto tell that the great tide of Life was once there! But, though indifferent i. as to all that had formerly st tracted me, there were subjects, once alien to my heart, on which it was now most tremblingly alive; and some rumours

Page 78 view page image like triumphl with which the courageotis Confe ssors, who aioowed their fiuth, we e led away to the flames;-never could I hathe conceived such an assemblage of horrors! Though I gazed bult for a fev minutes, in those minutes 1 felt (nd fin(i’d en)ough for years. Already did the form of Alethe appear to flit before me through that tumnult;-I beardl theim shem oit icr name;-her shrick fell on my ear; and tle I *ery thought so pailsied me with terror, that I stood fixed and statue-like Oll the spot.

Pecollectinz, however, the fearful preciousness of ever mtoment, and that-perhaps, at this very instant-some emis s arpiies of llood might be on their way to the Grottos, I rushed tihdly Tiut of the r F or o-m, and made my way to the q uay. Th(? streets k tere now crow ded; but I ran headlopn g thi roug h the mdultitulde, a nt app re adyunderthe portico lwadi ng doon to thei’ier-nhr,‘1y saw the boat that was to be ar me to Al”the wihon a Cetnteir ion stood ster n l y i n my path, t and I was se nrto,u ae d am yd a re re ste d ay syol di e r s! It w a s i n e la i n that I implored t, theat I strggled w h them as for life, assur i~lg them tha:t I was a strang,er-thr lI as an Athenian tha! I uwas-n.ot a Christian. Thc pro ip~itation of my flight was snlfiqcie~lt evidence?

against me,,nd nnrelentingly, and by foc1c, they boIrc mc {awnav to the, g arters of their Chief. It wasR enough to d,‘ive mne at once to madness! Tw houlrs, two fri’htfifi houxrs, wras I keprt wtaitingo the arrival of the?

Tribulne of their L~egion my brain burninlg with a thou 4and fears andlc imaglina.iions. W hich ev ery passinlg minute mlade b~ut more ]likely to bet realized. All I could collect, too, from the convsers~atio;ns of l:hose around me, bult added to the agonizing app~rehensionls wxith w’hich I w~as racked. Troops, it. was saidl, hadc beenz sent in all direc(tions throughl the neighh)ourhoodl, to b~ringr in the rel~ellious Christianls, and make thema b)ow h)elft1e thle G;ods of the( Emp~ire. W~ith horror, tooq I heard of ()rcns Orcus, th( ttigh I’riest of MemIphis-afi one.-f thle p~rinc~ilml inlstimr~to,s off this sangulinryal edict, and aws here p~resenlt ins Anltin~0e, n’firnatingt and’d cirectin1g its excecultion.

Inl this state of tortulre I re^matined till thle artrival of the Tribune.

Absorbedl in my owXsn thloulghls, I hadl not perc eived his entrane;till, hearing a vtoice, in1 a tmlle of fi’iedl~dy su/, prise, excla~imr, “Alcip~hron!” I lookiell up,.and( ill thisi legion. ary Chie f recognisewd a yo(un~g Romant of 1(rank, w ho had1( h1eld a military commandl, the year b1efiwe, at Atl, ins, mtd w1xas onc of the most disting~uisheli visitors of thc Garden. I t w^as no time, however, fi)r coulrtesies:Ihe was proceedingr with all cordliality to greet me, bu1t, hav ing heard hlim ordler my instalnt release, I couldl wvait fo~r no more. Ac know^^ledg~ingf his kin& ness bu~t by a grasp of the hanld, r flewv off8, like one frantti% througth the streets, and, in a fewv minultes was on thec river. My sole hope had beenl to reach thc grrottos befo~re any of the detached p~arties shoulld arrive, and, byv a tim~ely fighlt across the desert, rescue, at least, Alethe from their fury. Tim ill-fated ds?]ay that had occulrred rendered Otis hope almost desz?,Lte; but the tranquillity I foulnd evrey w’heres as I pr A\larm~.d, t’;olld: stilL’

i’norant of the w^hole extent of the danger, I l.lilr;‘i,d }‘‘i,‘ic t!) the r~avine,;and, goeingr at- once to tho grotto of’ 5I, lniuS. d*‘tailed to him every particular of the intelliglence T haa f1e mlintened tho me Uite a com posure, wvhich I nmisto:?lk, atlas! for confidlence in his owzsn secul rity; and, r..amin5ti thle!.our for our evenlingr walk, retiredl inlt~ his grotto. At the it asv alas! not of this earth. Melifiis, hims elf, though composed( wai tlzhilitfiu; and the solemnity, almo st approaching t, i,‘i::m V}wih, wii tie whnid the mpla cead tn gonw of Aletthe in mi e i: the ierftirnanc f m toi), of t w beremomet that ought to haive tilled niv heart with j, y sadll 1en)ew anle n a1armed me. Ttlis Ctiii lc v wa.‘

(air bet’,,ilmnioie  the ac t of pliglting 1ur flith to,‘al It other, which i e nm 2 1)i’ strd boizlfa7ed u :m the rock }Ietore the (1oor of miv caive, ini thei fitce of tlitthat calm, suiinset i0(4 a our, white o:te star sthod pas oof- mitnyess. I After a1 blil(si::. fri’,l ti(e tiermit up-(on ou( sipiusal pledge, I e placed the iv,i-2-tIhe earnest of oii’

futire tinion-oti hei finfger; andl, in. thle’[1hti, w ith w’hicl she surreti,l’,r.d to me her I whole heart:t! itlit instat t, flic lit eve’ry thilni l’t nly happiincss, and fi’t;0’clr,. evn ao..inst fite! Wte t)l;ookt,mr accistomed+( walk that evteningf, oere the roc>ks and on the dl,‘sert. S) I triht was the mooili-niore like the dayliglht i:;d,.d (1 (1 l }:.‘‘r c iniesthat v’e C C;u!1l lllyi see tie f t:’}clks ~,t’ thl,wji,!

antelopes in thef ~a:d; a,,t1 it’wsas not w\itltl,,lt. a sli::ll tr”.

n}}!e of feE-I rmi: said, ” I hvi’e obselrved, in the course of my walks, th,t lb. liir -1 the trnak of that gentle animal appears, t1v’e i. alIIniit,tiwai, f unod the fit-pil-nt ofn lheast of p yey neah’r t.”’ [4t’ r‘~zi,.odt, howeve’r,l hi3 ulslll chleferfifliness i~e.Srfe w e p trti -.~l fixed the following evernint for an fxcllusion’,,mT the(,,t!l,.~r 9ifle o.f the? ravinae, to) a poin~t look)lingr, he said.i, “4t,;w’tr.,ls th.:‘t northernI regfiona of the d,‘sert, where the lIhi~ts of t!: Lord eucamped on their departure out of Though, lven Alethe was present, all mv fears even for heser.f were filrfotten in that perpetual elemeut of happiness, which eneicithI 1d1 lei like the air that she breathed, no sooner was I aloie, than vague terrors and bollitics crowded tpon me. In’aini dill I endeavour to reasoti away my fears, by :lwelling only on tim most cheering circumstances-on’the reverence withi which Melanius was regarded, even by the Pagans, and the ii.violate security with which he had lived through thi most periloti periods, not only safe himself, but affording salnctuary in the depths of his grottos to others Though somewhat calmed by these consideration.s, yet, w n hedn at length I sunk off to sleep, dark, horrible dreams took po ssesion of niy mind. Scenes of death and of torment passed

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O~i ,‘l sl~t o~itaUta flllpssd hdos etue alm o apta,tathi,,fomte hideous features a lamp of naphtila, that hlnmgr fiom thc ceil ing, shed a wild and ghastly glare. On a table before the image was a censer, with a small vessel of inlcense beside it a-one grain of which, thrown voluntarily into the flame, would, even now, save that precious life. So strange, so featfidl was the whole scene, that I almost doubted its reality. Alcli! my own happy Alethe! can it, I thought, be thou that I look upon? She now slowly, and with difficulty, raised her headi from the couch, on observing which, the kind Trib~une withdrew, and we were left alone. There waa ai /,:l’ hmess, as of deatfi, over her features; and those eyes which, whets I last saw them, were but too bright, too happy for this world, lLoked dim and sunken. In raising herself up), she put her hand, as if from pain, to her forehead, whose marble huae bout appear ed more death-like from those red bands that lay so awfuilly across it. After wandering for a minute vaguely, her eyes at lentgth rested upon me-and, with a shriek, half-terror, half-joy, she sprung from the conch, anid sunk upo1) her knees by my side. S3he lind b~elieved me dead; and, even n low, scarcely trusted1 ber setnse s. ” My htisband! my love!” she exclaimed; “oh if thou comest to call me from this world, behold I am ready!” Ini saying thus, she pointed wildly to that ominous wreath, and then diroppIedl her heald lownl uponl mv knlee, as if an arrowt had plierced it. ” Alethe!” I cried terrified to the very sou Iby that mays terious pang-and, as if the sound of my voice had re-aisimated her, she looked up, with a faint smile, in my face. Her thoughts, which had evideistly been wandering, became collected; and in her joy at my safety, her sorrow at nmy stiffering, she foroot entirely the fate that impended over her self.

Lovfe, irareocent lovfe, alone occup~ied all her thoughts; und thle wvarmth, the affection, the devotedness with which she spokse oh howv, at anyV othe?r moment, I would have blessed, have ling>erfed upon every word!

But the time flew fastathat dreadful morrow was apiproaching. Already I saw her writhinig in the hands of the torturer-the flames, the racks, the wheels, were before my eyes! Half frantic with the fear that her resolution was fixed, I flung myself from the litter in an agony of weeping, and supplicated her, by the love she bore me, by the happine~ that awaited us, bsy her own merciifll God, who was too good to require such a sacrifice-by all that the most passionsaft anxiety could dictate, I implored that she would avert fiom us the doom tsat was coming, and-hbut for once-comply with the vain ceremony demandfed of her. Shrinking from me, as I spokc-but with a look more of sorrow than reproach-” What, thiu, too t” site said, mournfillly-” thou, inito whose inmost spirit I had fotdly hoped the same light had ecitered as into my own! No, isever be thou leheapued with them who, wuld tempt m e to)‘make 8hip v’.~k ogf mty faithl!’ Thou, w+ho covuldst alon~e b’.nd nw to Lt.,.lll, t~l’ecl,.u:, 1, tO1‘‘t.ln,m~, to Anltinese. From Molm I nsw icar ed at rsndt hf r r I c omld not U’rtit tor detaa is-u tflte eris of all tiiat hmad happtc te Gne in trat dheadf l i.terval. M,?lalniuls was3. l)no,nm’-Ahqletle still alive, but inl prisonl! ” T tse -te io hro” hasd be et time to say-s”

thake e to her i.stantly, aned let me die ly her sidt e” wheil, nature again fidlingl; tm,:{el’ su ql shot’Iks, I relap~sed inlto insensibility.

In this tstpat I coutinued aeo h ne ar at y hotte, amot, oI weou hvering, foein thc Tiibtun e hy f s sicle. he horrbrs, he saeid, of the Fowlom its f oram a Cli tInnt (lay, oser, ist what the mornow middht brint, he shudd ere d to cntempllte. His nalt ure, it owas ltl ain revolited fci-om thle i.~hulman duties in whlich he wsas engraged. Touheld bys the ago.’,ic’s lie sawv me suffer, he, in som 1e degree, relieved( thlem, by rni~ulising thlat I shculd, at nlirtffldl, })e con:veysed to thfe pr’imera, arM-l, if p~ossible, througl^h hris illfluence gainl acce~ss to Atlethe. She migrht yet, hle addedl, le saved, couhtl I succeede in p ersuladingo her to comply with thle terms (f the cedict;, andt m l’ke sacrifice to the Godls.

” Ottelrwise,” saidl he, “‘there is J10 h:pe; the v-indictive Oreus, wrho hlas resistedl evea thi~i siiort respite of mlercy, w^ill, to-morrow^, inlexorlably dlemla:l~d hi.; prey.” Hle thenl relalted to~ me<, at may ownV rsequest -though every w ordl wag ton'turle-all thef harrowsingc derails of' the proceedlin~g b~efore thle Tribuna~l. "I have seen courlage," saidl he, "in its ob1~lest fi, rms, ina the fieldl; but the cahln inltrepidity with whlic'i thlmt ag'c h]1.ermlait on~lulkredl torments wrhich it wvas hardlyv le. s t~wmetut to) witness-s-sulrpassed all that I could have COI; ceived(( of h mlna fortit~ldfe." My poo; Al'.the, too in describ~ingf to me her conduclt, the bra~ve m:.m xve-}-)t likse a childl. Overwhelmed, he said, at first by h~er:tpr:;honlsionls fi)' my safety, she had givenl way to a Cull burst cf' wo-t.,d~v wseakness. But nlo sooner was she 9rought bet,t-e t}1'? Tribunl,ta and lihe declaration o!f her faith was lr * >:nded of her, thaln a sp~irit almost superulatural seemed I ~.,.hate h1er wvhole for’m. ~’ She raised her eyes,” saidl he, cahlynN, b~ut with fi’rvour, to heaven, while a blulsh was the only sigll ot mo rtal feelingr on her featulres:-and the clear, swseet. and untremldlilqg voice, wvith whlich she pronlounced hers own dooem, inl thle word q,’ I am a Chlristian!’ senlt a thrill of admiration anld pity throughout the multifade. Her youth, her loveliness, affected all hearts, an~d a cry of’ Save the young maidenl!’ was heard( in all directions.” Thle implacable Orlcus, howsever, w ould not hear of mercy. R~esenting, as it appeared, wsith all his deadliest rancour, not ,uly herl owII escape from his toils, but the aidl with which

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8  T. life, use not, I entreat thee, thy power; but let me die, as He I serve, hath commanded-die for the Truth. Remember the holy lessons we heard together on those nights, those thappy nights, when both the present and future smiled upon n-when even the gift of eternal life came nmore welcome to my soul, fi omn the glad conviction that thou wert to be a sharer in its blessings;-shall I forfeit now that divine privilege? shall I deny the true God, wham we then learned to love? i’ No, my oVII betrothed,” she continued-pointing to the twvo rings on her fingerr-“behold these pledges-they are btoth sacred I should have been as true to thee as I am now to heaven,-nor in that life to which I am hastening shall our hlve be forgotten. Should the baptism of fire, through which I shall pass tomorrow, make me worthy to be heard before the throne of Grace, I will intercede for thy soul-I will pray tat it may yet share with nmine that’inheritance, immortal and undefil d,’ which Mercy offers, and that thou-and my dear mother-and I ” She here dropped her voice; the momentary animation, with which devotion and aflection had inspired her, vanished; -and there cane a darkness over all her features, a livid darkness-like the approach of death that made me shudder through’ every limb. Seizing my hand convulsively, and looking at me with a fearful eagerness, as if anxious to hear some consoling assurance from my own lips-” Believe me,” she continued, “not all the torments they are preparilng for me-isot even this deep, burning pain in my brow, to which they will hliardly fin,l an equal-could be half so dreadful to me as the tihoii,ht that I leave thee, without.” Here her voice amain failed; her head sunk upon my arm, and-merciful God, let me fiorget what I then felt-I saw that m she was dying!‘Whether I uttered any cry, I know not;-but the Tribune came rushing into the chamber, and, looking on the maiden. said, with a face fill of hlorror, “It is but too true!” He then told me in a low voice, what he had just learned from the guardian of the prison, that the band round the young Christian’s brow was-oh horrible!-a compound of the most d ead ly poison-the hellish invention of Orcus, to satiate his vengeance, and make the fate of his poor victim secure. My first movement was to untie that fatal wreathbut it would not come away-it would not come awav! Roused by the pain, she again looked in my face; but, un-t able to speak, took hastily from her bosom the small silver cross whichl she had brought with her from my cave. Hat in,s pressed it to her owvn lips, she held it anxiously to mine, and, seeing me kiss the holy symbol with fervour, looked happy, and smiled. The agony of death seemed to have passed away;there came suddenly over her features a heavenly light, some share of which I felt descending into my own soul, and, in a few minutes more, she expired in my arms. ” ALc IPHRON an Epicurean po rilosopher, c onvertled A) Christianity, A.D. 257, by a yo ung Etgyptian naiden, fho suffered martyrdom in that year. Jmm( di tt-‘ly upon her death, he betook himself to the desert, atd lived a life, it is said, of much holiness and penitence. During the persecution under Diolesian, his suffering_s for the ftiith were most exemplary; and being at length, at an advanced age, coldemned to hard labour, for reftsisng to comply with an Imp)erial edict, he died at the Br;ass Mines of Palestine, A.D. 297. ” As Alciphroi- held the opinions maintained since by Arius. his memory has not been s,pa,red by Athlnasian writers, w%ho, among other charges, accuse him of having been addicted to the superstitions of F,gyl)t. For this calumny, however, there appears to be no better foundation than a,, circumstance, recorded by one of his ibrother )onks, that there was foimnd after his death, a small metal mirror, like those used in ti} ceremonies of Isis, suspended around his neck.” REUBEN AND ROSE. A TALE OF Tt-z darkness that hung upon WVillumberg’s walls Had long been remember’d with awe and dismay; For years not a sunbeam had play’d in its halls, And it seemn’d as shut out from the regions of day. Thoagh the valleys were brightened by many a beam, Yet none could the woods of that castle illume; And the lightning, which flash’d on the neighbouriiig stream, Flaew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom! Oh! when shall this horrible darklness disperse!” Said Williimnberg’s lord to the Seer of the Cave; It can nie,er dispel,” said the wizard of verse, “Till tihe bright star of chivalry sinks in the wave!” All, all but the soul of the mail ias in light, There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and })lakI: Two days did she wander, and all the long hist, In quest of her love, on the wide river’s bank. Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell, . And heard but the breathlings of night in the ai; Long, ]ong did sh e g aze on the watety svwell, And saw but the foam of the white billow there. And often as midnight its veil w,,ouht undraw. As she -look’d at the light of the moon in the stream She thought’twas his helmet of silver she saw, As the curl of the surge glitter’(d hig,hI in the beam. And who was the bright star of chivalry then? Who could be but Reuben, the flow’r of the age? F)r ReuLben was first in the combat of men, Though Youth had scarce written his name on her page. F )r WVillumberg’s daug hter his young heart had beat, For Rose, wsho was bright as the spirit of dawn, When withl wmnd dro)pping diamonds, and silvery feet, It walks o’er tihe flow’rs of the mountain and lawn.

Must Rose, then, from Reuben, so fatally sever? Sad, sad were the words of the Seer of the Cave, That darkness should cover that castle for ever, Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave! To the wizard she flew, saying, ”

Tell me, oh, tell! Shall my Reuben no more be restored to my eyes?” “Yes, yes-when a spirit shall toll the great bell Of the mould’ring abbey, your Reuben shall rise!” Twice, thrice hlie repeated ” Your Reuben shall rise!”

And Rose felt a moment’s release from her pain; And wip’d, while she listen’d, the tears from her eyes, And hop’d she might vet see her hero again. And now the third night was begeimming the sky; Poor Rose, on the cold, dewy margent reclin’d, There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye, When-hark!-‘twas th,bell that came deep in the winod Sh e startled, and-saw, through the glimmeriong shoade, A form o’er the waters in majesty glide; She knew’twas her love, thouigh his cheek was decay d, And his helmet of silver was washed by the tide. Was this what the Seer ofthie Cave had foretol(d? Dim, dim throuigh the phantom the mnooni shot a gle3am ‘Twas Re ubeni, [)tit, ah! hie swas deathly al,(t (‘kld, And fleeted atway like the spell of a dream! Twice, tmihice dise he r ise, banid t m a s oftehi she thiolight I From the bank to embrace i him, blit vztirn her eale. arc^ai! Then, I)lunging, benieath, at a billow she caught ” Anid sun,k to, r,op(,,se on its bosomn fo)r evert Wthat hero could sm ile at th e terrors of death, R When he felt that lie died for the sire of his Rr,se; I I Il so TIIE MIRROR LIBRARY. Here ends the Alanuscript; but, on the o?itei- c(,ver is found, in the handwriting of a match later period, the following Notice, ext?-acted, as it appears, ft-o?n so)ne Egyptian martyrology: To the OIer h-c ffew, and tl-.ere. I)Iurigin,- beneath, In the depth of the billo%vs soon found his repose. How strangely the order of destiny falls’ Not!on,- in the,N,atei-s the warrior lay, When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls, And the castle of Willuriiberg bas’d in the -ray!

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A FATIIEt{‘i~S LEGACY T1O HIS DAUGHTERS. BY DR. GREGORY. MY DFAR GIRLS Yoe had ttle rnisfortune to be deprived ofl’ your mother, at a time of life when you were insensible of your loss, and could receive lit!le bei’efit, either fromn her instruction, or her example. Before this comes to your hands, you will likewise have lost yotir lather. I have h al many melancholy reflections on the forlorn and helpless situation you must be in, if it should please GodI to remove me fiom yot before you arrive at that period of life, when you will be able to think and act for yourselves. I know nlankh-indl too well. I know their falsehood, their dissipation, their coldness to all the duties of friendship and huinanity.

i i owf the little attention paidl to helpless infancy. You will meet with few friends disinterested enough to do you a at) 0 1i’, W’h y,-I are incal;abile of making them any return, by contributing to their interest or their pleasure, oi to t he atic:o:i, o thir va nity. I have been suL)poited under thte gloom naturally arising, from these reflections, by a reliance on the goodness of that Providence whi’ci has hither to i) served you, and given me the most pleasing prospect of the goodness of your dispositions; and by th,e secret lope, tlat your mother’s virtues will entail a blessing on her children. The anxiety I hea) for youf r h a))ppiness has made me resolve to throw together my sentiments, relating to your future conduct in life. If I live for scene years, you will receive them with much greater advantage, suited to your different geniuses and disl)posiiiuns. If I die sooner, you must receive them in this very imperfect manner; the last proof of my affection. You will all re!nemb-r our flither’s fondness, when perhaps every other circumstance relating to him is forgotteni. This remeinbhanc, I ho)e, will induce you to give a serious attention to the ad(lvices I am now going to leave with you. I can request this witi the greater confidence, as my sentiments oil the most interesting points that regard life and manners, were entirelyv coirespondent to your mother’s, whose judgment and taste I trusted much more than my own. You must exp)ect that the advice which I shall give you will be very imnperfect, as there are many nameless delicacies in female mnanneis, of whilih none but a woman can judge. You will hasve one a lvntal’e by attending to what I am going to leave with Nyou; you will hear, at least for once in your lives, the genuiine sentitnmnts of a ns.a, who has no interest in flattering or deceiving you. I shall throw my reflections togetiher without any studied order, anl slaIll only, to avoid confusion, range them under a few general heads. You will soe, i n a little treatise of mine, just published, in what an honorable point of view I have considered your sex; riot as d,.iestic drudlIes, or the slaves of our pleasure, but as our companions and equals; as designed to soften and polish our manners: idl as Thompson finely says, To raise the virtues, animate the bliss, And sweeten all the toils of human life. I shall not repeat what I have there said on this subject, and shall only observe, that from the view I have given of your natural ciharacter and place in society, there arises a certain propriety of conduct peculiar to your sex.

It is this peculiar propriety of fenmale manners of which I intend to give you my sentiments, without touching on those general rules of conduct by which men and women are equally bound. While I explain to you that system of conduct which I think will tend most to your honor and happiness, I shall, at the same time, endeavor to point out those virtaues and accomplishmnents which i ender you most respectable and most amiable in the eyes of mv own sex. pleasure and riot, as men too often do, when under the pressure of misfortt nes. You must -bear your sorrows in silence, unknown and unpitied. You must often put on a face of serenity and cheerfulness, when your hearts are torn with anguish, or sinking in de spair. Then your only resource is in’he consolations of religion. It is chiefly owing to thes e that you bear domestic misfortunes better than we do. But you are sometimes in very different circum stances, that equally require the restraints of religion. The natural vivacity, and perhaps the natural vanity of your sex, are very apt to lead you into a dissipated state of life, that deceives you, under the appearance of innocent pleasure; but which in reality wastes your spirits, impairs your health, weakens all the su perior faculties of your minds, and often sullies your reputations. Religion, by checking this dissipation and rage for pleasure, enables you to draw more hap|piness, even from those very sources of amusement, which when too frequently applied to, are often pro!ductive of satiety and disgust. Religion is rather a matter of sentiment than rea soning. The important and interesting articles of i faith are sufficiently plain. Fix your attention on these, and do not meddle with controversy. If you RELIGION. THOUGH the duti es of religi oon, strictly speaking, dre equally bindine on both sexes, yet certain differences in their natural character and education, render some vices in your sex odious. The natural hardness of our hearts, and strength of our passions, infialned by tiled uncontrolled license we are too often indull,ed wvitlh in our youth, are apt to render our mananers inore dissolute, and make us less susceptible of the finer feelings of the heart. Your superior delicacy, your inodesty, and the usual severity of your education, pre,;erve you, in a great measure, from any temptation to those vices to which we are most suujected. The natural softness and sensibility of your dispositions particularly fit you for the practice of those duties where the heart is chiefly concerned. And this along with the natural warmth of your ini aginations, renders you peculiarly susceptible of the i feelings of devotion. There ire luany circumstances in your situation that peculiarly require the supports of religion to enable you to act in them with spirit and propriety. Your whole life is often a life of suffering. You can- not plunge into business, or dissipate yourselves inI,

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A FATIHER’S,i; t VCY TO HIS DAUGHTERS. get into that, you plunge into a chaos, from which you will never be able to extricate yourselves. It spoils the temper, and, I suspect, has no good effect upon the heart.

Avoid all books, and all conversation, that tend to shake your faith on those great points of religion which should serve to regulate your conduct, and on which your hopes of future and eternal happiness depend.

Never indulge yourselves in ridicule on religious subjects; nor give countenance to it in others, by seeming diverted with what they say. This, to people of good breeding, will,be a sufficient check. I wish you to go no farther than the scriptures for your religious opinions. Embrace those you find clearly revealed. Never perplex yourselves about such as you do not understand, but treat them with silent and. becoming reverence. I would advise you to read only such religious books as are addressed to the heart, such as inspire pious and devout affections, such as are proper to direct you in your conduct, and not such as tend to entangle you in the endless maze of opinions and systems. Be punctual in the stated performance of your private devotions, morning and evening. If you have any sensibility or imagination, this will establish such an intercourse between you and the Supreme Being, as will be of infinite consequence to you in life. It will communicate an habitual cheerfulness to your tempers; give a firmness and steadiness to your virtue, and enable you to go through all the vicissitudes of human life with propriety and dignity. I wish you to be regular in your attendance on public worship, and in receiving the communion. Allow nothing to interrupt your public or private devotions, except the performance of some active duty in life, to which they should always give place. In your behavior at public worship observe an exemplary atten- tion and gravity. That extreme strictness which I recommend to you in these duties, will be considered by many of your acquaintance as a superstitious attachment to forms; but in the advice I give you on this and other subjects, I have an eye to the spirit and manners of the age. There is a levity and dissipation in the present mnanners, a coldness and listlessness in whatever relates to religion, which can not fail to infect you, unless you purposely cultivate in your minds at contrary bias, and make the devotional taste habitual. Avoid all grimace and ostentation in your religious duties. They are the usual cloaks of hypocrisy; at least they show a weak and vain mind. Do not make religion a subject of common conversation in mixed companies. \When it is introduced, rather seem to decline it. At the same time, never suffer any person to insult you by any foolish ribaldry on your religious opinions, but show the same resentment you would naturally do on being offered any other personal insult. But the surest way to avoid this, is by a modest reserve on the subject, and by using no freedom with others about their religious sentiments. Cultivate an enlarged charity for all mankind, however they may differ from you in their religious opinions. That difference may probably arise from causes in which you had no share, and from which you can derive no tnertt. Show your regard-‘., religion by a distinguishing respect to all its minis, of whatever persuasion, who do not by their lives dishonor their professions; but never allow them the direction of your consciences, lest they taint you with the narrow spirit of their party. Tlle best effect of your religion w,ill be a diffusive llhumainity to all in distress. Set apart a certain pro- W portion of your income as sacred to charitable pur poses. But in this, ais well as in (hie practice of every o ther duty, carefully a void ostentation. Vaniity is always defeating her own purposes. Fame is o’re of the natural reidards of vi rtue. Do rnot l )ursue hler, and she will follow you. Do not con f ine your charity to aivi n y money. You inay have many opportunities of shoving a tetnder and compassionate spicit, where your chuob ney i s not wavted. Th ere is a balse andi unnatural refinement it, sensibility, which a iakes s ome people shu n the sight of every object in distress. Never indiil,,,e this. especially where your filiei;ds or ac(luaintnl-t es ire co)ncerned. Let the days (,f their ilxisforttur es, hvlien lhe world fotrgets or avoids tletJ. I,e’tlhe seasonI for y)-o to exercise your lhuma,nity sid f’l-iettdsllip). Tile si-l!t of human misery softens tie l1e;i-t, alii( makes it better; it checks the pride of heaIth find In-os)eri,y, and the distress it occasions is amply comil)etnsuted b)y ll.e consciousness of doino( your duty,.:td }>v the secret endearments which lsatlrcht’;ItSlle:.d to all otiu sympathetic sorrows. Women are greatly deceived,lieni they tliin’l- they recommend themselves to oii’ sex b)y their indifterence to religion. Even those iiieia who alre tllemselves unbelievers, dislike infidelity in you. Every Milan who knows human nature connects a r-elig,ious taste in your sex with softness and senisib)ility of heart; at least, we always consider the wan%,t of it as a proof of that hard and masculine spirit, whichi of all youl faults we dislike the most.

Besides, mhen considei your religion as one of their principal securities for that female virtue in which they are mo-icst interested, If a gentleman pretends an’ attachment to any of you, and endeavors to shake your religious principles, te assured he is either a fool, or has designs on you which he dares not openly avow. You will probably wonder at my havin, educated you in a church different front my own. The reason was plainly this: I looked on the differences between our churches to be of no real imnportance, and that to preference of one to the other was a mere matter (of taste. Your mother was educated in the church of England, and had -,n attachment to it, and I lhad a prejudice in favor of everything, she liked. It rievef was her desire that you should Ibe bl)aptizt,d by a cler gyman of the church of England, or be educated ill that church. On the contrary, the delicacy of F,er regard to the smallest circumstances that could aiffect me in the eye of the world, made her anxiously i!,Sis) it might be otherwvise. But I could not yield to hct in that kind of generosity. \When I lost her, I be came still more determined to educate you in tlh;t clhurchl, as I feel a secret pleasure in doin(g everytlting, that appears to me to express my affection and ve neration for her memory.

I draw but a veryv t,Ii~it aind imperfect picture of what your mnother wtas, while I endeavor to point out what you should be. Ohr. of the chief beauties in a fenma le character ds that modest reserve, that retiring delicacy, %which avoids the public eye, and is disconcerted even at the gaze of admiration. I do not wish you to be insensible to applause. If you wvere, you must become, if not worse, at east less amiiiabl)e women. Buiit you may be dazzled by that admiirationi, which yet rejoices your heart.

When a gill,cases to bltuslh, she ]!as lost the mjost powerfidl charn -t.b.eautv. Theft extreme sensibility 82 NOTIF,. The reader will remember, that su(-Ii observations as respect eq’ually both sexes, are all along as much as possi ble avoided. CONDUCT AND BEHAVIOPV.

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A FATItERP’S I.JECACY 0 which i t indicates, u)ay be a wveakness and iiicuni tbranc( in our sex,,is I liave too oteti felt, but in yours it is pecrilarly enigaging. Pedants w}ho think theni selves philosophers, ask why a woman should blush wo when she is conscious of no crime? It is a sufficient answer, nhat nature iis made you to blush when you are guilty of 1)o fault, rnd hras forced us to love you because you do so. Bloshintg is so far friom being necessarily an atterinlant on guilt, that it is the usual comnparion of indnocendTe. Th’lis modesty, whlilch I think so essential in your sex, will naturally dispose you to be rather silent i wf coralr)any, especially in a large one. People of sense arid discerunmient will never riistake such silence for dulness. One may take a share in conversation without uttering a svllable. The ext)ression in the couintenance shows it, and this never escapes an observing eye. I st’.o,u’kl be glatd that you had an easy dignity in your behavior at public places, but not that confident I ease, tiat irnabashed countenance, which seems to set the coznpany at defiance. 1It while a gentleman is speazi,g to you, one of superior rank addresses you, do not let your eager attention and visible preference betray the flutter of your heart. Let your pride on I this occasion preserve you from that meanness into whic’h your vanity would sink you. Consider that you expose yourselves to the ridicule of the company, and a!front one gentleman only to swell the triumph of another, who, perhaps, thinks he does you honor in speaking to you. Converse with men even of the first rank, with that dignified modesty, which may prevent the approach of the moost distant familiarity, and consequently l)revent them from feeling themselves your superiors.

WVit is tile most dangerous talent you can possess. It must be guarded with great discretion and goodnature, otherwise it will create you many enemies. It is perf’ectly consistent with softness and delicacy, yet they are seldom found united. Wit is so flattering to vanity, that those who possess it become intoxicated, and lose all self-coinmand. twllb o y or is a differ ent quality. It will make your compre ny much solicited; but be c a utious h ow you ay l ind g ke it is often a sreat enemy to deltcatucy, and a stil  rcater one to dig.,nity of character-. it may sometimes g ain you applause, but will never procure you respect. Be even cautious in displaying your good sense. It will be thought you assume a superiority over the rest of’ the comipatny. But if you happen to have any learining, keep it a profound sect-et, especially 1troin the m-eni, who generally look with a jealous and malignant eye on a woman of great parts and a cultivated understanding. A man of real genius and cand or is far superior to this meaniness. But such a one will seldom falil in your way; and if by accident he should, do riot be reasn b patiuarlg ende of tpe reptton of tf ri foral.Whteeeirr, i and kepor w youare own dexrcto, especially whenrl~hpen tourivlteefc ofwakng hmmr epc aex are concerned. You re generally accusedIt being p~~~~~~~ariualaditdtthsvcIthnun justl~~~~~~~~~y.

e r ula ulyo twe hi n terests i~:tt, ~~~~~~~~rer.syoritrssorf-eunl clash, and as you f e e l i~ngsaeqikrta us your tc~nl~~ttions to are morefreun.Frti yorlh itn sniaes, espeialy when tb. vey appne and riall rO zIS DAUGHTERS. S/ you imn oiir regards. WDe look on this as the strongest proof of’ dignity ind true greatness of mrind. Slhowv a compassionate sympathy to unfortunate woCner, e sp eciall y to those who are rendered so by the villany of men. Indulge a secret pleasure, I may say pride, in be ing the friends and refuge of the un happy, but without the vanity of s howing i t. Consider every species of indelicacy in conve rsa – tioni, as shameful in itself, and as highly disgusting to us. All doumble entendre is of this sort. The disso luteoless of men’s education allo ws t hem to be divert es with a kind of wit, which yet they have delicacy eatougili to be shiocked at, when it comes from your itoutlhs, or even whe n you hear it without pain and contempt. Virgin purity is of that delicate nature, that i t can not hea r certain things without contao tination. It is always in your power t o avoi d these. No mIan but a brute or a tfol will insult a woman with conversation which hae sees gives hier ain; nor will hle dare do it if she resent the injury with a becoming spir it. There i s a dignity in conscious virtue which is abl t ae to a we the ost shameless a nd ab andoned of men. You will be reproached, perhaps, wit h prudery. By tprudery is usually meant an affectation of delicacy. Now I d o not wish you t o a ffect delicacy-I wish you to possess it. At any ra te, it is better to run the risk of being thought ridiculous than disgusti ng. The men will complain of your re serve. They will assure you that a franker behavior would make you more amiable. But trust me, they are not sincere when they tell you so. I acknowledge, that on some occasions it might render you more agreeable as companiotns, but it wou ld render you les s ami able as women-an important disti nction which many of youl sex are not aware of. After all, I wish you to have great ease and openness in your conversation. I only point out some considerations which ought to regulate your behavior in that respect. Have a sacred regard to truth. Lying is a mean and despicable vice. I have known some women of excellent parts, who were so much addicted to it that they could not be trusted in the relation of any story, especially if it contained anything of the marvellous, or if they themselves were the heroines of the tale. This weakness did not proceed fiom a bad heart, but was merely the effect of vanity, or an unbridled imagination. I do not mean to censure that lively embellishment of a humorous story, which is only intended to promote innocent mirth.

There is a certain gentleness of spirit and mianniers extremely engaging in your sex; not that indiscriminate attention, that unmeaning simper, which smiles on all alike. This arises, either from an affectation of softness, or from perfect insipidity. There is a species of refinement in luxury just beginning to prevail among the gentlemen of this country, to which our ladies are yet as great strangers as any women upon earth; ]

hope for the honor of the sex they may ever continue so; I mean the luxury ot eating. It is a despicable, selfish vice in men, but in your. sex it is beyond expression indelicate find disgustrag. Every one who remembers a few years back, is sensible of a very striking change in the attention and respect formerly paid by the gentlemen to the ladies. Their drawing-rooms are deserted, and after dinner and supper the gentlemen are impatient till they retire. How they came to lose this respects which nature and politeness so well entitle them to, I shall no here particularly inquire.

The revolutions of manners in any country depend on causes fiery various and complicated. I shall only observe, that the behavior of the ladies in the last age was very rseserv-ed ansd stately. It wvoutld now ire reckonedl ridiculloutsl~ stiff anld formal. \Vhaltever it Xwas, it had cet:aintl the effect of making them more respectedl I i i I I I ii I i I i I I I i i I iI i i I

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A FATHER’S LEGACY TO HIS )DAUGITERS. A fine woman, like -tl,er fine things in nature, has others, which are neither useftul nior ornamental, such ‘tier proper point of viewv, from which she may be seen as play of difilrent kilds. to most advantage. To fix this point requires great I 1 would particularly recommend to you those exjudgmtent, and an intimate knowledge of the human ercises that obl)lige you to be much abroad in the open heart. By the present mode of female manners, the I air, such as walking, and riling on horseback. This ladies seem to expect that they shall regain their as- will give vigor to your coiistitutiens, and a bloom to cendency over us by the fullest display of their per- your complexions.

]f you accustoni yourselves to sonal charms, by being always in our eye at public go abroad aluways in chlairs and carriages, you will places, by conversing with us with the same unre- soon become so enervlted as to be unable to go out ol served freedom as we do with one another; in short, doors without theni. T’lhey,ire like most articles ot by resembling us as nearly as they pIossibly can. But luxury, useftil and agreeab(le w%hen judiciously used, a ittle time and experience will show the folly of this but when miade habituil thley become both insipid and expectation and conduct. pernicious. The power of a fine woman over the hearts of men, An attention to your health is a duty you owe to even of the finest parts, is even beyond what she con- i yourselves and to your fiieids. Bad health seldom ceives. They are sensib)le of the pleasing illusion, ifails to lhave an influence on thie S,)iiits and temiper. but they can not, nordothey wish to dissolve it. But The finest getil iscs tl!e,tost delicate minds have if she is determined to dispel the chiarin, it certainly very firequeutly a coriicspoltdceit delicacy of bodily is in her power; she nmay soon reduce the angel to a constitutions, which tl(hey are too aplt to neglect. Theii very ordinary girl. luxury lies in reaading and( late hours, equal ernemnies T’here is a native di,gnity, an ingenuous modesty, to to health and beauty. be expected in your sex, which is your natural pro- But though good health be one of the greatest tectionr finom the faniiliarities of the men, and which I blessings in lift, never ni,ake a boast of it, but enjoy it you should feel p:evious to the reflection that it is in grateful sile-nce. \Ve so naturally associate the your interest to keep yourselves sacred fromn all per- idea of female softnless and delicacy with a corresonal freedoms. The marny inaimeless cljiaris and en- spondent delicacy of constitution, that when a woman dearinents of beauty should be reserved to bless the speaks of her great streigth, her extraordinary appearms of the happy man to whom you give your heart, tite, her ability to )bear (excessive fatigue, we recoil at but who, if hlie has the least delicacy, wvill despise the description in a way she is little aware of. them, if he knows they have been prostituted to fifty The intention of your being taught needlework, men before him. The sentiment, that a womnatn may knitting, and such like, is not on account of the inallow all innocent freedonms, provided her virtue is trinsic value of all you can do with your hands, which secure, is both grossly indelicate and dangerous, and is trifling, but to enable you to judge more perfectly has proved fatal to many of yotur sex. of that kind of work, and to direct the execution ot Let me now recommend to your attention that ele- it in others. Another principal end is to enable you ance, which is not so much a quality of itself, as the to fill up, in a tolerably agreeabl)le way, some of the tigh polish of every other. It is what diffuses an in- many solitary hours you must necessarily pass a? effable grace over every look, every motion, every sen- home. It is a great article in the happiness of life, tence you utter. It is partly a personal quality, in to have your pleasures as independent of others as which respect it is the gift of nature; but I speak of possible. By continually gadding about in search ol it principally as a quality of the mind. In a word, it amusement, you lose the respect of all your acquaintis the perfection of taste in litfe and manniers-every ances, whom you oppress with those visits, which ‘rtue and every excellence, in their most graceful by a more discreet mnanagement might have been iid amiable forms. courted. You may think, perhaps, I want to throw every The domestic economy of a family is entirely a fpark of nature out of your composition, and to m,ke woman’s province, and furnishes a variety of subjects you entirely artificial. Far from it. I wish you to for the exertion both of good sense and good taste. possess the most perfect simplicity of heart and man- If you ever come to have the charge of a family, it ners. I think you may possess dignity without p)ride, ou-ht to enoage much of your time and attention; affability without meanness, and simtple elegance withl- nor can you be excused from this by any extent of out affectation. Milton had my idea, when he says fortune, though with a narrow one the ruin that tol. of Eve, lows the neglect of it may be more immediate. “Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye, I aim at the greatest loss what to advise you in regard In every gesture dignity and love.” to books. There is no impropriety in your reading history, or cultivating any art or science to which genius or accident leads you. The whole volume of Nature lies open to your eye, and furnishes an infinite variety of entertainment. If I was sure that Nature had given you such strong principles of taste and sen timent as would remain with you, and influence your AMUSEMENTS. future conduct, with the utmost pleasure would I en deavor to direct your reading in such a way as might EvElr period of life has amusements which are form that taste to the utotost perfection of truth and natural and proper to it. You may indulge the va- elegance. “But when I reflect how easy it is to riety of your tastes in these, while you keep within warm a girl’s imagination, and how difficult deeply the bounds of that propriety which is suitable to your and permanently to affect her heart; how readily she sex. enters into every refinement of sentiment, and how Some amusements are conducive to health, as va- easily she can sacrifice them tovanity or convenience;”

rious kinds of exercise; some are connected with I think I may very probably do you an injury by arqualities really useful, as different kinds of w*omen’s tificially creating a taste, which, if Nature never gave work, and all the domestic concerns of a family; some it you, would only serve to embarrass your future are elegant accomplishmnents, as dress, dancing, mu- conduct. I do not watit to,a7/,c you;inythirtg; I kic, anid drawing.

Such books as improve your un- want to know splat Nature ]has nmde yin, aud to perdlersta~nding, enlarge your knowledgle, and cultivate feet you on her ian1. I1 (o inot wish you to have seno.ti;r taste, may n)e coiiside redl in a higher point of timnents that might perplex you: { wislt y&tu to have “oicw thtan mere amusements. There:ire a variety oft sentiments that may uiittrtliiy and Steatlily g~,,d S,i

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A FATHER’S LEGACY TO HIIS DAUGHTERS- jou, and such as your hearts so thoroughly approve, that you would not forego them for any consideration FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, ARIAGE this world could offer. THE luxury and dissipation that prevail in genteel Dress is an important article in female life. The life, as they corrupt the heart in many respects, st love of dress is natural to you, and therefore it is they render it incapable of warm, sincere, and stead:, proper and reasonable. Good sense will regulate your friendship. A happy choice of tiiends will be of ths expense in it, anti good taste will direct you to dress utmost consequence to you, as they may assist yore in such a way as to conceal any blemishes, and set off by their advice and good offices. But the immediate your beauties, if you have any, to the greatest ad- gratification which friendship affords to a warm, open, vantage. But much delicacy and judgment are re- and ingenuous heart, is of itself a sufficient motive quired in the application of this rule. A fine woman to court it. showvs her charms to most advantage, when she seemis In the choice of your friends, have principal regard most to conceal them. The finest bosom in nature to goodness of heart and fidelity. If they possess is not so fine as what imagination forms. The most taste and genius, that will still make them more perfect elegance of dress appears always the most agreeable and useful companions. You have particeasy, and the least studied. ular reason to place confidence in those who have Do not confine your attention to dress to public shown affection for you in your early days, when you appearances. Accustom yourself to an habitual neat- were incapable of making them any return. This is ness, so that in the most careless undress, in your un- an obligation for which you can not be too grateful; guarded hours, you may have no reason to be ashamed when you read this, you will naturally think of your of your appearance. You will not easily believe how mother’s friend, to whom you owe so much. much we consider your dress as expressive of your If you have the good fortune to tneet with any characters. Vanity, levity, slovenliness, folly, appear who deserve the namne of friends, unlbosom yourselves through it. An elegant simplicity is an equal proof to them with the most unsuspicious confidence. It of taste and delicacy. is one of the world’s ma’ximis, never to trust any per In dancing, the principal points you are to attend son with a secret, the discovery of which could give to, are ease and grace. I would have you dance with you any pain; but it is the maxim of a little mind and spirit; but never allow yourself to be so far transport- a cold heart, unless where it is the effect of frequent ed wsith inirth, as to forget the delicacy of your sex. disappointmenets and bad usage. An open temper, it Maniy.a girl, dancing in the gayety and innocence of restrained by tolerable prudence, will make you on the her heirt, is thought to discover a spirit she little whole much happier than a reserved susplicious one, d.reamsi oel. although you may sometimes suffer by it.

Coldness I kn-)w 1no entertainment that gives such l)leasure and distrust are but the too ceritailn consequences ol to aiiy,)elson of sentiment or humor, as the thleatre. age and experience; but they lre uijl)leasatit feelintgs9 But I alln sorry to say that there are fewv English com- and need not be anticipated before their time. ed(ies a l-:dy can see, wvithout a shock to delicacy. But however open you may be in t:Ilkilig of your You qvil not readily suspect the comments gentlemen own affairs, never disclose the secrets of one friec(d lo make on your behavior on such occasions. Mlen are another. These are sacred deposites, whiclh do not olienl best acquainted with the most worthless of your belong to you, nor have you any righlt to niake use of se (, arid from them too readily form their judgment them. of the rest. A virtuous girl often hears very indeli-

There is another case in which I suspect it is proper cate th’ings with a countenance nowise embarrassed, to be secret, not so much from motives of prudeli, e beciuse in truth she does not understand them. Yet as delicacy.

I mean love matters. Though a woii;,n this is, most ungenerously, ascribed to that command has no reason to be ashamed of an attaclment to a of!a:Stires C’and that ready presence of mnind, which man of mierit, yet nature, whose authority is sul)eri,)r vo? fre tti’tou1ht to possess in a degree far beyond us; to philosophy, has annexed a sense of shime to it.

It b}r, stlil more maligna n it o bser vers, it is ascribed to is even long before a vworian of delicicy idares av,ow 1;3 oenucl effrontery. to her own heart that slle loves; and wlven all the .~,aetillaes a irl laughs with all the simplicity of subterfuges of ingenuity to conceal it from hers-elf ulsls.cting, inliocence, for no other reason but being fil, she feels a violence done both to her pride and to i’it’ tft,t withi other people’s lauglliiin; she is then her lnodesty. This, I should imagine, must always tbe’iiel to knovw more than she should (lo. If she be the case where she is not sure of a return to her do,s lt11l)len to understand an improper thing, she attachment. 5sutit’s a very compelicated distress; she feels her In such a situation, to lay the heart open (o any i():ies’v hiurt ill the most sensible manner, and at thile person whatever, does not appear to me consiste-tt s’i’:, ti’oe is a.lha:ned of appearing conscious of the with the perfection of female delicacy. But perals illjt]iy.‘Fruie olily way to avoid these iticot-ivenrielce, I am in the wrong. At the salme time 1 ilust ieil is liever to no to a play that is particularly offensive to you, that, in point of prutience, it concerns y’toi to 3e’icace. Iriagedy subjects you to no such distress. attend well to the consequences of such a discovery. Its soilowVs will soften and ennoble your hearts. These secrets, however important in yoder owii esti [ need say little about galing, the ladies in this mation, may appear very trifling to youi friend, who country beiiig as yet almost strangers to it.

It is a possibly will not enter into your feelings, but may rtiinous an-id incurable vice; and as it leads to all the rather consider them as a subject of pleasantry. For selfishi and turbulent passons, is peculiarly odious in this reason, love secrets are of all others the worst your sex.

I have no obijection to your playing a little kept. But the consequences to you imay be very seat any kind of.same. as a variety in your amusements, rious, as no man of spirit and delicacy ever valued a provided tha~it wvhat you can possibly lose is such a heart much hackneyed in the ways of love. trifle as can neither interest nor hurt you. If, therefore, you must have a friend to pear out In this, a vell a, in all inportant points of conduct, your heart to, be sure of her honor and secresv. Let lhow a deteririiied resolution and steadiness. This is hler not be a married woman, especially if she live not in the It a,* in~cOnsistent with that softness and gen- happily with her husband. There are certain’

untleuless so aon:,ahle in your sex. On the contralry it guarde(l moments, in which such a woman, thzough ‘ives a’;tspirit to; iailtl and sweet dilsposition, sith- the best and worthiest of her sex, iuay let hints escape, out whic!-3 i is:ipt to degcae:‘aie into i:-si(;5lity. It o whichl, at oilier times, or to any oticr person, than hef makes y’) i-stt[lbl..’:;o oriiI1’ei- 3 liusI!i.iiid, slie would be incalpable of; nor will a busbou ili our!s.‘b’ i this case feel himself under the same obli 85

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A FATHER’S TI,EGACY TrO ITIS D)AUGHTERS. I)icion of beiing your lover, who, perlhaps, never thought of you i. tlihat view, and giviig, yourselves those airs so comimion amongti silly women on such oc casions. There is a kind of unmeaning gallantry nmuch prac tised by some men, which, if you have any discern nmenit, you will find really harn-iless. Men of this sort will attend you to public places, and be useful to you by a number of little observances, which those of a superior class do not so well understand, or have not leisure to regard, or perhaps are too proud to submit to. Look on the complirments of such men is words of course, which they repl)eat to every agreeable wo man of their acquaintance. There is a tfamiliairity a they are al)t to assume, wllichi a proper dignitv in your behavior will be easily (able to check. l There is a diflerent species of men whloni you Iii.y like as agreeable companions, men of ortli, t,ste, and genius, whose conversation in some resp(tee mynv be superior to what you generally meet with amtong your own sex. It will be foolish ini) you to Ide(prive yourselves of a useful and agreeable acquaiiitaii( e, merely because idle people say he is your lover. Sach a man mnay like your company wMithout liavigti any de sign on your person. People whose sentimnents, and particularly wl ose tastes correspond, naturally like to associate together, although neither of then have the most dist;nt view of any further connexion. But as this similarity of minds often gives rise to a more tender itt:.cliiiient than firiendship, it will be prudent to keep a watclhful eye over yourselves, lest your hearts biecome too far engaged before you are aware of it. At the same time, I do not think that your sex, at least in this part of the world, have much of that sensibility which dis poses to such attachments. What is coimmionly call ed love among you is gratitude, and a partiality to the man who prefers you to the rest of your sex; and such a man you often marry, with little of either per sonal esteem or affection. Indeed, without an un usual share of natural sensibility, and very peculiar good fortune, a wotiman in this country has vety little probability of marrying for love. It is a maxim laid down among you, and a very prudent one it is, that love is not to begin on your part, but is to be entirely the consequence of our at tachment to you. Now supposing a wvoniatn to have. sense and taste, she will not find many men to whom she can possibly be supposed to bear any considerablo share of esteem. Among these few it is a very great chance if any of them distinguishes her particularly. Love, at least with us, is exceedingly capricious, and will not always fix where reason says it should. But supposing one of them should become particularly attached to her, it is still extremely improbable that he should be the man in the world her heart most ap proved of. As, therefore, Nature has not given you that unlimited range in your choice which we may enjoy, she has wisely and benevolently assigned to you a greater flexibility of taste on this subject. Some agreeable qualities recommend a gentleman to your common good liking and friendship. In the course of his acquaintance he contracts an attachment to you. When you perceive it, it excites your gratitude; this gratitude rises into a preference, and this preference perhaps at last advances to some degree of attachment, especially if it meets with crosses and difficulties, for these, and a state of suspense, are very great excitements to attachment, and are the food of love in both sexes.

1f attachnment was e not excited in your sex im) this manner, there is not one of a million of yoti that could ever marry witl any dethee of love. A mn~tn of taste andl delicalcy marries a woman be canso~i hi’cOE iloes herore thaun ally other. A woma~ gation of secresy and honor, as if you had p)It your confidence originally in himself, especially on a subject which the world is apt to treat so lightly. If all other circumstances are equal, there are obvious advantages in your mnaking fi-iends of one another. The ties o f blood, a nd your being so nuch united in one common interest, torm an additional bond of union to y our friendship. If y our brothers should have tile good fortune to have hearts suiscel)tible to fri endship, to possess truth, honor, s ense, and delicacy of sentiment, t hey are the fittest and m ost unexception ab le c o nfidants. By placing, confidence in them, you will receive every advantage wliich you could hope for from thie friendship of iiet, vithout any of the inconveniences that attend such colnlexions with our sex. Beware of making confidants of youri servants. Dignity, not properly understood, very readily degenierates into pride, which enters into no friendship)s, because it can not bear an equal, and is so fond of flattery as to grasp at it even trom servants and dependants. T.he most intimate confidants, therefore, of proud people, are valets de chalmbre and waiting-women. Show the utmost humanity to your servants; make their situation as comfortable to them-i as p)ossible; but if you make themn your confidants you spoil them and debase yourselves.

Never allow any person, under the pretended sanction of friendship, to be so familiar as to lose i proper respect for you. Never allowi, them to tease you oil any subject thait is disagreeable, or where you have once taken your resolution. Alally will tell you that this reserve is inconsistent with the freedom which friendship allows. Btut a certain respect is as necessatry in friendship as in love. Without it you may be liked as a child, but you will never Se beloved as an equal. The temper and dispositions of the heart in your sex imiale you enter more readily and warmly into friendships than men. Your natural propensity to it is so strong, that you often run into intimacies which you soon have sufficient cause to repent of, and this makes your friendships so very fluctuating.

Another great obstacle to the sincerity as well as the steadiness of your friendships, is the great clashings of your interests in the pursuits of love, ambition, or vanity. For these reasons, it should appear at first view more eligible for you to contract vour friendships with the men.

Among other obvious advantagies of an easy intercourse between the two sexes, it occasions an emulation and exertion in each to excel and be agreeable; hence their respective excellencies are mutually communicated and blended. As their interests in no degree interfere, there can be no foundation for jealousy or suspicion of rivalship. The friendship of a man for a woman is always blended with a tenderness w’hich he never feels for one of his own sex, even where love is in no degree concernled. Besid3es, we are conscious of a natural title you have to our protection and good offices, and therefore *we feel an additional obligation of honor to serve you, and to observe an inviola~ble secrecy whenever you confide in us. But apply these observations with great caution. thousands of women of the best hearts and the finest parts have been ruined by men who approached them under the specious name of friendship. But supposing a man to have the most uudoubted honor, yet his friend’ship to a wom,an is so near akin to love, that if she be very agreeable in her person she will probably rely soon find a lover where she only wished to ~neet a friend. Let me hlere, however, warn you| a~gainst that wveakiness so commlon among vain wvomen,l the imagination thaft every man who takes p~articulalr notice of you is a lover. Nothling, can esxpose you more to ridicule than the taksing up a marl 011 the suls- i ii I tib

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A FATHER’S ILEGACY TO HIS DAUGHTERS. of equal taste and delicacy marries him because she esteems him, and because he gives her that preference. But if a man unfortunately becomes attached to a woman whose heart is secretly pre-engiged, his attachment. instead of obtaiining a suitable return, is particularly offensive, and if he persists to tease her, he makes himself equally the object of her scorn and aversion. The effects of love among men are diversified by their different tempers. An artful man may counterfdt every one of them so as easily to impose on a young girl of an open, generous, and feeling heart, if she is not extremely on her guard.

The finest parts in such a girl may not always prove sufficient for her security. The dark and crooked pathis of cunning, are unsearchable and inconceivable to an honorable I and elevated mind. The following, I apprehend, are the most genuine effects of an honorable passion among the men, and the most difficult to counterfeit. A man of delicacy otten betrays his passion by his too great anxiety to conceal it, especially if he has little hopes of success. True love, in all its stages, seeks concealment, and never expects success. It renders a mnan not only respectful, but timiid to the highest degree in his behavior to tlhe woman he loves. To conceal the a-we he stands inr of her, hle may sometimes affect pleasantry, but it sits awkwardly on him, and he quickly relapses into seriousness, if not into dulness. He magnifies all her real perfections in his imagination, and is either blind to her failings, or converts them n into beauties. Like a person conscious or’ guilt, he is jealous that every eye observes him; and to avoid this, lie shunis all the little observances of common gallantry. His heart and his character will be improved in every respect by his attachment. His manners will become miore gentle, and his conversation more agreeable; but diffidence and embarrassment will always make him appear to disadvantage in the company of his mistress. If the fascination continue long, it will totally depress his spirit, and extinguish every active, vigorous, aud manly principle of his mind. You will find this subject beautifully and pathetically paint ted in’I’hornsohi’s Sl)ring. WVhen you observe in a gentleman’s behavior i the inarks which I have described above, reflect seriou-sly wlha,t you are to do. If his attachment is agreeable to you, I leave you to do as nature, good sense, and delicacy, shall direct you. If you love himd, let mile advise you never to discover to him the full extent of your love-no, not although you mtarry him. Tihat sufficiently shows your preference, which a eis all he is entitled to knov. If h e h as delicacy, he will askle br no stronger proof of your affection, for your salke; * ” has sense, he will not ask for his own. This is an unpleasant truth, but it is my duty to let yol knowr it; violent love can not subsist, at least can not be expressed for tiny timde together,I on both sides; otherwise the certain consequence, howvever concealed, is satiety and disgust. Nature, in this ease, has laid the reserve on you. If you see evident proofs of a gentleman’s attachment and you are determined to shut your heart against hlim, as you ever hope to be used with genero)sity by the person who shall engage your own heart, treat him honorably and humanely. D~o not let him linger in miserable suspense, but be anxious to let him know yoar sentiments with regard to him. Howsever people’s hearts may deceive them, there is s~ fr:eely a person that can love for any time, without at least so~le distant hope of success. If you really wishl to undeceive a loser, you may *10 it ill a variety of ways. Tahore is a1 c ertain species of easy fillmiliar ily inl your b~e~lavlior, w\hicll may satisfy’ }tim, if he has any discernmet leflt e, that he has nothing to hope for. But perhaps your particular temper may not admit of this. You illay easily show that you want to avoid his comiipaniy; but if he is a man whose friendship you wi sh to preserve, you ma y no t choose this method,. because then you lose h im in every capacity. You may get a cmovedon friend to explain mat ters tq him, or tall in wi th many other devices, if you are serious ly anxious to put h im out of s uspense. But if you are resolved against every such method, at least d o not shun opportunities of letting him explain himeself. Ifyou do thisyou t is ou act barbarously and unjustly.

It’ he brings you to an explanation, give him a polite, but resolute and decisive answer. In whatever way you convey your sentiments to him, if he is ea man o f spirit and delicacy, he will give you no furthe r trouble, nor apply to your friends for their intercession. This last is a method of courtship which every man of spirit will disdain. He will never whine nor sue for your pity. That w o ul d mortify him almost as much as yo ur scorn. In short, you miay possibly break such a heart, but you can not bend it. Great prid e always accompanie s delicacy, however concealed unde r the appearance of the ut most gen – tleness and iodety and and is the passion of all others the most difficult to conquer. There is a case where a woman may coquet justifiably to the utmost verge which her conscience will allow. It is wiere a gentleman purposely declines to make his addresses, till such time as he thinks himself perfectly s ure of her consen t. This at bottom is int ended to force a woman to g ive up the u ndo ubte d privilege of he r sex, the privilege of her refusing; it is intended to force her to explain herself, in effect, before the gentleman deigns to do it, and by this means to oblige her to vio la t e the modcsty and eeli cacy of her sex, and to invert the clearest order of nature. All th is sacrifice is proposed to be marde meerely to gratify a most despicable vanity in a man who would degrade the very woman whoun he wishes to maake his wife. It is of great imp ortanc e to distinguish whether a gentleman w ho has the appearance of bein g your lover de lays to speak explicitly, from the motive I have mentioned, or from a diffidence inseparable from true attachment. In the one case, you can scarcely use him too ill; in the other, you ought to use him with great kindness; and the greatest kindness you can show him, if you are determined not to listen to his addresses, is to let him know it as soon as possible. I know the many excuses with which women en deavor to justify themselves to the world, and to their owvn consciences, when they act otherwise. Some times they plead ignorance, or at least uncertainty of the gentleman’s real sentimets. That may often be the case. Sometimes they plead decorums of. their sex, which enjoin an equal behavior to all men, and forbid them to consider any man as a lover, till he has directly told them so. Perhaps few women carry Itheir ideas of female delicacy and decorum so far as I elf. But I must say you are not entitled to plead the obligation of these virtues, in opposition to the superior ones of gratitude, justice, and humanity. The man is entitled to all these, who prefers you to the rest of your sex, and perhaps whose greatest weakness im ~‘his very preference. The truth of the mnatter is, anity and the love of admiration are so prevailing passions among you, that you may be considered to make a very gretat sacrifice when you give up a lover, till every art of coquetry fails to keep him, or till he forces you to an explanation. You can be fond of the love when you are indifferent to, or even despise the lover. Bsut the deepest and most artful coquetry is em|ployedl by women of superior taste ancd sense, to ent gag~e (and fix the heart of a man whom the world land they themselves esteem, although they are de. I i i 87

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A FATHFER’S ILEGACY TO ITIS DAUGHTERS. imi n sfortune, but cain not ble your fault. In such a sit nation, you would be equally unjust to yourself and your lover, if you gave him your hand when your heart revolted against him. Put miserable will be your fate if vou allow an attachment to steal on you before you are sure of a return, or, what is infinitely worse, where are waniting those qualities u-hichl alone can insure happiness in a married state. I knowv nothing that renders a woman more despi Icable, than her thin-kilg it essential to happiness to be n arried. Beside the gi-oss indelicacy of the sen timeat, it is a false one, as thousands of women have experienced. But if it was true, the belief that it is so, and the consequent impatience to be niarried, is the most effectual way to prevent it. YI ou 1111st not think froiom this, that I do not wish you to nmatrry. On the contrary, I am of opinion, that you miay attaili a superior decree of hatppiness in fi a married state to what you can p)ossibly fitid in any other. I knowv the forlorn and unprotected situation of an old maid, the chagrin and peevisl,ness which iare apt to infect their telmp)ers, and the great difficulty of ilakite~ a, transition with dignity and eoleirfulnes from the p)eriod of youth, beauty, adiuiratioii, and re spect, into the calni-, silent, unnoticed retreat of de clining i years. I see some unmarried women of active, vigorous w minds, anrid a great vivacity of spirits, degriading them i selves, sometimes by enterilig into a dbssispated course of life unsuitable to their years, and exposing them selves to the ridicule of girls cwho itiglit have been their grand-children, somnetimes by oll)ressing their macquaintances by itmpertinent intrulsioi into their pri vate affairs, and sometilmes by being the propagators of scanda(ll and delaia-ttion, All this is ovwing to an exuberant activity of spirit, whichl, if it had found employment at home, would have rendered them re spectable and useful members of society. I see other wortien in the same situationt, gentle, modest, blessed with sense, taste, delicacy. and every omilder feninitie virtue of the heart, but of weak spir its, baishful, arnd timid; I see such womneni sinking into obscurity and insignificance, and gradually losing every elegantit accoiil)lislitJeut, fti)r this evident rea son, that they are not utited to a p)artner whlo has sense, and worth, and taste to ki-owv their value-one vwho is able to draw tortli their concealed qualities, and show them to advantage whvlo cat. give thast sup p)ort to their feeble spirits which they sla.,! s,o ltiich Tin need of, and who, by his afil’ectil,j and tndciness miight make such a woman hali)y ill exertiiig every talent, and acconiplishing herself ill every elegant art that could contribute to his amiusemiient. In short, l am of opinion, that a tiarr-ied slate, if entered into from proper motives of esteeni and aiiec tionri, will be the happiest for yourselves, anid make you most respectable in the eyes of the world, and the most useful neitibers of society. But I Iliust confess I am not enough of a patriot to wish you to marry for the good of the public. I wish you to marry for no other reason but to make y’ourselves happier. When I am so larticular inl my advies about your conduct, I own my heart beats with the fond hope of making you worthy the attachrtmetit of men who will deserve you, and be sensible of your merit. But Heaven forbid you should eve r relinquish the ease and independence of a single lifte, to become the slaves of a Iool or a tyrant’s cap~rice. As these have been always my sentititents, I shall do you but justice when 1 leave yon inX such indet pendent circuistances as may laiy you lutdcr 110 temphe tation to do froin necessity wMat yboa weo!id niver do v i firom choice. This will likewise save i troll I’ont that cruel mortificatioti to;t wotzi iti of al)firt -llte sltspi cion that a gentleman thinks le does yell an honor or a favor when he asks you for his wiOe. If I live till termined never to m arr y hia. But hi s conversation amuses them s a nd’. is attacn;b ent is the i he st ge a t ification to their vanity; nay, they can somiietimes be gratified with the u tter ruint of his fortune, ftame, and happiness. God forbid I should ever think so of all of your sex. I knots many of them have principles, hav e g enero sity an d init y of soul, tha t elevate them above the wothless vanity I have been speak ing of. Such a woman, I am persuaded, may alevays con vert a lover, if she call not give her affections, into a warln and steady friend, provided he is a man of sense, resolution, and candor. If she explains herself’ to him with a generous openness and freedom, he must feel the stroke as a man; but he will likewise bear it as a man; what he suffers he will suffer in silence. Every sentiment of esteem will remain: but love, thouglh it requires very little food, and is easily surfeited with too much, yet it requires some. He will viewv her in the light of a married woman; and thoughtl passion subsides, yet a man of a candid and generous heart always retains i tenderness for a womrn ihe has once loved, and who has used him well, beyond what he feels for any other of her sex. If he has not confided his own secret to anybody, he has an undoubted title to ask yoU not to divulge it. If a woman chooses to trust any of her companions] with her own unfortunate attachmnernts, she may, as it is her owvn affair alone; but if she has any generosity or gratitude, she will not betray a secret wlhi(:h does not belong to her.

AMale coquetry is much more inexcusable than female, as well as snore pernicious; but it is rare in this country. Very few men will give themselves the trouble to,ain or retain any woman’s affections, unless they have views on her either of an honorable or dishonorable kind. Mlen employed in the pursuits of business, ambitions or pleasure, will not give theiuselves the trouble to engage a woman’s affections merely from the vanity of conquest, and of triumiiphing over the heart of an innocent and defenceless girl. Besides, people never value much what is entirely in their power. X man of parts, sentiment, and address, if he lays aside all regard to truth and humanity, may engage the hearts of fifty women at the same time, and may likewise conduct his coquetry with so much art, as to put it out of the power of any of them to specily a single expression that could be said to be directly expressive of love. This ambiguity of behavior, this art of keeping one in suspense, is the great secret of coquetry in both sexes. It is the more cruel in us, because wve can carry it what length we please, and continue it as long as we please, without your being so mnuchl as at liberty to comiiplatin or expostulate; whereas ale can break Our chain, and force you to explain, whenever we become impatient of our situation. I have insisted the more particularly on this subject of courtship, because it may most readily haprpen to you at that early period of life when you can have little experience or knowledge of the world, when your passions are wvarin, and your judgments not arrived at such full maturity as to be able to correct them. I wish you to possess such high principles of honor and generosity as will render you incapable of deceiving, and at the same time to possess that acute discernment which may secure you against being deceived. A woman, in this country, may easily prevent the first impressions ot love, and every native of prudence and delicacy- should make tier guard againlst themn, till such time as she hats received the most conviucing proof of the attachment of a man of such mnerit as wvill justify’ a reciprocal regard.~ Your hearts, mt~eed, mnay be shut inflexibly and permanently againlst ~it the m~erit a man can possess. That may be your 88

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A FATHER’S I,EGACY TO TItS DAUGHTERS. you arrive;it thl’t age vhlen you shall be ctapable to judge for you-selves, and do not strangely alter my sentimi-ilts, I shall act toward you in a very differ ent manlner fron what mos t parents do. My opinion has always been, that when that period arrives tile parental atuthiority ceases. I hope I shiall always treat you with that affection and easy confidence which may dispose you to look on me as your fi’iend. In that capacity alone I shall think myself entitled to give you my opinion; in the doinr of vlwhich I should think myself highly criminal if I did not to the utmost of my power endeavor to divest myself of all personal vanity, and all preju dices in favor of my particular taste. If you did not choose to followv my advice, I should not onil that ac count cease to love you as my children. Though my right to your obedience was expired, yet I should think nothing could release me from the ties of nature and humanity. You may perhaps imagine that the reserved beha vior which I recommnend to you, and your appearing seldom ait public places, must cut off all opportunities of your beiii, acquainted with gentlemen; I am very for fromn iliteniding this. I advise you to no reserve hl)t what vwill render you more respected and beloved by our sex. I do not think public p)lces suited to make people acquainted together. Th-ey can only be distinguished there by their looks and external bela vior. But it is in private companies alone where you can expect easy and agreeable conversation, which I shoult, never wish you to decline. If you do not allow gentlenten to become acquainted with you, you canh never expect to marry with attachment on either sile. Love is very seldomn produced at first sight, at least it must have, in that case, a very unjustifiable fouindation. True love is founded on esteem, in a correspondence of taste and sentiments, and steals on the lieirt ilmperceptibly. There is one advice I shall leave you, to,-,hich I beg your particular attention; before your affections becomne in the least engaged to any man, examine your tempers, your tastes, and your hearts, very severely, and settle it in your own minds, what are the requisites to your happiness in a married state,; and as it is almost impossible that you should get everything you wvish, come to a steady determination what you are to consider as essential, and what may be sacrificed. It’ you have hearts disposed by nature for love and friendship, and possess those feelings which enable you to enter into all the refinements and delicacies of these attachments, consider well, for Heaven’s sake, and as you value youtr future happiness, before you give themn any indulgence. If you have the misfortune (for a very great misfortune it commiionly is to your sex) to have such a temper and such sentiments deeply rooted in you, if you have spirit and resolution to resist the solicitations of vanity, the persecution of friends (for you will have lost the only friend that would never persecute you), and can support the prospect of the many inconveniences attending the state of an old maid, which I formerly pointed out, then you may indulge yourselves in that kind of sentimental reading and conversation, which is most corresp’ondent to your feelings.

But if you find, on a strict self-examination, that mlarria,ge is absolutely essential to your happiness, keep the secret inviolable in your own bosoms, for the reason I formerly mentioned; but shun as you would the most fital poison, all that species of reading and conversation which warmns the iluagina tion, which engages audl sif’tei:s tile heart, atud raises the taste above the 1ev 1 o’ cL,inimon li;i’. If viU do o0iierwvise, cons;der tie ter-i;~le cooilii-t of imassiou0q this ma.

jraftciward ruise il yo;lr brte;iss. If this refi;~e;nsent Slice t tkes dc(‘p root ill TONIt minds, and you do not obey its adicta,;es. bset i licacy from vulgar and mercenary views, you may never be able to eradicate it entirely, and then it will imbitter all your married days. Instead of meeting wirn sense, delicacy, tenderness, a lover, a friend, an ceqval coBmpanion, in a husband, you ma y be ti red with in sipidity and dulness; shocked with ind elica cy, or mnortified by indifference. You will find none to compassionate, or even understand your suffelings; for your husbands may not use you cruelly, and may give you as much money for your clothes, personal expense, and domestic necessaries, is is suitable to their fortunes. The world therefore would look on you as unreasanable women, who did not deserve to be happy, if you were not so. To avoid these corn plicated evils, if vou are determined a,t all events to marry, I would advise you to mnake all your reading and amusements of such a kind, as do not affect the heart nor the imagination, except in the way of’ wit or humor.’ I have no view by theve advices to lead your tastes; I only want to persuade you of the necessity of know ing your own minds. which, though seemingly very easy, is what your sex seldom attain on many impor tant occasions in life, but particularly on this of which I am speaking.

There is not a quality I more anx iously wish you to possess, than that collected, deci sive spirit which rests on itself, which enables you t,o see where your true happiness lies, and to lursue it with the most determined resolution. In matters of business, follow the advice of those who know tl}etn better than yourselves, and in whose integrity you can confide; but in matters of taste, that depend on your own feelings, consult no one friend whatever, but con sult your own hearts. If a gentleman makes his address to you, or gives you reason to beliesve lie will do so, before you allow your affections to be engaged, endeavor in the most prudent and secret manner, to procure from your friends every necessary piece of information concern ing him; such as his character for sense, his morals, his temper, fortune, and fami),; whether it is dis tinguished for parts and worth, qr for folly, knavery, and loathsome hereditary di~,?ases. WVIhen your friends inform you of these, th,-,, have fulfilled their duty. If they go further, they Cave Dot tlht defer ence for you which a becomitnp 1;gnity on your part would effectually command.

Whatever your views are in trt’,.ying, take every possible precaution to prevent ti, is:ng disappointed. If fortune, and the pleasures it bli,gs are your aim, it is not sufficient that the settlements o, a jointure and children’s provision be ample, and p,) erly secured; it is necessary that you should enjoy e,e fortune du ring your own life. The principal se~cu-ity you can have for this will depend on your man i;,g a good natured, generous man, who despises H,‘oney, and who will let you live where you can best enjoy that pleasure, that pomp and parade of life, fol which you married him. From what I have said you wvill easily’ see tant 1 could never pretend to advise whom you scapula marry; but I can with great confidence advise wh~omi you should not marry. Avoid a companion that may entail any hereditary disease on your posterity, particularly (that nmost dreadful of all human calamities) madness. It is the height of imnprudenlce to run into such a danger, ag in my opinion highly criminal.

Do not marry a fool; he is the most intractable o~ all animals; he is led by his passions.,nd cain’ices, and~ is incaFpblel o)f ]learaing t!he voice 031 r.:. It ^ I:l~y il’obally too hur~tt your~ valliiy, Act,!;;.vc’;~’-l’;l,’s [bfr hitioin vo tav r1l ealsol to blnls;l~ l:t~

~cl.l,l everyV t itte tl~.t~y olmne t!~cir limps i) co,~p;t}; v. Ilivtl.

le wo:()s c~rcltt~sta:~ce thact *attenlds a tbol. ix xi~s t bits:a,:t it:;~] I iI I i i I I i 89

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A FATHER’S LEGACY TO HIS DALUGHTERS. ousy of his wile being thought to govern him. This renders it impossible to lead him, and he is continually doing absurd and disagreeable things, for no other reason but to show he dares do them. A rake is al-,ways a suspicious h-iusband, because he has only known the most worthless of your sex. He likewise entails the worst diseases onl his wife and children, if’ hle has the misfortune to have any. If you have a sense of religion yourselves,.do not think of husbands vwho have none. If they have tolerable understandings, they will be glad that you have religion, for their ovwn sakes, and for the sakle of their famuilies; but it will sink you in their esteem. If they are weak mnen, they will be continually teasing and shocking you about your principles.

If you hae, children, you will suffer the most bitter distress, in l seeing all your endeavors to form their minds to virtue and piety, all your endeavors to secure their present and eternal happiness, frustrated, and turned into ridicule. As I look on your choice of a husband to be of the greatest consequence to your happiness, I hope you will make it with the utmiost circumspection. Do not give way to a sudden sally of passion, and dignify it with the name of love. Genuine love is not founded in caprice; it is founded in nature, on honorable views, on virtue, on similarity of tastes and sympathy of souls. If you have these sentiments, you will never marry a ny one when you are not i n that situation in point of fortune, v whicl h i s necessary to o y fthe happiness of either of vou. \Vhiat that competency may be, (-an only be determined by your own tastes. It would be ungenierous in you to take advantage of a lover’s attachment to plunge himn into distress; if lie h.as any honor, no personal gratification will ever tempt him to enter into any connexion which will render you unhappy. If you have as much between you as to satisfy all your reasonable demai~inds, it is sufficient. I shall conclude with endeavoring to remove a difficulty which must naturally occur to any woman of reflection on the subject of tnarriage. \Vhat isq to become of all these refinements of delicacy, that diguity of manners, which checked all fanmiliarities, and suspended desire in respectful andl awful adm(iir;ftion I In answer to this I shall only observe, that if motives of interest or vanity have had any share in your reso lution to marry, none of these chimerical notions wil’ give you any pain, nay, they will very quickly appeal as ridiculous in your own eyes as they probably a; ways did in the eyes of your husbands. They have been sentiments whIlich floated in your imaniginlaltions, but have never reached your hearts. But if these sentiments have been truly geouine, and if you have ha,l the singular happy fate to ipttlach those who un derstand then, you have no reason to be afrtaid. Marriage, indeed, w ill at once disl el the enchant ! mevt raised b y e xternal beautv; but the virtues and I gyr aces that first wa r nied the w atd iht reserve and delicacy which always left the lover with somsoe thing further to wish, and often made hihn dowubtful of your sensibility or attachment, may and ouallt e ve r t o re main. The ttiinult of passion will necessarily subside; but it will be succeeded by an endearme nt that affects the heart in a mor e equals, more senIsible, and tender manner. Bu t I must chliec myself, and not indulge in descriptions t ha t d may nisle. ylou, leind that too sensibly awake the remiiem-brance otf my happier days, which, perhaps, it were better for nme to forget for ever. — I have thus given you my opinion on some of the most ic mportant articles of your future life, chiefly c alculated for that peri od when you are just entering the world. I have endeavored to avoid some pecu liarities of opinion, which, from their contradiction to the general practice of the world I Knight reasonably have suspected were not so well founded. But is writin, to you, I am afraid my heart has been too warmly interested to allow me to keep this resolution This may have produced some embarrassment, and some seeming contradictions. What I have written has been the amusement of some solitary hours, and has served to divert some melancholy reflections. 1 am conscious I undertook a task to which I was very unequal; but I have discharged a part of my duty You will at least be pleased with it, as the last mark of your father’s love and attention.

TRIALS AND TEMPTATIONS OF WOMAN. to be stung by grief, when they seemn only fitted for gayety and joy? Women are naturally buoyant and lig,ht-lheartedthe eye beaming with brightness, and the cheek usually wearing a smile; but this must bring equally a sense of pain, for the heart most easily pleased is soonest saddened. If they were more indifferent to pleasure there would be a greater callousness to pain. It is this very sensitiveness of their nature which makes pain so much more easily felt, as the brightest mirror is the soonest sullied. In every station she can occupy, is a woman exposed to trial and to trouble; and the more she is bound to others, the more is she exposed to sorrow in her own person. The happiest and most endearing of all the terms which can be applied to woman, is iundoubtedly that t of mother. But who can tell a mothler’s trials-a r iother’s troubles, sorrows, or atfflictions? Take a mother in lier hliappiest iilOIti,cts; see her encircled I)y her cllildren, wvith;vhuoin she is )platying.’’ One s hlIe kisses upon its cheek, and claslis another to hel bosom; one she sets upon her kitee, and finds a seat IF it be true, that the sight of a great man manfully strugglung against trouble is enough to makle the gods shed tears, that of a virtuous woman bearing sorrow with patience and fortitude might well brine, angels from heaven to cheer and comfort her. Almost synnymyious with suffering is the name of voman; tor though the troubles which man and woman have to bear, may, if considered in the abstract, be much the same in amount, yet if reference be made to wvoIIan’s sensibility, whether of mind or body, the suffering must fall much heavier upon her than upon nman. She is so formed as not to be firm enough So withstand, or yet flexible enough to bend to the slast of affi’ction. Man has indeed vast trials and troubles; but then he has b oth ai a a mind and a body constitutionally fitted to grapple with them; whereas a woman has to bear the same amount of affliction with a temperament the very reverse. So fair-, so fragile, as women are, are they to ibe exlpos-e tazainst the jarrinv win(s which affliction lets lotos;,, and wllicil sl)recad desolation and sorrowv wvheresoever- tiley sweep)? Are the set..silil.,ie~ and tlhe teeli,::s whRich so adorn the female heart i I i I I I l I 90

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TRIALS AND FETPf’FlA’rIONS OF \VOMAN. upon her foot for another.” Tilere is, then, to her, woy uniinigled withl sorrow, and pleasure tree from pain. She has forgotten tile anguish she suffered in giving these children birth; shIe thinks not of the many sleepless nights she passed while she wEis watch itmg and guarding the helplessness of infancy. The gay smile and the happy look she wears attest the pleasure she feels; but they also tell how deep would be the suffer:-ng if aught of evil were to hal)pen to her offspring. And, ere lotIg, it may be the sore stroke comes, and one of her children is laid upon a bed of sickness. And a very sore trial is this to a mother; her fond pictures of the future are blasted Un an instant, and she has to attend upon the child, pallid and p)ained by sickness, with whom she was so fondly playing but a short period before. Who but a mother can know a mnother’s feelings, when called upon to discharge a duty like this? Ilow much anxiety, how much watchfulness is displayed; h-ow eagerly she notes the irregular and feverish breathings of her child! Anrd often does it hapl)pen that sickness not only comes to one child, but that it runs through the whole group. Before many days the mother will detect the hectic spot brightening on another fair cheek-too surely presaging the increase of her troubles, her anxieties, and her pains. But she relaxes nothing of her solicitude or care. With her amount of hardships appears to increase her power to overcome them; and, amid this disease and these trials, she maintains her usual calmness and serenity of mind. A brief time passes away, and the darkened windows of tiat house proclaim that one of its inmnates is a corpse. It is the brightest and the fairest that death hath laid low. Of the two that sickened, one is fast returning to heal th an d joy-the other lies cold and dead. While there remained life, hope still lingered; but when the on e went out the other fled. And now has a mother to moiurn over al departed childsthis trial of trials, how s hall a woman’s heart bear up against so much as th is? Oh! the mo ther will stand at the side of her pale child, and will fix a deep and penetratin, look upon those calin and placid features, which, ere mortality begins to settle them, look more .ike marble than death; and she will impress a burning kiss upon its cheek, too cold, alas! to be warmed by this fondest token. She may not speak; but her ears-these, which form’

the most Dowerful of oratory-tlhese’tell how the heart is wauug with anguish, how riven with grief. And not only does an affliction like tiffs bring with it poignancy of grief and deepness of sorrow-how severe a trial is it also of temper! The hardest of all things is to bear affliction with a right mind; and many a secret thought is likely to arise in a mother’s mind when standing by the side of a dead child, suggesting the idea that God lhas desalt hardly and harshly in inflicting so severe a blow; and a murmur may arise that the even-handed justice of God has not been showvn in hier case, and that the dispensations of Lis p~rovidence are not always righit. It is a hard task, anal therefore a very severe triall, to bear affliction with p)atience and resignation; for the heart of a mnother so bereaved feels that a severer, and as she thinks, a more unjust stroke, has been dealt upon her than upon others. She will call to mind the youth, the innocence of her departed child; and all these will seem to her so many reasons why death should have been kept away. But she will not think how nanaly mothers have been simnilarly bereaved, and how many scal tirle tears they have shed over children deathl h:~s tilus stricken-fo~r ariel to all but a resigned an4 par;lielt telnper is selfish. Under these trials, t~tpretbre, th~e }s>.ert shouldt benld with pa~tienlce to thle ~,,ii of’ (Stu. And though thle eye maxi still weep), and the heart be sorrower((, y e t i n the inidst of all, by recogoisitge int; th e liction the hand of a fther, the lips hemsay breathle forth w ith perfect sincerity, fo The Lord ga ve, a nd the Lord math taken away: blessed be the ndmne of the L ord.” But all the duties of a mother are so many trials, to watch and train her children, t o g ua rd the way wartaless of youth p, to teach, to adnish, to instruct, to advise -all are attended with hardships, a nd, there fore,,nll are trials. She will find s o nma y th ing s to try her ownV temper she %will have to maintain so strict a guard over hers elf, les t h er own conduct dis proving those things she teaches, that which she pla nts w it one iand shbe iny be plucking up with haing th the other. And ai severer trial thian a ll these fre quenitly assails a mother-for those are labors she de lights in, and the pl easure she fee ls in performi ng them compensates for the difficulty of the tasks. But whven a mother see s th at a ll these in structions have been thrown away, and that a child is en te ring a path which conducts to ruitd, then will her t ri al be bmost severe and p o igna nt, and, in th e bitterness of er ie e o w i ra her grief, she wo wish rather t o nlirve seen a soIr coffined and buried, had he been virtuous, than that he should live to dishonor God, dis grace his parents, and rnin himself. And it will add considerably to her grief when she calls to mind ho w imper fect a t best eanrly of her i nstructions omust have been; she will think that more tihght still have tbeen done-th o uigh there was very much-to try to weain him from his att achment to [ ) ad companions, and to base an d un worthy pursuits. Ad t te ee i f s ndr to the deep grie f whic h is ever to befelt by the recklessness and immorality of a child, will be added the painful titouhts irising from the d knowl edgeta th he on t ad ostat thou she taught and instr cd to the best of’ her erevr, yet that if she had tlhoutht more deeply she might have followed a better method, a nd that the ill success may be partly chargeable upon hers el f. And this is, perhaps, one of’ the sorest trials a mother can have bef all her; for she charges herself, in all probability undeservedly, with having, through negligence or improper management, suffer-ed evil habits to obtain the ascendency in the mind of her child; so that over and ab ove the p ai n which she teels on account o f him who manifests a pr oneness to evil, there will be added the pain derived from the thought that much of thiprib is pr oneness is chargeable upon herself. And the nobler the mind, the more will this feeling rise, for it is the invariable character istic of great minds to think hbumrbly of themi-iselves. These, then, are all so many causes of trial to a mother, and they are so numerous and imanifest, that the history of a mother might be told in these few words: I She is born to trouble.” Nor ate the temptations to which a mother is ex posed much less numerous than her trials. Sur rounded by those who are entirely depet(dant upon Iher, is she not tenanted to manifest a degree of pride and arrogance, to treat her children as if” with life they had derived everything else tromn her, so that her will was law, and no opinion tenable which she did not entertain? And this is a temptation by which many, very many, mothers are overcome, so tha~t their childlren seem at home to be complete ciphers, and only enjoy life when out of their mlother’s presence. How mluch, too, is a mother temp~ted to a frequent display of anger! So many vexaltions andl crosses are continually pressing upon her, that she, must frequently be temspted to displa)TRIALS AND TEMIPT’ATIONS OF WOMIAN. isg; it is eqtiul’y lsil,ss to say tli’at sorrow will not bring back the dead to life.‘‘lie iheart of the widow porl( l ri a(nswer, in tie wiords of the p)hiloso)lier of old,  ”

It is for that very reason I a-tn shedding’ears.” For a tirle at least she will Retain deaf to aill conso lation-nay, she will wish even that consolation hiould not be offered, for she will not for a moment entertain the thought that her departed husband can ever be forgotten, or that she shall regard at any time as less severe the blow which deprived her of that truest of her earthly firiends. She will call to mind all the scenes and events in which they bore a p)art,-thle joyotisness of youth-the deepness of their leves-the actions in which they both participated-thie sorrows no less than the joys which they shared togetherand a-ll these will be so many differient voices to tell of the greatness of her bereatvement, declarin, the hardness of the trial sale is called upon to undergo. And, under a trial like this, where shlall the w. (Iowei(d heart find comfort? l Fientds may gatlie around her, eager to showv their sympathy, and striving to cheer her in these troublous lhours. But the symnpa1)itliy of friends is unsatisfiretory at best, even when most kind; for it only tells of the greatness of the loss, and brings nothing to cheer or make resignted under the aflliction. They may tell her that death is unavoidable-that tiue will mitigate the grie’- that tihe retrospect of her conduct is such, that she can not charge herself with neglect to her husband-and that, therefore, she should not take his death so mlich to heart. But all such sympath-ly as this is un:,vail in g. It is like attempting to bring back the glories ot tilhe da t y after the sun has gone down, by exhibiting the blackness of night; and, in the one case as in the other, in l)]ace of being reconciled, the mind the niore regrets the loss of former brightness. And as affliction is hard to bear at all, so is it yet harder to meet it in a right and proper frame of mind. NIany a murmur will be breathed-many a secret thought is likely to arise, on the inequality of God’s dealings; and a comparison to be drawn between herself and others, who seem blessed with everything of health and happiness. It is only by and through a genuine practical religion that affliction can be borne patiently and resignedly; for religion teaches the ends and uses of affliction, and thus prepares the mind to encounter it with patience. It does not seek to wrap up the heart in the rigidity of stoicism-it does not forbid the shedding of tears, or the manifestation of sorrow; for tears are the balm to a wounded spirit, and Christians have an example they may follow, in that their Master wept. But while not forbiddingnay, even encouraging-the grief of the heart to flow in drops from the eyes, religion tells us that all afflictions are sent for at good end, and that the heart should not repine or mvurmur when they come, for that it is the hand of a Father who deals the blow-not for the pleasure of giving pain, but because afflictive dispensations are a means to lead the heart from earth to heaven-from the evanescent and perishable, to the eternal and everlasting. It were easy to speak further of the trials which still attach themselves to the female heart, illustrating them by the tears which fall from the eyes of a daughter who stands over the grave where a loved parent sleeps, or by those shed by ta sister over the ashes of a brother. But, without going further into detail upon these points, we may say with truth, that the amount of her suffering is of fearful extent and of bitter poignancy. It is hardly too much to say that the life of a woman is a life of trial-so continu’tl is the demnarini upFonI her e rergy arid firmness, when cC i’titutiorae il I’e is miade yielding an(l sitbmissivie.l! n rlilli’li (1’t llitietce is iic Xi irtaan c-allel; i’,:.on to et,-l l,!I tow ira:’!y set’ ci ca ries I which the woild’kinows nJt of, are 1tc.Cled eul in lif’t mother is expose:3. She should therefore keep a guerd upon iher a ctionst, and set a watch upoo i her lips, lest s!ee a)ertorisn som e grction i l a omoment of f rhnger, or utter sotne expression wvheni her teitip)er is excited, hvlichl will in calmier hours brinlg with it regret and rep)eitalice. Knowing ]low much depends Up)Onl her a motlher should be careful in everythintl sh e says and does; af nd then. ill the tr.ials slie has undergone, and the temlptations sihe has resisted, become briz-ht jevels in her crown of immortality. Equalliy to a wife is fif’e a source of trial. The character and disposition of each inmtate in her house may be a great source of trial; but it is a husband who brings it dorn upon her lie,-d in its poignancy and bitterness. It is onl hills that all her affections are centre(d; and whenl she finds thi,at bul little love is yielded her in return, then m-ust she undls(7go a severe trial. If lie sl}oul]( prove unkind and inconstant, requiring that she be solicitous for his comforts, thoulglh le may show but s taill concern for herself he injdtulgie in habits; of sensuality-and delbauchery, preferrinlg the miidnight revel, asith its voluptuous pleasures, to the calmn attractiveness of homen there will be a severe trial inflicted on1 -a wife a trial of p)atienice, of temper, of virtue, and of love. But if tile reverse is the case, (lad a wife finds the husband of her love to be also the truest and dearest friend she has, she may still be exposed to trial andi trouble. it’ they be so firmly linked to each other tlmat one heart seems to beat in both breasts, then will every pain which befilis the one be equally a trial to the other. A wife will have to bear all a hlusband’s .inn-she vwill have to share all his troubles and all his sorrows I; and the burden will fill heavier upon hier, ftomn her templ)er being so much more susceptible, for the Unete seeing a hlusband’s heart grieved still be a trial to her owvii. There can not then be a trial he has to undergo which is not equally a trial to hier, nor can any of those numerous casualties whichl so often befall humnanity liaI)pen to him without her participating in their )erplexity and trouble. And thus, as the world is “l, ays presenting somiiething of disappointnent and c-,re, will a wvifl be continually having many trials.

But titore than all these, and far heavier and harder, will be those to which she may be brought by sickness and death; these heir-looms of humainity, which no amount of prudence can guard against, bring with them the severest trials, and cause the greatest hardships to be undergone. How hard is the trial inflicted upon a wife who has to minister to the wants of a husbarn(d when lying upon a bed of sickness! Sickness, like sorrow, makes the heart selfish, and many will be the peevish whims she may be called upon to gratify; many an unreasonable request is sure to be made by the invalid; and over and above these, the trial of seeing one she loves in pain: and thus she will have many things to try her temper, for her patience, her kindn~ess, and he~ love, are sure to be tasked to the utmost. But alas! sickness is too often the stepping-stone to death, and perhaps before many days that loved husband may be numbered amnong the dead. This is the hardest of all trials. Thle midnight watchings  the unremitting attention, the sick-chamber requires ~the want of sleep, all these a wife could have borne with patience and resignation; but death-this has bereaved her of all that she held dearest this has riven her heart, and the gushing tears which roll down her cheek proclaim howv deeply flowed the stream of affection.. ([he moost inlconsolab~le of all things is the heart of a wvidlow it the? first day~s of her bereavem,‘nt, arid _terc’ik,’ i., t-iiS;t/,ictiiOI wlVic’i(l br}i:loos st> n1n(‘!t,ri(‘f th-eb se,Pesoet o1’;tll trl.l A. it i- vaizl it tell -ltcr thnt tirae w,‘l s.,Ft.;.;, lie,’.: li.t a’: ~1 I. t S;,rrOw is uI!;,,va;i!ing, be,!)t,.‘iti:,~t,‘ic 1… }, ad:.l c::iy i:lu,‘i~t, lit?e liv-I I !)2

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TRIALS AND TE’MIPTATIONS OF WOMAN. breast and though the eye beams with brightness and Ile cheek Illay wear a smile, yet the heart is dis qu;ete-d and troubled-grief, like a canker-wornm, is eating at the core, though the bud be still beautiful. In all the duties of women, great trials are inflicted upon them-principally trials of tlte mind-those of temnper, of resolution, and of kindness; and all these hlave to be encountered singly and silently-there is no applause to follow success-no mighty crowds sur round them to stimulate to exertion, and to urge on to victory; but in the secret depths of their own hearts the struggle is carried on; there is it that the strife takes place, and human eyes see nothing of the conflict, nor is anything divulged of the difficulty ot the war. ,low many trials are also inflicted by the unamiable dispositions, which, more or less, have a lodgtment in every heart! What a fierce struggle with nature is it when anyv strive to conquer a disposition which they knoir to be wrong, but which has been so engrafted in them as to have growvn with their gr owth atnd strengthened with their strength!” Suppose the dispositioli which it is wished to conquer be passion-.what numberless battles wi; sharve to be fought before victory is obtained!‘j’o such a disposition, at the mere utterance of a wvo1(, the heart takes fire, and, in an instant, the b)row is wrapped in darkness, as in a thunder-cloud, and the eye flashes forth its lightning, and truly difficult is it to so lhave the heart under control under circumnsta(nces,f sunlden irritation, that the feelings shall be stublued andl kept under. Suppose pride or vanity to be the charliictXeristic feature of the disposition; but, sensiil)e of tlh impropriety, an attempt is made to subdue it: what a revolution will have to be effected ere the proud miind( can be brought to humility, or the vain to thiink others as good or better than themselves! In these and in similar instances the trials are very difficult to be overcome, not only because the strug- gle is acquiring a mastery over nature-whvich of itself is sufficiently a trial-but also because, while the stru,ggl,e is carried on, there will not be breathed, to cheer the combatant, a word of enconragement, of ,upport, or of commendation. Tlo woman, as to man, come sicknes s and death, and these both have their trials. WVhat a dem.tard.

upon p)atience and resignation is made wh e n th e body ts pained by sickness and enfeebled by disease! \What a trial. wvheni the prospect of dissolution is present to the view-when pain is severing the silken cords which bind soul to body, and the world is receding quickly from the view!

It Imlay have been a female’s part to have tended the sick-bed of a relative, and to have cheered and comforted when the death-struggle came on; and in these she may have displayed the noblest and the best feelings which adorn human nature. But when she herself coies to the point of deathl, far different may be the feelings which agitate her breast. It is one thing to see sickness and (deathtl, but quite another to have to meet them. It is of all thingss the most solemnn and awful to die. A trial is then made of every principle which has been held by the mind the world then begins to be regarded in its true light actionls are brought to their proper standard, and only those wvho have prepared for death can meet their last enemy with comnplacency; for, leas the production of the me, al proveth the work of the alchymist, so is death time test of our lives, the essay which showeth the standard of all our actions.” And this is a trial all have to submnit to. In life it happlen~s that many aflfiictionls dlescend upon] one individul U1, w-^hereals othlers sca(rc ely kinows what trouble isb~ut doeathl is the aplpoinated lo)t of all. It cotnes in a thou.sand~ formns andt a thousanld different ways, bult it surely comnes. And only those who have lived in prepanaration for death (lice Sito it;t lale) of ini mortality. It is’ the buoyancy of wc:l:;n’s naliiiie arm; g})’ yet hareter keenllress to tl,e triha ls hby Sict!s is esl compassed. Possessing a lii) i a!uiI ly itl.“i::at’uie and lively, and a dlisposition which tikes hcr Xconel h – trate all her energi-,es upon every ob)ject wlhlcil el gaupes her pattention, she thereby brithogs alnd hbt slo-i much trouble A disdrositiol r o,hlictl is (sotistei iy, imag~‘inling,s sutffrs troubles which p ierhal.S h:.,v110 existence, for the )riodhtest clot( so on aissiiumes ic}.tl blaclkniess of nlight, and imagined trouble is olteni f’.r h arder to bear thlln r ea l, tand by every e)eitgy bevie, roused, disab)pta ointments are sure to hi ue very sfie quently to be en c ountered, and fitoiin the s(.atises commonly arise to poticai many evntd sseve tte airtos a The temptations to whid(h o Den aire exflg ose,,l n,e almo st as p n utmes rous as th ei tri ls, e aecaly dtil g the seas on of youthe, Thhien tle vart is rno:eiet lt,ht d the cheek w ea rs its liirest text. us’aoi)f to,C hoI nes whvich the world t)bys to beb r;t-, the sy s e n e(t] to Vat i, – ityaandnd tew opte(-l to pr)tIasfits isricl} lco( siore tlfew temt teries and mhoeirage. THence tlemwy clare io(.he ced to ea list themselves in the cohv Iot )m onsliy ) (;f thIose at woid think pleasur e the great est good, anal ios b)hym st,it tlhe tnoblest occulpation. Ae nd if i avon fn tieldi to tlsis first teimptation, othe rs q;iecl.ly sise sio) atou te i.de Shae wil l se e theat iofischll wot licl-i slae r;l o, apccuss tomiied to consider highl tand nob)le is Ce r:l.ted of loo zreat worth by the Niorld’s votaries.

ruth ~,iaht have been regarded -,s a holy thiog, antd to s ita any thini, false wita s like profanation to the lilt s; but in the world she will firnd that flia tteries take the Ila-ce of truth, and in order to stand well with otlhers, arid to have admirers around her, a young woman,-ii Lilly soon exchange her love of truth for the sake of uttering things she does not feel-hollowi, fltteries atld empty praise. The female sex are exposed to mnany tenipta,tior,s. from their having but few objects of interest to eniage their attention. From the period of le avia7 school to that of ma-rriagie, the life of a fecnmtle is gnerally little more than a b lank. Sh e leaves school w itl, ex panded faculties, high hopes, beating expec,ations, and ardor of application, but not a suitable ol)ject ulp,ont which to expend them and thus she wi a.stes lofty thoughts, and brilliant purposes, lnd surprisintg t,owi,  ers, on the dull earth or the deaf’

air; she seemes lfe some glorious temple, beautiful in architectur-e, costly in ornaments, rich in splendor, a:ind radiant Vital light, but wanting a shline upon which to b)u,rn inensec, (iand a God to adore. At first faincy becomes busy, peop)ling the aiire with images, building up imnaiginary structures, an,, de picting events in wllAich themselves act tlie part of a heroine; but, by degrees, this feeling cools down, or becomes overwrought, and then followvs a st-ite- (of inactivity which at last ends in compl)le c~,,.‘i. Then are various rem-edies tried to restore th~e lost spirits, and the temptations with Enrich they u’ill lee assailed with wvill be those which lead thlenl to seek pleasure, perhap~s, in these most unesatisfilctory ones  inl the constantly spending the evenings at parties, in the ball-loom, or at the theatre. It is commonly said that women have but few temp tations in common with the other sex. It mnay be true that they havte not many from the great world without; but they have many, very many, fi’ont the little world within. Every thought which suggests the following the expedient in place of the right is a powerful temptation; every suggestion to the pride of display, or to the passion for flattery or applause, is al temlptation- every secret 1ongings after unp~ossess ed good every desire to shine pre-einilent ill beauty all are so many temnptatio~ns wvhichl scatter roses buefi~rt i! the feet, b~ut bring ruin in their train. i i I i i i O,-l

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94 TRIALS AND TE’P’FMPTATIONS OF WOMAN. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_____

Surrounde(l by trials and environed by lenll)tations, God, should I not have strared this fdtirest flower? woman staids trials the hardest to bear, and temnpta- Should I have let the blast of death sweep over it, and tioris the most difficutilt to overcome; and to meet bring down the young, the beautiful, the innocent, to tliese shle is endowed with a weak and delicate frame, the cold grave? Could I have dimmned the lustre and with a mind in which fortitude appears to hold of those eyes, which, blue as the midnight heavens, but a small place. And yet the disasters which al- were, like those heavens, the habitation of love? most breatlk dovwn the spirit of man are borne patient- Could I have faded the color of that fair cheek, than ly. energetic:lly, and nobly, by the softer sex, as which the rose’s teints were scarcely more beautiful? tliougl trou)le had a magical power over the female Could I have destroyed all that beauty, withered all heart, on the miere toticii of which, woman rose from that fairness, and brought so soon the dread curse weakness and dependance, to be a guide, a comforter, which condemns dust to return to its kindred dust?” an(l a suplort. It is thus a mother might be supposed to complain It was once a matter of debate, whether women when she sees the child of her love lying cold and ought to be educated, and, proud of his owvn learn- still. She will probably think that much of injustice in-, man )bonunded off, by a broad line of demnarca- hats been done alike to herself and to her child in tion, female intellect from his own. But if he wants thus destroying the fondest hopes of the one, and the to know how trouble is to be entidured or temptation life of the other. But if we may suppose the Alresisted, let hinit cast aside his speculations of science, mighty as desiring to vindicate the justness of his own let him shut ill) his books on the strength of human actions, it would be thus, we may imagine, lihe reply intellect, nil( thIe greatness of ltthumanr understanding, would be made: “In your sorrow, oh! fond mother, let him banisht from his sight his wild and visionary you accuse me of injustice and partiality, dealing theories, in which there exist as much fiction as truth, affliction in undue measure to one, and granting hapand let hiin go to wonail woman whom, in his pride piness beyond a common share to another. But to and his intoleranrce he hardly thought worth edu- all created things which live upon your globe have I bating, and there he will find that what intellect has thus dealt. Do not the evidences which are to be failed to accoip)lish, lhas been achieved by the moral gathered fiomn every beast, every bird, and every inaffections alone. sect, attest that all has been done which could give to Hlvi-ng pointed out some of the trials and tempta- the things which I have created the greatest possible tions to which woman is liable while endeavoring to amount of enjoyment? Where the life is brief, is it discharge the obligations which society imposes on not bright? and to those creatures which die when her, we will now proceed to show the consolation the sun goes down, has not theit life been a day of that religion aflords in affliction. sunshine? And why with the human family should If wve takle life as it is, divested of all hope of the it be supposed that I deal more hardly than with the future, a more aloomy picture could scarcely be ima- insect of a day? Have I not endowed the human gined. \Ve come into a world, which, at every step race with vast powers and surprising faculties, far bewe turn, presents sorrow and disappointment. Each yond those I have given to the rest of earth’s tenants, makes for himself an idea of happiness, and all set givitg to them an immortal soul, and destining them forth onil the pursuit of the fancied goo(l; but all find to dwell in that high kingdom where my own throne that their hapl)iness existed in imagination only, and is set, when their present life is ended? All that I that the pursuit thereof was like that of a boy chasing have done for human-kind, the love I have manifested a butterflv, which is no sooner gras)ed than the bright for them, bearing with their ingratitude, and with the hues come off in the hand: w*Nile, on the other hand, contempt manifested toward my commandments, there arises to the mind a lone train of troubl)les wvhich ought to have been sufficient to have brought all ourselves must encounter, and the still nmore length- hearts to be centred on myself. I sent into the world ened ones whichl would befall those we love best. prophets and wise men, gifted with supernatural powMisfortune, and pain, and death, haunt our footsteps, ers, anid endued with a prescience belonging only to and hiardlv will,ne difficulty be overcome, ere an- miyself, and even went so far as to assume humanity other, as tIoill t,, ashes of the former, will arise, like iyivself, that the bright heritage forfeited by apostacy a cloud ill the uwes, to diiu the brightness of the day. might be regained. And, for all that has been done, At every turn we tane, at every point wve reach, we for all that has been borne, I ask no hard service. fined that troibl and perplexity aire assailing us. It is Love and obedience are all that is demanded;love only when religion is taken into account, that the to myself, which, while it is my due, is the highest justness of G(od’s dealings with the human family be honor bestowved upon humanity, and obedience to coii,s apparent. Tihe god of the savage is a god of my laws, the infringement of which is sure to bring wrath and revernge, deligliting in slaughter, and revel- misery to the transgressor. linig in l)ood. The god of the skeptic is a being “But so degraded is the human heart, that even who, iter having once given laws, allows all to go on with the best, earth still holds them in restraint. without i;Jteriierence or control.

But the God of the Some links are binding down the heart-some deai Christian is a God of love-a God who, while con- friend has the affections, and the heart is weaned from cerned iil ordering the movement of systems, has a myself. But as I know the frailty of humanity, I thounhlt for the lowliest and the meanest of the crea- deal with it as gently as I can. Removing the ties tures lie has formed. It is this great truth which re- and breaking the links which bind to earth, I thus ligion iiicrilcates, and is a truth in which, as creatures seek to bring the heart back to myself. If affliction subjected to sorrow, and pain, and death, we have the be sent, it is to show tile perishabletiess of everygreatest possible interest; for without this truth being thing earthly; if sickness, to bring back the heart to fully understood, affliction will never be regarded un- look for support where alone it is to be found. der a proper point of view, or be borne with a right “You arraign me unjustly in accusing me of spirit. harshly dealing with you. It is true, death has over There is a mother bending in tearful agony over taken your child in the bright dawn of love: but that the lifeless form of her only child. The bitterness child was to you an idol, occupying every thought. of grief is present to her in its most poignant form; and causing you to forget God. You put the gift in and as she presses her lips to the pale, cold cheek of the place of the Giver, and set youi affections upon her beloved clhild, she feels that the lilow has been I that so entirely as to exclude from your thoughts obunjustly dealt, and that the bud slorilld have been left 11 ligations yet ruore binding. Blut now that your child to become a flower ere it was smitten by the blast. is no nore, you will, when time has softened down It wvill be tlns that she reasons: ”’ if I had Steco!your grief, attend once more to the duties of religion.

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TRIALS AND TEMPTATIONS OF WOMAN. Recognising a Father’s hand in the clhastisemnent, you w;11 learn to set your Iflections on brighter objects and on more endearing things. “A motlher’s love-it is a holy feeling,. I, who gave that love, lknowv best its depth and fervency. But eden that feeling may be abused. It may descend to idolatry, and then the thoughts are turned comil)letelyv from their God. “But if, to turn the mother’s heart to religious du ties, I have )pelnitted that her child should lhal’

tinder tlie power of the destroyelr, have I hliereinii dealt uii justly?

Ami I not the God of life? C;a1 1, therefore, be pleased wvithl death? Ini taking the youo)g from the world, I but remiove tlihin to a halpl)ier land. The bright bud lwhich childhlood weVeirs, is not always cer taim of bloomning as bi ri-tly; and in all cases are they taken firom the ecii to come. Life is not always hapl)iuess, i.or eirlv deaith a curse. If your child haid lived, t leml)t;i,tits ivould have aIssaiiled it, which it wvould not have overcome: troubles and sorrows would have cr, wded ul)on it, and life would have presented little of enjoylieit, andI very iiiuch of suf leruig. WVill o tleLI airtaign l mny disl)ensatious, de r llrit,g thaen utjuist anld hlirsli, when th:e stroke vwhlich seei-ne l to destroy, his save(i you both?saved you in tlhat youlr eart wvill return to thiunk of God; and saved your cilil, by reinovi,ng it before the world had tlrowiii round it its attr.l;tetiois, whlichl would have en grossed its soul, an,d broutght its ruin.” It is urilier tis view tllhat the Bible presents the dealings of God. (} nd under no other creed than Chlris T tiaut’ty is theie to bie gathered any-tling of comnfort or h0sOila3tion.

It is only the thought that God’s pur poses are al; ays for the best, licl-li can cheer under suffering, cotiitort under trouble, and deprive death of its stiig. Sortow is deprived of iuuch of its bitter ness by iegardig thile affliction as sent by a Being whose vttribites ate those of benevolence and love. The doctrine of a particular Providence is a doc trine fi.iuaLht with the greatest consolation to mankind, who ire born to sorrow. Not only is it that nothing can lihl)l)en but uhiat God permits-nothing can hap pen bit wh-it he enjoins. The notion of God should not be, that hlie hlas lit up thle sun, and given the wvinds powei to roan through the world; but rather that his glanice is in every becam, and his breath in every breeze. The idea should not be entertained, that after hlaving given life to mnen, God concerns himself no more with his creatures; but rather that through his special interference is it that breathl follows breath, and pulse succeeds poulse; so that in every trouble and in every joy-in every hope which rises to chleer, and in every doubt w vhicl darkens, the hand of God dmay be disc erned, produ c o ing out of a thousand seewi ng ills, and a thousand apparent discrepancies, not only a general, but an individual good. And how mnuchl of consolation is there to a heart when deeply sitrickenl with sorrow, to be able to feel that all afflictions are set for a wise purpose, and that there is a brio~ht kingdom hereafter, where pain shall have no entrance! It would go far to dry a mother’s tears, which the death of her chilly has caused to flows, if she could be thus p~ersualded to regard the dealings of God. It would be to take half the bitterness fromn sorrow, if she could be made to feel that in allowing death to lake her child, God has been dealing both kindly and gently, in that he has removed it fromn the world when thle heart was innocent, and pain and sorrow scarcely knlown. \Vhen thle mind is impressed with religion, there is always a calmness and serenity, prosperity does not elate, nor adv-ersityt depress; and the reason of this is, that both arte considered as comning fr-om Godsthle one as wsell as the other counted as ministering to good. No doubt afcflictionsl presented in the taking: away by death of those helh tile dearest, and those ihle iiiost loved, though not tihe only ones 1.ethin i }l~ilianitvy are the hardest to be borne. rTIe tearis wliic)) fat’ from mourners’ eyes, whether it be a lreiit over a child, a wife over a husband, a child ovter a lclaent, or a sister over a brother or a sister these speak of afflic tions the bitterest and nost trying; for other losses may again be made up, but when (teath bereaves us of those we love, who shall bring back thle depsarted? tears can not do it-grief has no poller-players avail not.

i We sh’ll goo to them, but they will pc)t return to us,” is the conviction folrc ed u)on every mind which has thougrhit upon G(od. And liow sweet isf the thought that the dead will aogain be seenr- tlit ihose long Imourned for on earth will be Inet again in a bright er land! Thi s fee ling is of itself stsffi iient to dry th e e ye and cheer the heart. B rief may i)e the separationsa journey would almost have p,,,I-ed them for as long a lapse o f tinme, and then th ose e -dearing ties of friendship and love, which bound but for a moment a nd then were severed, shall be reunited in that land where nothin g dies. That such will be the case, Religion assures us; while Ituope raises her ra dian t finger and poin ts upw a rd to the ski es. But nt onl y i n thes e cases is the p owe r of re ligio n felt-in others less severe its influence is apparent. Is it th e l o s s of p rop erty which is grieving t he heart? has worldly substance c rumble d atvay, leaving but scanty means of subsiste n ce, in place of the hitherto co mparatively lar ge resou rces and ample revenue? The voice of religion is heard-s If e a rt hly r iche s make to themselves wing s and fly away, are there not yet riches more enduring stored in heaven? Earth ly riches are fleeting and transient; heavenly, firm, and abiding. Earthly poss ession s can but e)e enjoyed for a fem years; heavenly are eternal.”

sAnid does it not, t hen, tak e mu ch from t he ha rdness of pove rty to think that abundance may soon again be the portionsand abundance which never grows less, and knows no change? In whatever form trouble mna,iy come-in whatever shape or under whatever aspect religion still brings a comfort and a support; there is not a sorrow which it can not cheer, nor a doubt which it can not remove, nor a difficulty which it can not prepare for; it bids us,cast all our care upon God, for lie careth for us.” And not only is religion a guide through life-it is also that which teaches us how death may be best prepared for. The calmest and happiest death-beds are those which have religion to cheer.‘Ve do not ,Ilwaiys expect that nothing of weakness wvill be dis played even by those whose liv..s have been most ex emplary, and whose hearts have been firmly fixed upon God.

The breaking up of this earthly house the tearing down the curious fastenings, that the soul may quit its tenement-.this of itself is almost suffi cienit to bring dismay and fear. And the liberated spirit, where shall it find a home? It must travel, ai lonely and a wvidowed thing, through the vastness of immrensity; the place of its future abode’eye hath not seen,” and of all the souls which have quitted hu man bodies, not one has returned to tell of tihe lafnd in which it dwvells. And that body, too, which is so “sfearfully and wonderfully made,” and which has5 been guarded with so much care, is to be taken down, joint kiom joint vend limb from limb, to become a play thingr for thle winds and a sport for the elements, and to mingle with its kindred dust and ashes. No marvel is it, with such thoughts as these, tha. the mind should display something of weakness. I. m ight even be considered marvellouls if no weaklnes, were exhibited, considering how te~arful a thing death is, and wvhat a valst change it will effct. But to those who have made relig~ion] the guide of life, death is not fearful. Trie spirit, it is true, must quit its habitat’:on; but the knowledl:e jolt it re~turr I I I 9i

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TRIAI,S AND TFrMPTATION. COF WO(MiAN. to the God who g;lve it, destroys the pain which the this testimony left, as if to mark him oiff friom a.

thought of its sepacratilon would otherwise give. And others: “And ill the tinle of his distress did he tres tile body, this liust return to the grave; but the pass against the Lord: this is that kind Ahlaz.” Ma.

thought of the great glories wlilchl await it hereafter, ny were the evil actions of this king, but through none hile than compensate for the dishonor attending dis- is he marled out for obloquy and shanme; the ban is solution. And so it comes to pass, that vlwhile weep- fixed upon him for having in distrecss trespassed against inLc friends stand around, vainly striving to iide their his God. So generally true is it, than wlhen suffering griet; the dying person contemp)lates the death which and trouble conic the heart turns to God, that it ceris so fast approaching, with calmness and conimplacen- tainly seems to show a degree of desperation and cy, and after having bid all those who are gathered hardihood to sint) in the time of (.istress. round the bedside an affectionate farewell, and en- Those who are imnl)ressed with a fira sense of retreated them to mitigate their sorrow, yields the last ligion are seldom ruffled by the events of time. Such breathl with the bright hope of a glorious immortality. are mostly contented; for whatever their stations, If thus religion were made the guide of life, weve they look round the globe and see yet many vworse off should not be so cast down when sorrow came. Hay- than themselves-nmany who wander lhrough Ahe ing our thoughts fixed on a higher and better land, world desrtted and forlorn, witlh i,oone to sooth or outr words wonld be those of that honest Hibernian, cheer them under the severest affliction-.without a who, on I)eitlg told that the house in which he dwelt home, without a friend. They then look upl) to tie was on fire, replied, “WVhat care I for the house. I bright heavens above, and reflect tlat blt a few bri f am but a lodg,er W!” e should feel that we were but years and their habitation w%ill be in that glorious land. ‘odgers on earthi thait our home was heaven; and WVhen friends forsake, they Iaive still the Iriglt flowlittle, therefore, should we be moved by those calam- ers and the green trees, upon whic(h they caln plalce ities vwhichl befall us, except so far as to make our af- their affections; and more than all, they still have fections become more firmly centred on our happy their God; so that in no case can they bIe downcast tiome. If we were fairly to regard earth and all be- or disheartened-that they have always sometlting to longing to it, we should not suffer all our affections cheer and something to enjoy. to be enigrossed by it; for an individual is but as a It was religion which supported the prol. agators ol speck or an atomi-a I)tobble in the ocean. And little Christianity in its earliest days, urging th(.m to brave as a single individnual is counted, less is the concern I danger, persecution, and death; it was religion which manifested when death shall have ended his worldly supported martyrs at the stake and the scaffold, when career. The morrowv after he shall have quitted this doomed to seal the charter of their faith with their lower world, the suIn Sill rise as brightly, the birds blood; it has been religion which has supported so will sine as swleetlv, and the flowers bloom as beauti- many under trials the most severe, and afflictions tile fully as ever.,Nature never puts on the garb of most bitter- it has been religion which hers cheered mournin,, nor ever drops a tear. \Why, then, should the poor in their destitution, the orplhan in his loneliwe maintitain such a vast attachment to this world, ness, the widow in her sorrow, the suffering in their which cares not for our presence while living, nor pain; and, more than all, it has been religion which mourns our loss when dead? a world, moreover, has taken the bitterness from death, mnaking it almost which cheats us at every turn, giving shadows for a blessing more than a curse, compelling tile tyrant to sut’)stances, and phantomis for realities, and ivwhich perform the part of a friend rather than that of a degives so lon. a train- of troubles and pains. And yet, stroyer; so that not only with conI)placency but even kinowing all this, still the world has a vast influence with gladness, have many sunk to that sleepl) which over -us and though in every other instance we put shall last till the judgment-day, when they wvill arise off a present small good for a future great one, in this in glory, and ais they enter heaven declare with joy particular we I)reler the present and insignificant to that religion was happiness. the future and lorious, so that if it were not for the God has given religion to be our guide, and promafflicti e (dispensations of Providence, we should never ised his grace to be our support; and so enwoven is carry our thougllts beyond the present narrow limnits, religion with the best feelingrs of thle hun)an heart, and the future would be kept entirely from our view. that vice instinctively pays iespect to virtue, and conThese keep the mind from entirely resting on earth, fesses a superiority and excellence in real religion; so by the conitinual display of the tranisitoriness and un- much so, that the vicious man wotul(l become lthe virs:ttisfactoriness of its possession. WXere it not for tuous, if it were not thit hlabits of dissipation had so the hope of a glorious hereafter, we should be crea- bound him habits which, like thle poisoited( ve(st of taires who were alwsIt grasping at the unsubstantial, Hercules, can only be pulled off by tearing the skin and pursuinig the visionary-mariners without a com- from the bone. pass-travellers without a guide-catching at shad- It is only by religion-for religion is virtue-that we ows, and attemptin, to track the course of meteors; can be happy either here or hereafter; for God has sc and as all our endeavors to procure the fancied good linked happiness with holiness, that, like twin sisters, would be utterly unavailing, we should meet with where the one is, the other strays not lar distant. By nothing but continual disappointment. The afflictive the power of religion we are enabled to overcome the dispensations of Providence. at the same time, lead evils of our nature, and to live in obedience to the the mind to see how hollow, at best, are the pleasures law of God; evil habits may be overcome, evil dispoearth has to bestow, and to draw the mind thence sitions cured, and a fitness for heaven be obtained, to heaven. But if affliction be not borne with a right even on this side of the grave.

spirit, it works harm in place of good; if the heart The first, the brightest, and the best of all acquirebe not softened, it is sure to become hardened. Af- ments, is real religion; for by this is effected love to flictions never leave us entirely as they find us; and God, and peace and good-will to mankind Nothing when they do not reform, they make us callous. of malice or envy will be displayed or encoutaged-no The mind will never retain exactly the same position!outbreaks of temper tolelrated, loo filseness or dissineafter as before the discipline of Providence; and if ulation allowedl; but that charity which thinketh no we do not go forward we are certain to retrograde. ~ evil, and attempteth all good, will be enthroned in the But it seems to be counted of all things the most heart and exhibited iii the conduct of all who are ondesperate of wickedness to continue in a state of irre- deavoriog to become fllowers of” those who through ligion after afflictions have been sent; for of Ahlaz is!l faith and patielnce nrow inherit the proutises.” ;)o

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LALLA ROO KfX. At the time of this agreement, but little of the work, as it stands at present, had yet been written. But the ready confidence in my success shown by others, made up for the deficiency of that re quisite feeling.within myself; while a strong desire not wholly to di sappoint this ” auguring hope,” became almos t a s ubstitute for inspiration. In the year 1815, therefore, having made some progress in my task, I wrote to re por t the state of the work to the Messrs. Longman, adding, th a t Il was now mos t willing and ready, shoul d the y desire it, to submit the mannuscr ipt f or their consideration. Their answer to this offer was as follows:-” We are cer tainly impatient fo r t he perusal of the Poem; but solely for our aratification. Your sentiments are alway s honourable r.”*

I continued to pursue my task for ano ther year, be – inav likewise occasionally occupied with the Irish Melodies, two or three numbers of which made their ap pearance during the period employed in writinase Lalla Rookh. At length, in the year 1816, I found my work sufficiently advanced to be placed in the hands of th e publishers. But the state of distress to which England was reduced in that dismal year, by the exhausting effects of the series of wars she had just then concluded, and the general embar rassme n t of all class – es, both agricultural a nd commercial, rendered it a juncture th e leas t favourable that could well be conceived for the first launch into print of so light and c ostly a venture a s Lalla Rookh.

Feelinth conscious, therefore, that, under such circumstances, I s ho uld act but honestly in putting it in the power of the Messrs. Longman to reconsider the terms of their engagement with mne,leaving them free to postpone, modify, or even, should such be their wish, relinquish it altogether, I wrote them a letter to that effect, and received the followi ng answer:” We shall be most happy in the pleasure of seeing you in February. We agree with you, indeed, that the times are most inauspicious for’poetry and thousands;’ but we believe that your poetry would do more than that of any other living poet at the present moment.“t The length of time I employed in writing the few stories strung together. in Lalla Rookh will appear, to some persons, much more than was necessary for the production of such easy and ” light o’ love” fictions But, besides that I have been, at all times, a far more slow and pains-taking workman than would ever be guessed, I fear, from the result, I felt that, in this instance, I had taken upon myself a more than ordinary responsibility, from the immense stake risked by oth ers on my chance of success. For a long time, therefore, after the agreement had been concluded, though generally at work with a view to this task, I made but THzE Poem, or Romance, of LALLA ROOKH having now reached its twentieth edition, a short account of the origin and progress of a work which has been hitherto, at least, so very fortunate in its course. may not be deemned, perhaps, superfluous or misplaced. It was about the year 1812 that, impelled far more by the encouraging suggestions of friends than by any confident promnptings of my own ambition, I was induced to attempt a Poem upon some Oriental subject, and of those quarto dimensions which Scott’s iate triumphs in that form had then rendered the regular poetical standard. A negotiation on the subject was opened with the Messrs. Longman in the same year, but, from some causes vwhich have now escaped ,ny recollection, led to no decisive result; nor was it till a year or two after, that any further steps were taken in the matter,-their house being the only one, it is right to add, with which, from first to last, I held any communication upon the subject. On this last occasion, an old friend of mine, Mr. Perry, kindly offered to lend me the aid of his advice and prese nTc e i n the int erview which I was about to hold with the Messrs. Lonnmote an, for the arran,te ment of our mutual terms; and what with the friendly zeal of ma negotiator on the one side, and the prompt and libteral spirit ith which h e w as met on the other, there has seldom occurred any transaction in which Trade and Poesy have shone out so advantageously in each other’s eyes. The short discussion that then took place between the two parties, may be comprised in a very few sentences. ” I am of opinion,” said Mr.

Peiry,enforcing his view of the case by arguments which it is not for me to cite,” that Mr. Moore ought to receive for his Poem the largest price that has been given, in our day, for such a work.” “That was,” answ,,ered the M\Iessrs. Longman, ” three thousand guiineas.” ” Exactly so,” replied Mir. Perry, ” and no less a sum ought he to receive.” It was then objected, and very reasonably, on the [)a,at of the firm, that they had never yet seen a single line of the Poem; and that a perusal of the work ought to) be allowed to them, before they embarked so large it slim in the purchase. But no;-the romantic view whlic h my friend Perry took of the matter was, that this price should be given as a tribute to reputation already acquired, without any condition for a previous perusal of the new work. This high tone, I must confess, not a little startled and alarmed me; but, to the honoar and glory of Romance,-as well on the publishers’

side as the poet’s,-this very generous view of the transaction’was, without any difficulty, acceded to, and the firm agreed, before we separated, that I was to receive three thousand guineas for mv Poerm.

PREFACE. , November 9, 1816 * ApriJ 10, 1815

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98 TH MIRRLBAY very little real progress in it; and I have still by me the beginnings of several stories, continued, some of them, to the length of three or four hundred lines, which, after in vain endeavourintig to mould them into shape, I thirw aside, like the tale of Carnbuscan, “left half-told.” One of these stories, entitled The Peri’s Daughter, was meant to relate the loves of a nymph of this aerial extraction with a youth of mortal race, the rightfuil prince of Ormuz, who had been, from his infancy, brought up in seclusion, on the banks of the river Amou, by an aged guardian named Mohassan. The story opens with the first meeting of these destined lovers, then in their childhood; the Peri having wafted her daughter to this holy retreat, in a bright I enchanted boat, whose first appearance is thus desc ribed: – Green, white,, al cri mson bow’d around, And gay tiars,, touch’d the gritd,As tulip-bells, wheln o’er their b)(is The nmusk-wind p)asses, benlhciir heads. Nay, sonme tihere were among the crowd Of Moslem heads that rotint her bow’d, So fill’t witgh zeal. bv natry a draught Of Shiraz wine,,, l),-ot.nnlV qu.aff’d, ‘I’hat, siikin.g low in re verec e then, They never rose till miiorni again. There are yet t wo more of these unfinished sketches on e of which extends to a much greater length than 1 was aware of; and, as far as I can judge from a hasty renewal of my acqutLio i t:nce with it, is not incapable o f beinan yet t urned to acc ount. In only one of these unfinis hed sketches, t he tale of .he Peri’s Daughter, had I yet ventured to invoke that most home-felt of all my inspirations, which has lent to the story of The Fire-worshippers its main attraction and interest. That it was my intention, in the concealed Prince of Ormuz, to shadow out some impersonation-of this feeling, I take for granted from the prophetic words supposed to be addressed to him by his aged guardian:  Bright child of destiny! even now [ read the promise on that brow, That tyrants shall no more defile The glories of the Green-Sea Isle, But OftuItz. shall again be free, And hail her native Lord in thee! “It comes, it comes,” young Orian cries, And panting to Moliohassan flies. Then down upon the flowery grass Reclines to see the vision pass; With partly joy and partly fear, To find its wondrous light so near, And hiding oft his dazzied eyes Among the flowers on which he lies. Within the boat a baby slept, Like a young pearl within its shell; While one, who seem’,l of riper years, But not of earth, or earth-like spheres, Rer watch beside the slunmberer kept; Gracefully waving, in her hand, The feathers of some holy bird, With which, from timie to time, she stirr’d The fragrant air, and coolly fann’d The baby’s brow, or brtush’d away The butterflies that, bright and blue As on the miountains of Malay, Around the sleeping infant flew. And now the fairy boat hath stopp’d Beside the bank-the ymph has dropp’d Her golden anchor in the stream: In none of the other fragments do I frnd any trace of this sort of feeling, either in the subject or the personages of the intended story; and this was the reason, doubtless, though hardly known, at the time, to myself, that, finding my subjects so slow in kindling my own sympathies, 1 began to despair of their ever touching the hearts of others; and felt often inclined to say, Had this series of disheartening experiments been carried on much further, I must have thrown aside the work in despair. But at last, fortunately, as it proved, the thought occurred to me of founding a story on the fierce struggle so long maintained between the Ghebers, or ancient Fire-worshippers of Persia, and their haughty Moslem masters. From that moment, a new and deep interest in my whole task took possession of mre. Trhe cause of tolerance was again my inspiring theme and the spirit that had spoken in the melodies of Ireland soon found itself at home in the East. Having thus laid open the secrets of the workshop to account for the time expended in wiriting this work, I must also, in justice to my own industry, notice the pains I took in long and laboriously reading for it. To form a store-house, as it were, of illutistration purely Oriental, and so familiarize myself with its various treasures, that, as quick as Fancy in her airy spiritings required the assistance of fact, the memory was ready, like another Ariel, at her “strong bidding,” to furnish materials for the spell-work,-such was, for a long w hile, the sole object of my studies; and whatever time and trouble this preparatory process may have cost me, the effects resulting from it, as far as the humble merit of truthfulness is concerned, have been such as to repay me more than sufficiently for my paits. I have not forgotten how great was my pleasure, when told by the late Sir James Mackintosh that he was once asked by Colonel Wilks, the historian of British India, ” whether it was true that Moore had never been in the East.” ” Never,” answered Mackintosh. “Well, that shows me,”

reprlied Colonel Wilks, And~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ scrapsre of talisni tragedy of5 e tbe rte ihas A song is sung by the Peri in approaching, ol which the following forms a part: My child she is but half divine, Her father sleeps in the Caspian water; Sea-weeds t’vinne His funeral shrine, But he lives agaiui ill the Peri’s daughter. Fain wouild I fly from niortal sight To my own sweet bowers ot’ Peristan; But there the flowers are all too bright For the eyes of a baby born of man. On flowers of earth her feet must tread; So hither my light-wing’d bark hath brought her; Stranger, spread Thy leafiest bed, To rest the wandering Peri’s daughter. In another of these inchoate fragments, a proud female saint, named Banou, plays a principal part; and her progress through the streets of Cufa, on the night of a great illuminated festival, I find thus described: It was a scene of mirth that drew A smile from ev’ii the Saint Baniou, As, through the hush’d, admiring throng, She went with stately steps along, And counted o’er, that all might see, The rubies of her rosary. But none might see the v-wrrldly smile That lurk’d beneath her veil, the while.Alla forbid! for who would wait Her blessing at the temple’s gate,What holy man would ever run To k’.s the ground she knelt upon, Ifonce, by luckless chance, he knew She look’d and smiled as others do? Her hands were jo.i’d, and from each wrist, By threads of pearl and golden twist, Hung relics of the saints of yore, And scraps of talismanic lore,Charms for the old, the sick, the fi’ail, Some made for use, and all for sale. On either side the crowd withdrew, To let the Saint pass proudly through; While turban’d heads of every hue, * Voltaire, lii his tragedy of,, Les Gitebres,” written with a simi atr under-ctirretit of inea,nitig, was accused of having trattsfrrtrie(i his Fire-worsthippers intio.(lnsenists: , QiO el’tues figtiristes,” ne sawv “pritendent qite es Gu bres solt ICes Jat.sienistes”

I I THE MIRROR LTBRARY. 98 For, down the silvery tide afar, There came a boat, as swift and bright As shines in heav’n some pilgri[n-.tar, That leaves it. own high home, at night, To shoot to distant shrines of light.

11 Oh no, I have no voice or hand For stich a s,)ng iii such a land.’’

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LALf,.k ROOKIT. I that reading over D’Herbelot is as good as riding on the back of a camel.” I need hardly subjoin to this lively speech, that although D’Herbelot’s valuable work was, of course, one of my manuals, I took the whole range of all such Oriental reading as was accessible to me; and be came, for the time, indeed, far more conversant with all relating to that distant region, than I have ever been with the scenery, productions, or modes of life of any of those countries lying most within my re-ach. a WVe know that D’Anville, though never in’i lif( out of Paris, was able to correct a number of e. ors in a plan of the Troad taken by De Choiseul, on the spot and, for my own very different, as well as far inferior, purposes, the knowledge I had thus acquired of distant localities, seen only by me in daLy-dreams, was no less ready and useful.

An ample reward for- all this painstaking has been found in such welcome tributes as I have just cited nor can I deny myself the gratification of citing a few more of the same description. From another distin guishlied authority on Eastern subjects, the late Sir John Malcolm, I had myself the pleasure of hearing a similar opinion publicly expressed;that eminent person having remarked, in a speech spoken by him at a Literary Fund Dinner, that together with those qualities of the poet which he much too partially as signed to me, wvas combined also ” the truth of the historian.” Sir William Ouseley, another high authority, in giving his testimony to the same effect, thus notices an exception to the general accuracy for which he gives me credit:” Dazzled by the beauties of this composition,* few readers can perceive, and none surely can regret, that the poet, in his magnificent catastrophe, has forgotten, or boldly and most happily violated, the precept of Zoroaster, above noticed, which held i..,ipious to consume any portion of a hu man body by fire, especially by that which glowed upon heir altars.” Having long lost, I fear, most of my Eastern learning, I can only cite, in defence of my catastrophe, an old Oriental tradition, which relates that Nimrod, when Abraham refused, at his command, to worship the fire, ordered him to be thrown into the midst of the flanies.- A precedent so ancient for this sort of use of the worshipped element, appears, for all pfturposes at least of poetry, to be fully sufficient. In addition to these agreeable testimonies, I have also heard, and need hardly add, with some pride and pleasure, that parts of this wo rk have been rendered into Persian, and have found their way to Ispahan. To this fact, as I am ws-illing to think it, allusion is made in some lively verses, written many years since, by my friend Mr. Luttrell: I slhall now tax my readers’ patience wit h b ut one more of these generous vouchers. Whatever of vanity there may be in citing such tributes, they show, at least, of what great value, even in poetry, is that pros|lei quality, industry; since, as the reader of the fore!g,oing p,ages is now fully apprized, it was in a slowv and laborious collection of small facts, that the first fouindations of this fanciful Romance were laid, I lhe friendly testimony I have just referred to, ap | pear(ed some years since in the form in which I now giive it, and, if I recollect right, in the Athenaeum: AI embrace this opportunity of bearing my indi viilutd testimony (if it be of any value) to the extraor(dinary accu racy of Mr. M oore, in his topographical, antiquarian, and characteristic details, whether of costulmie, manners, or less-changing monuments, both in his Lalla Rookh and in the Epicurean. It has been myv fortune to read his Lalla Rookh in Persia itself; anid I have perused the Epicurean, awhile all my recolIcoti,ns of Egypt and its still existing wonders are as Miecsh as when I quitted the banks of the Nile for Arahi’t: I owe it, therefore, as a debt of gratitude (though ,tle payment is inost inadequate) fbr the great pleasure I haLve derived from his productions, to bear my humble testimony to their local fidelity. “J. S. B.” Amoimg the incidents connected with this work, 1 must not oi-tiit to notice the splendid Divertissement, founded upon it, which was acted at the Chateau Royal of Berlin, (luring the visit of the Grand Duke Nicholas to that capital in the year 1822. wThe different stori es composing the work were represented in Tableaux Vivans and songs; and among the crowd of royal and noble personages engaged in the performances, I shall mention those only who represented the principal characters, and whom I find thus enumerated in the -aublished account of the Divertissement.* Conte Haack, (JMLar,cLaG d.

1 Cour.) S… 1L Le Grasnd Duc. S. H. L Ln Grand Deh.esse. S.. I. Le Prince CGwilla.umc, f frere du Roi. S..d. R. Le Duc de Cu,te,br lard. S.

A1. R. La Plricesse L,o,ui Radzivill.”’ Besides these and other leading personages, there w,ere also brought into action, under the various de nominations of Seigneurs et Dames de Buctarie, Dames de Cachemire, Seigneurs et Dames dansans h la Fete des Roses, &c., nearly 150 persons.

Of the manner and style in which the Tableaux of the different stories are described in the work from which I cite, the following account of the perform ance of Paradise and the Peri will afford some spe cimen: “La decoration representoit les portes brillantes du Paradis, entourees de nuages. Dans le premier ta bleau on voyoit la Peri, triste et desolde, coucliee stir le seuil des portes fermees, et l’Ange de lumiere qui lui addresse des consolations et des conseils. Le se cond represente le moment, ouf la Peri, dans l’espoir que ce don lui ouvrira l’entr6e du Paradis, recueille la derniere goutte de sang que vient de verser le jeune guerrier Indien…... “La Peri et l’Ange de lumi~re repondoient pleine ment a l’image et i l’ide6e qu’on est tente de se faire de ces deux individus, et l’impression qu’a faite gen6ralement la suite des tableaux de cet episode delicat et int6ressant est loin de s’effacer de notre souvenir.” In this grand Fe6te, it appears, originated the trans * Laila Roif’kh, D;vt,rtissement m(lo de Chajits et de t)aises. ler tsin, 18. TI he work cg.,t’lits a series oif o. lhred ( n e,.’ i’,‘l, relt,e “‘sen ting groupis, prcces.‘ions, &c., in dlifikr~elt( Or enttrl;::*;stm’; “1I’mi toldl, dlev r,,Moore, your lays are sung, (Con it be true, you lucky man?) By iunoo liht, in the Persian tongue, Along the streets of Ispahan.” That some knowledge of the work may have really reached that region, appears not improbable from a passage in the Travels of Mr. Frazer, who says, that “beinz delayed for some time at a town on tile shores of the Caspian, he was lucky enough to be able to muse himself with a copy of Lalla Rookh, which a ?ersian had lent himt..” Of the description of Balbec, in “Paradise and the Perui” M r. C arn e, in his Letter s from the East, thus speaks:” The description in Lalla Rookh of the plain an.[,l its ruins, is exquisitely faithful. The minaret is oil the declivity near at hand, and there wanted only tile muezzin’s cry to break the silence.” * The Fire worshippers. t Traduint aittem HebrTi hanie fabulam quod Abraham in ignem mnissus sit quia ignem adorare IIoluit.ST. HIERO.. in Que,st. in, (,enesim. 99 ” Fa(Iladin, Grand-Nasir, Aliri,,, Roi de Buchrie,. Roiikh,.

– - Aurungzeb, le Gr-.ind Mogol. Abd.litih, Pre d’Aliris, La Reine, son e-pouse,

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. lation of Lalla Rookh into German verse, by the Baron de la otte Fouque; and the circumstances which led him to undertake the task are described by himself, in a Dedicatory Poem to the Empress of Russia, which he has prefixed to his translation. As soon as the performance, he tells us, had ended, Lalla Rookh (the Empress herself) exclaimed with a sigh, ” Is it, then, all over. are we now at the close of all that has given us so much delight! and lives there no poet whc will impart to others, and to future times, some notion of the happiness we have enjoyed this evening?” On lhearing this appeal, a Knight of Cachimere (who is no other than the poetical Baron himself) comes forward and promises to attempt to present to the world “the Poem itself in the measure of the original:”-whert:upon Lalla Rookh, it is added, approvingly smiled. LALLA ROOKH. TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. THIS EASTERN ROMANCE IS

INSCRIBED, BY HIS VERY GRATEFUL AND AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, THOMAS MOORE. May 19, 1817. Seldom had the Eastern world seen a cavalcade so superb. From the gardens in the suburbs to the imperial palace, it was one unbroken line of splendour. The ga.lant appearance of the Rajahs and Mogul lords, distinguished by those insignia of the Emperor’s favor,* the feathers of the egret of Cashmere in their turbans, and the small silver-rirpmed kettle drums at the bows of their saddles;-the costly armour of their cavaliers, who vied, on this occasion, with the guards of the great Keder Khan,t in the brightness of their silver battle-axes, and the massiness of their maces of gold;-the glittering eof the gilt pine-applest on the tops of the palankeens;-the embroidered trappings of the elephants, bearing on their backs smnall turrets in the shape of little antique temples, within which the ladies of LALLA ROOKII lay as it were enshrined;-the rose-coloured veils of the Princess’s own sumptuous litter,~ at the front of which a fair young female slave sat fanning her through the curtains, with feathers of the Argus pheasant’s wing;l-aniid the lovely troop of Tartarian and Cashlneri an maids of honour, whom the young king had sent to accompany his bride, and who rode on each side of the litter, upon small Arabian horses; -all was brilliant, tasteful, and magnificent, and pleased even the critical and fastidious FADLAI)F.EN, Great Nazir or Chamberlain of the Hlaram, who was borne in his palankeen immediately after the Princess, and considered himself not the least important personage of the pageant. Ix the eleventh year of the reig,n of Aurungzebe, Ab dalla, King of the Lesser Bucharia, a lineal descendant fromn the Great Zingis, having abdicated the throne in favour of his soln, set out on a pilgrimage to the shrine of te rohe P rop het; and, passing into India througsh the del ight ful valley of Cashmere, rested for a s hort tirime at Delh i on his way. He was en tertained by Aurungzebe in a s tyl e of magn ific ent h ospital ity, worthy alike of the visiter and the ihost, and was afterwards esc orted w ith the same rplendoir to Surat, where he embarked fo r Arabia.* Du r ing the stay of the Royal Pilgrim at Delhi, a marriage was a gr eed upon between the Prince, his son, and the you nges t daught er of the Emperor, LALLa ROOKII;f-a Princdes described by the poets of her time as more beau tiful than Leila,l Shirine,~

Dewildl,11 or any of those hero ines whose names and loves embellish the songs of Persia and Itindostan. It was intended that the nuptials should be celebrated at Cashmere; where the young King, as soon as the care s of empire would permit, was to meet, for the fir st t ime, hi s lov ely bride, and after a few months’ repose in’that enchant ing valley, conduct her over the snowy hills into Bucharia. The day of LALLA ROOKII’s departure from Delhi was as splendid as sunshine and pageantry could make it. The bazars and baths were all covered with the richest tapestry; hun dreds of gilde d ba rges up on t he J umna float ed with thei r banners shi n ing in the wa ter; while through the streets groups of beautiful children went strewing the mo s t delicious flowers around, as in that P ersian festival called the Scattering of the Rose s;a till every part of t he city was as fragrant as if a caravan of mus k from K hoten had pa ss ed thr ough it. The Princess, having taken leave of her kind father, who at parting hu ng a cornelian of Yemen ro und he r neck, on which was inscribed a verse from the Koraan, and having sent a considerable present to the Fakirs, who kept up the Per petual Lamp in her sister’s tomb, meekly ascended the palankeen prep ared for her; and, while Aurungzebe st ood to take a las t look from his balcony, the procession moved sowly on the road to Lahore. These particulars of the visit of the King of Bucharia to Aurung gebe are found in Do,w’s Ifiatory of Hindostan, vol. iii. p.

392. Tiliphek. X The mistress of Nefjnoun, upon whIlose story so many Romances in all the languages of the East are founded. ,For the oves of this celebrated beau,ty with Khosrou and with Fer h.d see D’,Herbelot., Gibbon, Oriental Collections, &c. 1I’-The history of the loves of Dewild6 and Clizer, thle son of:he Em pe Alla, is written il an elegant poem, by tile noble Chuse..”-Fe | ^. *. ~l Reazee. *‘i.’.: Q O,n e m ar k of honour or kc ig ltwhood bestowed by the Emperor isthe permissio to wear a small kettle drum at tie bo ws of their saddles walich at first “as iivented for tshe training of hawks, and to call them to the lIre, and is worn in the iel by all sports meni to tioht end.”/‘er’s Travels, ‘lThose on wh om the King ]as conferred the privilege must wear a n ornament of jewelas on the right side of the turban, surmoofucted by na ligh plume of the feathers of a kind of egret. This birdo is und only in Cashoere, a nd th e Feather s are carefiilly collected ff)r tie King, who best ows them o n his nobles.”

-E lph instone’s Accolliut of oaitiul. t “Ki,dar Khan, the Kha-kan, or Ki,,g of Tureetan, beyond the Gfiin, (at the erndl of the eleventh efnhury,)whenever he appeared abroad was preceded by seven hundred Iorsemen with silver battle-axes, and was followed by an equa,l number bearing. acesof gold. He was a great patron of poetry, and it was he who used to preside at public,xereises of genius, with four basins of gohl aid silver by him,. to distribute among the poets who excelled.”-Rzchards,on’s Dissertation prefixed to his Dictionary t “The kubdeh, a large golden knob, gene!,il;y in the shape of a pill apple, on the top of the canopy over the litter or palanquin.”-Scott’ Notes on the Bahardlanush. ~ In the Poem of Zohair, in the Moallalat, there is tie followin, lively, description of “a comnpany o~f maidens seated tan camels. they are mounted in carriages core red with costly awnings ant with rose-coloured veils, the linings of which have the hue ef crimson Andem-wood. “When they ascend fromn tile bosom of the vale, th ey sit fi,r,ward on the saddle-cloth with, every mark of a wOutuous g,,yey. “Now, when they have reaed tile )ri, k of yow (l!m, fls, aing rivu let, they fix the poleI of their tents like the Arab with a se ttled mnasion.” U See Bernl2et’s description of the attenda~’ on Rauchanara Begum in her progress to Ca.,Imere. I i I 100

LALLA’ROOKH.

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LALLA ROOKH. But these and many other diversions were repeated till they lost all their charm, and the nights and noon-days were beginning to move heavily, when, at length, it was recollected that, among the attendants sent by the bridegroom, was a young poet of Cashmere, much celebrated throughout the Valley for his manner of reciting the Stories of the East, on whom his Royal Master had conferred the privilege of being admitted to the pavilion of the Princess, that he might help to beguile the tediousiresg of the journey by some of his most agreeable reci.als. At the mention of a poet, FAILADEEN elevated his critical eyebrows, and, having refreshed his faculties with a dose of that delicious opium* which is distilled from the black poppy of the Thiebsis, gave orders for the minstrel to be forthwith introduced into the presence. The Princess, who had once in her life seen a poet from hIehind the screens of gauze in her Father’s hall, and had conceived from that specimen no very favourable ideas of the Caste, expected but little in this new exhibition to interest her;-she felt inclined, however, to alter her opinion on the very first appearance of FERAIIORZ. HIe was a youth about LALLA ROOKJI’S own age, and graceful as that idol of women, Crishna,t-such as he appears to their young imaginations, heroic, beautiful, breathing music from his very eyes, and exalting the religion of his worshippers into love. His dress was simple, yet not without some marks of costliness; and the Ladies of the Princess were not long in discovering that the cloth. which encircled his high Tartarian cap, was of the most delicate kind that the shawl-goats of Tibet supply.t Here and there, too, over his vest, which was confined by a flowered girdle of Kashiun, hung strings of fine pearl1, dis posed with an air of studied negligence: nor did tile exquisite embroidery of his sandals escape the observation of these fair critics; who, however they might give wa} to FADLADEEN upon the unimportant topics of religion ann d government, had the spirit of martyrs in every thing relating to such momentous m-atters as jewels and em broidery. For the purpose of’

relieving the pauses of recitation by music, the young Cashmerian held in hIis hand a kitar,-such as, in old times, the Arab maids of the West used to listein to by moonlight in the gardens of the Alhambra,-and having premised, with much humility, that the story lie was about to relitte was founded on the adventures of that Veiled Prophet of Khiorassani,~ who, in the year of the Hegira 163, created such alarm through. out the Eastern Empire, made an’ obeisance to the Princess, and thus began:  FaDLADEEN was a judge of eve ry thing,t-rom the pencouling of a Circassianos eyelids, to the d eepest uestrions of science and literature; from the mixture of a c onserve of rose-leaves, to the c ompos iti on of an epic poem: and such influence had his opinion upon the various tastes of arid tza athe day, hat all the cooks and poets of Delhi stood in awe of him.

His political conduct and opinions were founded upon that line of Sadie”

Should the Prince at noon-day say, It is night, declare that you behold the moon and stars;” and his zea l for religr idon, of which Aurungzebe was a munificent protector,* was about as disinterested as that of the goldsmith who fell in love with the diamond eyes of the i dol of Jatherinaut-t During the first days of their journey, LALLA ROOKIT, whio had passed all her life within the shadow of the Royal Gardens of Dclhi,t found enough in the beauty of tile scenery through which they passed to interest her mind, and delight her imagination; and when at evening, o-r in the heat of the day, they turned off from the high road to those retired and romantic places which had been selected for her enicampiietits, soiietlines on the banks of a small rivulet, as clear as the waters of the Lake of Pearl;~ sometimes under the sacred shiade of a Banyan tree, fr-om whic,h the viewv opened upon a glade covered with antelopes; and often in those hidden, embowered spots, described by one from the Isles of the, West,l] as ,‘places of melancholy, delight, and safety, where all the ecompaniy around was wild peacocks and turtle-doves;”.,he felt a charmn in these scenes, so lovely and so new to her, which, for a time, made her indifferent to every other amusemient.

But LALLA RooKH was young, and thc young love variety; nor could the conversation of her L-1dics an.d tile Great Chamberlain, FADLADrE.N, (the onl y pesm,of course, admitted to her pavilion,) sufficiently c,,Iiveii those many vacant hours, which were devoted n, ither to the pill~ow nor the palaiukeen. Tilere was a ttll’sinslave who sun, sweetly to the Vina, and wvire, now and then, lulled the Princess to sleep with the anicie.nt ditties of her country, about tile loves of Wamak aitd Ezra,~: the fair-haired Zal and his mistress Rodahver;** not itorgetti.,g the combat of Rustami with the terrible Whlite Demon.It At other times she was amused by those rtculdancinig-girls of Delhi, who had been permitted by the Braininis of the Great Pagoda to attend her, much to tile horror of tile good Mussuhnian FADtL’ADEF.N, who cotrld see nothing graceful or agreeable in idolaters, and to whom the very tinkling of their golden ankletsItl was ,in abomination. _____ _______ cess, and thus began Tis hIiypocritica!

Emperor would hive made a worthy associate of Icri o:y Leagues. “tie held th e loak of religion (says Dow) bewe is actions and the vulgar; and impiously thanked the Divinity sceswichewedto hi,’.k. When he was ra eig arid perse cuting his brothlirs an. he was build ma agficet Gue t elh. aar od fbr hi. assist aot iars;. Ic acted,,s l.high priest at thie consecration of tis t emple: made a practice oltaiteinding diine srvice tiere in the humble dress; o’ a Fakeer. But when he li/~ed ona. lehd to t Ie Diviiity, he, itht!, othr, ignd wrrans tr te asassnaton f hs relations.” -istr fHiii id p. 335. See alo h rios letter of A u run g ie ii ti e Oi ions, vol. i, p. 3-20. t “Tire inol at Jag,,ernathas t wo f ine diaruonds or eyes. No goldith-.rg Iso~ki’i supr tl eni ter the Pigoda, oie having tole one ofthrese eyes, b~n okd upat i.,igit w’ith the!o.”, a vrner Ci 1eea dvescrptiun of these Rioyail Gardetf F w s iu Afi Aucoust of the pesta t by Liet. iv Franklin..sint Reat. vol. iv. Aft p. 4 17~. ~ “I th,, ne~ighhourbood is Notte Gill, or the Lake of Pear, which tiae plci it.ir i d tan Nasir Juing enpid i,u the vicinity oftim Lake fTo neor, amused himsel with alhng n;batclear and beau.tiful water, and gave it the Ttlah,‘ctit’ L ake of Pearls,‘“which it still re rns”- Wilks,‘s South~ ot In.dr. Sir Thomas R.,, Am~bassador from James I. to Jehanguire. “Tim romance X~~~~e,nawar, wtten n Pesa verse, which cotisthe l ovesWo.~ramk an,l za, two celebrated, lovers who lived tb eforco e th ie Ori eat a l d TDirs. ‘~u Throwin the Nof ird th~ere, isuc be;,uly iu h asg hihtecie the sla ves. o Rotiher sptting on ta b anath of the hi ari nd throwig into the S ll, erin orPer reamr p the aione o f the mof (wic yousr Hero who is eifnca mped on tlIe voice.- of sir n.,, C hisses. lR’ct. Rus i e the fruits of the ner. tha For ofe particular. f hi. victory over tl-.e Sepe~,1Dee or W’,ite De-non, s,;e Orie-.tal C0 dectiets vol. “iip. 4-,. N ert!,e ciy otfSibirauz is an immens.e quadrangulaI.nuln, icoeortooftis combat, called the Kelaat-iDe – c er Slped, reck rft r v t o. the toie Giant, which Father Angelo, in tlrrhyids’re Guphira e rsicm, p.ar to have been the most memorale moumentof an,tiqui,ty which I,. had seen in Persia..See -.“T,e oeno the do, or dancing girls of the Pagoda, have ]it tle,.ohle~~~~l bell..!, f-eedto~, tPerfe,.tes ft hamnustrakhu,g of ci~ virte Li,,i) ih h,.ust elodIy of their vie. “‘l’~’ A~i~.ai c~rl~stn~,like t.,, Inda oe,thve little gohlen olslteeidoud t!’,eir legs, nec-k, ad ebw,to the son,f which Li.,y d lei,fr,~ Khe Kig. T’im, Ara,bian Drincesss wear golIden rings IN that delightful Province of the Sun, The first of Persian lands he shines upon, Where all the loveliest children of his beam, Flow’rcts and fi’uits, blush over ev’ry stream,%’ And, fairest of all streamis, the MURGA roves Among MEROu’s-*’ bright palaces and groves;Ther e on that trirone, to which the blind belief Of millions raised him, sat the Pro,phet-Chief, on their fingers, to wich little bells are suspended, as well as in the flowing t i, that their superior rank may be known, and they tlhemselves receive i passing the lioniage due to ti-em.” See Calmet’s Dictionary,‘trt. BeIls., * rAboui-Tigc, vte d e,la hl i rot bieaucoup de pavot ot Tihe Itdirai Apollo. “fe and thi three Rbas are described as youths of per,fect be,auty; and the p icseof Hin,dus,t/m were all, passionately in love with C hris, who n to this hour the d i vold ofi4 e Inditn women.” Si, W. Joes, on the a Goreece, taly, and India. sE i t: ee Tarner E bhasny fiur a description f this animal, “the most beautiful among the whole tribe of goats.‘hI material for the shawls (wh~ich is carried to Csmr)is foundi next the skin., ~ F.r thle ea]lia Seto y ot this hIupriotor whose original name was Hake,r n be,, Haschcm, andc veil of stlver gauze (or, as others say gohlen) which hi aliays wore, see D’Her,blot. I sorasan signi ib tire es.’ 1 t me ty of teirtianlnguProvince or Region of r r W.ot le o e i S ir prIn es w IT

“Trhe fruits of Mveru are fine,r than those, of any other place; and one can.m(t see. in:ny other city such pa~laces with gro,e-s. amd ttreanul andgarens” bn t, ~ka’sGeogra.phy. **One of the volta si: s of Khor-assan.

101 TIIE VEILED PROPHET OF KHORASSAN.11

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102 TLIE MIRROR LIBRARY. The Great MIOKANN.A. O’er his features hung The Veil, the Silver Veil, which he had flung In mercy there, to hide from mortal sig,ht His dazzling brow, till man could bear its ligist. For, far less luminous, his votaries said, Were ev’n the gleams, miraculously shed O’er MIOUSSA’S* cheek,t when down the Mouitit he trod, All glowing from the prese,ce of his God! Not s uch the pageant now, th ough not less proud, Yon warrior youth, advancingr fromn the crowd, With silver bow, with belt of broider’d crape, Arid fur-bounid bonniet of Bucharian shape,*

So fiercely beautiful in forn and eye, Like war’s wild planiet in a summinier sky; That youth to-day,-a proselyte, worth hordes Of cooler spirits and less practised swords, Is come to join, all bravery and belief, TI’le creed and standard of the heav’n-sent Chief. On either side, witllh ready hearts and ha.ids, His chosen guard of bold Believcrs stands; Young fire-eyed disputants, who deemi tlheir swords, On poiliits of faithl, ni)rc c!oquetit tihai words; And sutch their zeal, there’s not a youth with bradnd Upliftcd there, but, at the Chiief’s comisiand, Would make his own devoted heart its sheath, And bless the lips that doom’d so dfar a deathi! In hatred to the Caliph’s huic of uight,t Their vesture, helihis and all, is snow)y white; Thieir weapons various-somnie equipp’d, for speed, With javelins of the light Kathaian reed;~ Or bows of buffalo horn anid sliining quivers Fill’d with the stemsll that bloom on IttAN’S rivers; O While some, for war’s more terrible attacks, Wield the huge mniace aid pond’rous battle-axc; And as they wave aloft in morning’s beam The milk-white plumage of their helms, they seem Like a chenar-tree grove** when winter throws O’er all its tufted lcads his feath’riilg snows. Though few his years,, the W est alreadv kllows Young Aziai’s fan)e;-beyonid the Olympiaii snows, Ere manhood darkeni’d o’er his down.,lly cheek, O’erwhelm’d in fight, and captivc to the (G’reek,t He liniger’d there, till peace dissolved his chains. Oh, who could, ev’n in bondage, tre(ad the plains Of glorious Ga,EzcE, nor feel his spirit rise Kindling within him? who, with heart and eyes, Could walk where liberty had been, nor see The shininig footprints of her Deity, Nor feel those godlike breathi ngs in) the air, Which mutely told her spirit had been there? Not he, that youthful waririor,-no, too well For his soul’s quiet work’d tlh’ awrtk’niing spell; And no,’, returning to his own dear land, Full of those dreams of good that, vainly grand, Hlaunt the voung heart,-proud views of human kind, Of men to Gods exalted and refined,False views, like that horizon’s fair deceit, Where earth and heav’n but seemn, alas, to meet Soon as he heard an Arm Divine was raised To right the nations, and beheld, emblazed On the white flag, MOKANNA’S 110St unifurl’d, Those words of sunshine, ” Freedom to the World,” At once his faith, his sword, his soul obey’d Th’ inspiring summons; every chosen blade That fought bencath that bantier’s sacred text Seem’d doubly edged, for this world and the next; And ne’er did Faith with lher smiootlih banidage binid Eyes more devoutly willing to be blind In virtue’s cause;-never was soul inspired With livelier trust iI what it most de:;ired, Than his, th’ entlhusiast tlhere, whlo kneeling, pale With pious awe, befure that Silver Veil, Believes the forin, to which he bends his knee, Some pure, redeeming anigel, sent to free This fetter’d world from every bond and stain, And bring its primal glories back again! Between the tporl)hyry pillars, that uphlold The rich more-que-work of the roof of gold, Aloft the Iharemn’s curtaisi’d galleries rise, Where through the silken netswork, glancing eyes From time to time, like sudden gleams that glow Through aututiln clouds, sii-le o’ er the pomlp below.What impious ton,gue, y( blushlin l saints, would dare To li!ut that aught but Ileav’n i hath placed you there? Or that the loves of this lighlt world could bind, In their gross chaii, your Prophet’s soalring mind? NTowrongfl thought!-cost.mission’d from above To people Eden’s bowers witllh shapes of love, (Creatures so bright, that the same lips and eyes They wear on earth will serve iii Paradise,) There to reclirne arnong Heav’n’s native maids, And crown t’ Elect’ithl bliss that never fadesA Well liath the Prophlet-Chief his bidding done; And ev’ry beauteous race beneath the sun, From tihose who kneel at BRAH.MA’s burning founts,tt To the fiesh inymphsI bounding o’er YEMEN’s mounts; Fromi PERsIAx’s e) es of full and fawn-like ray, To the siiiall, hlalf-thut gl-,ices of KATITAY;ti And GzFO.G,A’S bloom, and AzAis’s darlker smiles, And the gold ringlets of the Western Isles; All, all are there;-each Land its flower hath given, T’o forms that fair young Nursery for Heav’i! Low as young AzIM knelt, that motley crowd Of all earth’s nations sunk the knee and bow’d, With shouits of ” ALLA!”

echoinig long and loud; While higrh in air, above the Prophet’s head, Hundreds of banners, to the sunbeam spread, Waved like the winigs of the white birds that faii The flying throne of star-taught SOLIMAN.t Then thus he spoke: ” Stranger. though new the frane “Thy soul inhabits now, I’ve track’d its flame “For many an age,~ in ev’ry chance and change But why this pageant now? this arm’d array? What triumph crow ds the rich Divan to-dtay W/ith turban’d heads, of ev’ry hue and race, Bowing before that veil’d and awful face, Like tuslip beds,~~ of difPrent shape and dyes, *MoI~ses t Ses disciples assuroient qu’il se couvroit le visage pour ne pas loir cex qui l’approchoi”sit par l’eclat de on visage conme Mo’se. ”

D’ Hrbc,o t. + Blak a the colour adopted by the Caliphs of tile House of Ablias in thieir art, a turba n nd standards.” I1 faut remarquier ici touc,ant.les Iabits blancs des disciples de Hakem, que la couleur des habits des coifures et es etendarts des Khalifes Abassides tTtant la noire. ce clhef *le Rebelles ne pouvoit pas choisir une que lui f.t plus opposee.”-D’Herbelot. “Our dark jav,elins. exquisitely wrought of Khiathaian reeds, slen,der and slelicate.”-Poem of lmru II Pichula, used an,ciently f’r arrows by the Persians. 1 The Persians call this plant Gaz.

The celebrated shaft of lsfendiar, one of their ancient heroes ws ade of it. “Notting can be more beautiful than the appe:rance of this plant in floner duriy n the rains on thei banks of river. here it is usually interwoven with a lovely twini,,g asclepias.”-Sir t. Jsnes, Botanical Observati ons o Sel ect Ivndian Plants. **The oriental plane. “The clhenar is a delightful tree * its bole is of a fine white n sooh bark; anl its foliage which grows in a tulft at the summit, is of n bright green.“Jfor /er’s Travels. ,tiThe burnling fountains of Brahma near Cldittogong eosteemed as !,~!r. Turner. C. China. ~ The name of ttlip is said to be ofTurkish extraction, and given to t! Hflower on account of its resembling a turban. “Beckmann’ History of Inventions., * “The iniabitants of Bucharia w ear a round cloth bonnet, slhaped much after the Polish fashioi. having a large fur border. Tiey tie theit kaftaOds about tle middle with a girIle of a kind of silk crape several tim es r nd the body.” ccusnt of Ildlepende,t 7artary, in Pinkt’ttt~w’s Collection. + n the war of t he Cal p M alhali against the Empress Irene, fo an account of which vide Gibbo,n, v,)l. x. T Tis wondertnul prone wTs caliled Tthe Star of the Genii. For a fill description or io o ee the Fragp ent. tran ald bIy Captain Frankln. from., a Persian M, NS. entitled “T he I.itory of Jerusalen~.” t)rientaJ Collections, vol. i. p, ~35. W’ben So,liman travelled, tile eaytern writers say, ine Ieh d a carpet of gre y silk on w h sich fi thr oe wa s p ilaed. b,ein,g of a prodigious length an,d brea,dthl an,1,atticlent ft r all his forces to stand, u pon t he mel pl;acig tthes e lvis righIt:.nl, and tl,,e spirits onl his left.; and thatit wthen all w er e in ordtr ~ he wind, at t,ii comumand, too~k lip the carpet. n~n tran.~p r t itit ! the t ere up)on it, w here ver he pleased: tie a,rmry of lIirdrs ntths time,, flyi..” ov.r tleir heads. nd firming a kinl ofcanol) to shn ade th e from thens ul. ” $ale’s Kora;n, vol. ii. p. 214. nolo. ~ The transmigration ofsouf a w-as one of is do( triines. Vide D’][,/r bekt. I i ‘I TUIE MIRROR LIBRARY. 102 Bending beneath thl invisible West-wiiid’s si,,,,ha! What new-made mystery now, for Faith to sign, And blood to seal, as genuine and divine, What dazzling mimicry of God’s own I)ower Hatli the bold’Prophet plann’d to grace this hour

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LALLA ROOKS. 103 ” Of that existence, through whose varied range,” As through a torch-race, where, from hand to hand “Trhe flying youths transmit their shining brand, “Fronm frame to frame the unextinguislih’d soul “Rapidly passes, till it reach the goal! But there was one, among the chosen maids, Who blush’d behind the gallery’s silken shades, One, to whose soul the pageant of to-day Has been like death:-you saw her pale dismay, Ye wond’ring sisterhood, and heard the burst Of exclamation from her lips, when first She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known, Silently kneeling at the Prophet’s throne. ” Nor think’tis only thile gross Spirits, %varm’d ‘ With duskier fire and for earth’s medium iorm’d, “I’lTat runi his course:-Beings, the most divine, ‘hus de g’n through dark mortality to sline. “c v as tile Essence that in ADAMNI dwelt, To which iall Heav’ni, except the Proud One, knelt:* Such the refiled Intelligence that glow’d In ilIouss,A’st rame,-and, thence descending, flow’d I’ihrougll inany a Prophet’s breast;t it) ISSA~ shone, “And ill AIOIIAI.IEi) buirn’d; till, hast’iiing oil, “(As a bright river that, from fall to fall In many a maze descending, bright through all, Finds soime lair region where, each labyrinth past, “Ili one full lake of light it rests at last,) That Holy Spirit, settling calm and free “From lapse or shadow, cenitres all in me!” Alh ZELICA! there wa s a time, when bliss Shorne o’er thy heart from ev’ry look of his; Ofhen but to see hime, hear him, breathe the air In which he dwelt, was thy soul’s fondest prayer When round him hung such a perpetual spell, Whate’er he did, none ever did so well. Too happy days! when, if he touch’d a flow’r Or genm of thine,‘twas sacred from that hour; When thou didst study him till every tone And gesture and dear look became thy own,Thy voice like his, the changes of his faco In thine reflected with still lovelier grace, Like echo, sending back sweet music, fraught With twice the ae6rial sweetness it had brought!

Yet now he comes,-brighter than even:Le E’er beam’d before,-but, ah! not bright for thee No-dread, unlook’d for, like a visitant From th’ other world, he comes as if to haunt Thy guilty soul with dreams of lost delight, Long lost to all but mem’ry’s aching sight:Sad dreams! as when the Spirit of our Youth Returns in sleep, sparkling with all the truth And innocence once ours, and leads us back, In mournful mockery, o’er the shining track Of our young life, and points out every ray Of hope and peace we’ve lost upon the way! Once happy pair!-Ii proud BOKHARA’S groves, Who had not heard of their first youthful loves? Born by that ancient flood,* which from its spraig In the dark Mountains swiftly wandering, Enrich’d by ev’ry pilgrim brook that shines With relics from BUCHARIA’s ruby mines, And, lending to the CASPIAN half its strength, In the cold Lake of Eagles sinks at length;There, on the banks of that bright river born, The flow’rs, that hung above its wave at morn, Bless’d not the waters, as they murmur’d by, With holier scent and lustre, than the sigh And virgin-glance of first affection cast Upon their youth’s smooth current, as it pass’d. But war disturb’d this vision,-far away From her fond eyes summon’d to join th’ array Of PERSIA’S warriors on the hills of ThRACE, The youth exchanged his sylvan dwelling-place For the rude tent and war-field’s deathful clash; His ZELICA’S sweet glances for the flash Of Grecian wild-fire, and Love’s gentle chains For bleeding bondage on BYZANTIUM’S plains. Again, throughout th’ assembly, at these words, Th-ousands of voices rung: the warriors’ swords WVere pointed up to heaven; a sudden wind In tih’ open banners play’d, and from behind ‘rhlose Persian hangings, that but ill could screen T‘‘he Haremn’s loveliness, white hands were seen Waviing embroider’d scarfs, whose motion gave A perfume forth-like those the Houris wave WChen lcck’siing to their bow’rs th’ immortal Brave. “But these,” pursued the Chief, “are truths sublime, That el:ini a holier mood and calmer time “‘Vian earth allows us now;-this sword must first ‘ The darkling prison-house of Mankind burst, “Ere Peace can visit them, or Truth let in “Iler wakening daylight on a world of sin.

But then,-celestial warriors, then, when all “Earthl’s sririles and thrones before our banner fall; When the glad Slave shall at these feet lay down His broken chain, tihe tyrant Lord his crown, ‘I hlie Priest his book, the Conqueror his wreath, And from tie lips of Truth one mighty breath “Shall, like a whirlwind, scatter in its breeze ‘ That vwhole dark pile of human mockeries;’ I’hen shaIll the reign of mind commence on earth, ‘iid starting fresh as from a second birth, ;Iann, i; the sunshine of the world’s new spring, “.aliall walk transparent, like some holy thing! ‘‘lihen, too, your Prophet from his angel brow i liail cist the Veil that hides its splendours now, And gladden’d Earth shall, through her wide expanse, Bask in the glories of this countenance! “For thee, young warrior, welcome!-thou hast yet S omie tasks to learn, some frailties to forget, Ere the white war-plumne over thy brow can wave;- M ” But, once my own, minie all, till in the grave!” Month after month, in widowhood of soul Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll Their suns away-but, ah, how cold and dim Ev’n summer suns, when no t beheld with him! From time to time ill-omen’d rumours came, Like spirit-tongues, mutt’ring the sick man’s name, Just ere he dies:-at length those sounds of dread Fell withering on her soul, i’Azlm is dead!” Ohi Grief, beyond all other griefs, when fate First leaves the young heart lone and desolate In the wide world, without that only tie For which it loved to live or fear’d to dieLorn as the hung-up lute, that ne’er hath spoken Since the sad day its m-aster-chord was boi. en! The pomp is at an end-the crowds are goneEach ear and heart still hauniited by the tone Of that deep voice, which thrill’d like ALLA’s own Frlie Young all dazzled by the plumes and lances, ‘T’he glitt’ring throne, and Harem’s half-caught glances; The Old deep pond’ring on the promised reign )f peace and truth: and all the female train Ready to risk their eyes, could they but gaze . moment on that brow’s miraculous blaze! *’ And when we said unto the angels Worship Adam.

they all Yhiped him exceptEblis. (Lucifer,) who refused.”The Koran, cha t,oses. + This is according to D’Herbelot’s account of the doctrines of ~a(51:” Sa doctrine e6toit, que Dieu avoit pris une forme et i ,umaine, depuis qu’il eut co)mmand aux Anges d’adorer Adam, le a.ier des honies.

Qu’apr6s la Mort d’Adam, Dieu etoit apparu a figure ie plusieurs Prophetes. et autres grands hommesqu’il lioilis, jusqu’X ce qu’il plit celle dl’Abu Moslem, Prince de Khora cqnel profess it’errer d la g’enassukhiah s. MWt empsychos rapres la mort de ce Prilce, la Divinite e&toit passoe, et descendu gd ~,,? skllll(3.’ Jesns. avolt _… Lssan e; et * The An:)o. which rises in the Be’l Tag, or Dark Mountains, and rue en unning nea. A ftrom east to wvest, splits ii 0 two branches; one of whi.i I b. falls into the Caspian Sea, and the other it to Aral Nabr, or the Lake ot Eagles. I I LALLA ROOKTT. 103 Fond maid, the sorrow of her soul was such, Evln reason sunk,-blighted beneath its touch; And though, ere long, her sanguine spirit rose

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104 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Above the:rst dead pressure of its woes, Though he.lth and bloom return’d, the delicate chain Of thought, once tangled, -ever clear’d again. Warm; lively, soft as in youth’s happiest day, The mind was still all there, but turn’d astray;N wand’ring bark, upon whose pathway shone &11 stars of heaven, except the guiding one! Again she smiled, nay, much and brightly smiled, Bitt twas a lustre, striange, unreal, wild; And when she sung to her lute’s touching strain, ‘Twas like the notes, half-ecstasy, half pain, ‘I’he bulbul* utters, ere her soul depart, WVhen, vanqu;sb’d by some minstrel’s pow’rful art, She dies upon the lute whose sweetness broke htier heart To the dim charnel-house;-through all its steams Of damp and death, led nly by those gleams Which foul Corruption lights, as with design To show the gay and proud she too can shineAnn, passing oil through upright ranks of Dead, Which to the imiaiden, doubly crazed by dread, Seem’d, through the bluish death-light round theirm cast To move their lips in mutt’rings as she pass’ d  There, in that awful place, when each had quaffed And pledged in silence such a fearful draught, Such-oh! the look and taste of that dread bowl Will haunt her till she dies-he bound her soul By a dark oath, in hell’s own language framed, Never, while earth his mystic presence claim’d, While the blue arch of day hung o’er them both, Never, by that all-imprecating oath, In joy or sorrow from his side to sever.She swore, and the wide charnel echoed, ” Never, never’ Such was the mood in which that mission f)uild YouIIng ZELICA,-that mission, which around Th’lie Eastern world, in every re ion blest With woman’s smile, sought out its loveliest, TI’o grace that galaxy of lips and eyes Which the Veil’d Prophet destined for the skies:And such quick welcome as a spark receives D)ropp’d on a bed of Autumn’s wither’d leaves, Did every tale of these enthusiasts find In the wild maiden’s sorrow-blighted mind. All fire at once the madd’ning zeal she caught;Elect of Paradise! blest, rapturous thought! Predestined bride, in heaven’s eternal dome, Of some brave youth-ha! durst they say “of some No-of the one, one only object traced In her heart’s core too deep to be effaced; The one whose mem’ry, fresh as life, is twined N’With every broken link of her lost mind; Whose image lives, though Reason’s self be wreck’d, Safe’mid the ruins of her intellect! From that dread hour, entirely, wildly giv’n To him and-she believed, lost maid!-to heav’n; Her brain, her heart, her passions all inflamed, How proud she stood, when in full Harem named The Priestess of the Faith!-how flash’d her eyes With light, alas, that was not of the skies, When round, in tranices, only less than hers, She saw the Harem kneel, her prostrate worshippers. Well might AMoKANNA think that form alone Had spells enough to make the world his own:Light, lovely limbs, to which the spirit’s play Gave motion, airy as the dancing spray, When fromn its stem the small bird wings away: Lips in whose rosy labyrinth, when she smiled, The soul was lost; and blushes, swift and wild As are the momentary meteors sent Across th’ uncalm, but beauteous firmnament. And then her look-oh! where’s the heart so wise Could unbewilder’d meet those matchless eyes? Quick, restless, strang,e, but exquisite withal, Like those of angels, Just before their fall; Now shadow’d with the shames of earth-now oross’l By glimpses of the Heav’n her heart had lost; In ev’ry glance there broke, without control, The flashes of a bright, but troubled soul, Where sensibility still wildly play’d, Like lightning, round the ruins it had made. Alas, poor ZELICA! it needed all The fantasy, which held thy mind in thrall, To see in that gay Harem’s glowing maids A sainted colony for Eden’s shades; Or dream that he,-of whose unholy flame Thou wert too soon the victim,-shining came From Paradise, to people its purc sphere With souls like thine, which he hath ruin’d here! No-lhad not reason’s light totally set, And left thee dark, thou hadst an amulet In the loved image, graven on thy heart, Whlich would have saved thee from the tempter’s art, And kept alive, in all its bloom of breath, ‘Thilat purity, whose fading is love’s death!But lost, inflamed,-a restless zeal took place Of the mild virgin’s still and feminine grace; First of the Prophet’s favourites, proudly first Ili zeal and charms,-too well th’

Impostor nursed Her soul’s delirium, in whose active flame, Thus lighting up a young, luxuriant frame, Ile saw more potent sorceries to bind ‘To his dark yoke the spirits of mankind, MAlore subtle chains than hell itself e’er twined. .No art was spared, no witch’ry;-all the skill His demons taught him was emnploy’d to fill Hier mind with gloom and ecstasy by turnsThat gloom, through which Phrensy but fiercer burns; That ecstasy, which from the depth of sadness (‘lares like the maniac’s moon, whose light is madness! O Reason! who shall say what spells renew, When least we look for it, thy broken clew! Through what small vistas o’er the darken’d brain Thy intellectual day-beam bursts again; And how, like forts, to which beleaguerers win Unhoped-for entrance through some friend within, One clear idea, waken’d in the breas t By mem’ry’s magic, lets in all the rest. Would it were thus, unhappy girl, with thee! But though light came, it came but partially Enough to show the maze, in which thy sense Wander’d about-but not to guide it thence; Enough to glimmer o’er th e yawnin g wave, But not to point th e harbour which nk ight save. Hours of delight and peace, long left behind, With that dear form came rushing o’er h,’- find; But oh! to think how deep her soul had gone In shame and falsehood since those moments shone; And, then, her oath-there madness lay again, And, shudd’ring, back she sunk into her chaip ‘Twas from a brilliant banquet, where the sound Of poesy and music breathed around, Together picturing to her mind and ear The glories of that heav’n, her destined sphere, Where all was pure, where every stain that lay Upon the spirit’s light should pass away, And, realizing more than youthful love E’er wish’d or dream’d, she should for ever rove Through fields of fragrance by her AziM’s side, His own bless’d, purified, eternal bride!‘Twas from a scene, a witching trance like this, lie hurried her away, yet breathing bliss, I ; I i I I i I I I I’ I! I i 104 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. And such was now young ZFLTCA-O changed From her who, some years since, delighted ranged The almond groves that shade BOKIFARA’S tide,, All life and bliss, with Azi.,Ni by tier side So alterld was she now, this festal day, When,‘mid the proud Divan’s dazzling array, The vision of that Youth whom she had loved, Had wept as dead, before her breathed and iiiovc(i When -bright, she thought, as if froi-n Edeii’s tracli But halfway trodden, he had wander’d I)aclc Again to earth, glistening with Eden’s li,,,fitHer beauteous Azi.m stione before her sight. t Ti,e ghtingale.

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LALLA ROOKfl. l(\5 Of mental darkness, as if blest to flee From light, whose every glimpse was agony! Yet, one relief this glance of former years Brought, mingled with its pain,-tears, floods of tears, Long frozen at her heart, but now like rills Let loose in spring-time from the snowy hills, Arid gushing warm, after a sleep of frost, Through valleys where their flow had long been lost. Upon his mystic s’oil’s white glittering flow.

Beside him,‘st ea d of bead s a nd bo oks of pray r, Which the world fondly thought he mused on there, Stood Vases, fill’d with KilsiMEE’S* golden wine, And the red weepings of the SIIIRAZ vine; Of which his curtain’d lips full many a draugliht Took zealously, as if each drop they quaff’d, Like ZE.IZEM’S Spring of Holiness,t had pow’r To freshen the soul’s virtues into flow’r! And still he drank and ponder’d-nor could see tih’ approaching maid, so deep his revery; At length, with fiendish laugh, like that which broke From EBLIS at the Fall of Man, he spoke:” Yes, ye vile race, for hell’s amusemcnt given, ” Too mean for earth, yet claiming kin with heav’n; ” God’s images, forsooth! such gods as he ” Whom INDIA serves, the monkey deity;t”Ye creatures of a breath, proud things of clay, “To whom if LuCiFE., as grandams say, “Refused, though at the forfeit of heaven’s light. “To bend in worship, I,uci’Ert was right!~ “Soon shall I plant this foot upon the neck ” Of your foul race, and witlhouLt fear or check, “Luxuriating in hate, avenge my shame, “My deep-felt, long-nursed loathing of mal, i. area’ “Soon at the head of myriads, blind and fierce “As hooded falcons, through the universe “I’ll sweep) imy dark’ning, desolating way, “Weak man my instrument, curst mnan my prey! Sad and subdued, for the first time her frame Treinbled with horror, when the summons came (A summons proud and rare, which all but she, And she, till now, had heard with ecstasy) To meet MIOKANNA at his place of prayer, A garden oratory, cool and fair, By the stream’s side, where still at close of day The Prophet of the Veil retired to pray; Sometimes alone -but, oft’nher far, with one, One chosen nymph to share his orison. Of late none found such favour in his sight As the young Priestess; and though, since that night When the death-caverns echoed every tone Of the dire oath that made her all his own, Th’ Impostor, sture of his infatuate prize, Had, more than once, thrown off his soul’s disguise, And utter’d such unheav’nly, monstrous things, As ev’n across the desp’rate wanderings Of a weak intellect, whose lamp was out, Threw startling shadows of dismay and doubt;Yet zeal, ambition, her tremendous vow, The thought, still haunting her, of that bright brow, WVlhose blaze, as yet froln mortal eye conceal’d, ,Vou(l soon, proud triumph! be to her reveal’d, Fo her alone;-and then the hope, most dear, .NMost wild of all, that her transgression here Was but a passage through earth’s grosser fire, From which the spirit would at last aspire, Ev’n purer than before,-as perfumes rise Through fliame and smoke, most welcome to the skiesAnd that when AzIm’s fond, divine embrace Should circle her in heav’n, no dark’ning trace Wctld on that bosom he once loved remain, But all be bright, be pure, be his again These were the wild’ring dreams, whose curst deceit Had chaiii’d her soul beneath the tempter’s feet, Arnd made her think ev’n damning falsehood sweet. But now that Shape, which had appall’d her view, That Semblance-oh how terrible, if true! Which came across her phrensy’s full career With shock of consciousness, cold, deep, severe, As when, in northern seas, at midnight dark, An isle of ice encounters some swift bark, And, startling all its wretches from their sleep, By one cold impulse hurls them to the deep;So came that shock not phrensy’s self could bear, And waking up each long-lull’d image there, But check’d her headlong soul, to sink it in despair! ” Ye too, believers of incredible creeds, “Whose faith enshrines the monsters which it breeds; ” Who, bolder ev’ll than NEMROD, thinlk to rise, “By nonsense heap’d on nonsense, to the skies; “Ye shall have miracl es, ay, sound ones too, “Seen, heard, attested, ev’ry thin g-but tr ue. “Your preaching zealots, too inspired to seek “On e g rac e of meaning for the tiings they sp eak; Your mar ty rs, rea dy to shed out their blood, “For truths too heav’nly to be understood; “And yo ur St ate P riests, sol e v enders of the lore, “That works salvation; as, on ANA’S shore, “Where none but priests ar e privilege d to trad e “In that bes t mar ble of whi ch Gods a re mad e; I’ “‘I’hey shall have mysteries ay, previous stuff; “For knaves to thrive by nysteries enough; *An island in the Persian, Gulf, celebrated itr its white wine. t The miraculous well at Mecca; so called, says Sale,!ro, the m, m uri ng ofit,is waters. : The god Hann,iaman.-” Apes are in m,any parts of Inlia highly v,,n erated, out of respect to the god Hannaman, a deity partaking ol’the form o~that race.”’-Pennant’s Ilindo3ostan. See a curious account.

in Stephe.‘s Persia, of a s olemn embassy from some part of the Indies to Goa, wvie: tile Portuguese were there, offerinlg vast treasures for the recovery it’ a mon”k e ty’s mot}~, *hih ihey le,] in great veneration, and wlfch lad been taken away u ponl the ct,quest of tile kingdoml o’’

Jafanapt a n)li. ~ This resolution of Eihlis not to acknsowvledge tilt new creature, mmek was, according to MahIom.eta,n tradition, thuis adopted:.“Te earth (which God had selected f,,r tote m tterils of his work) w,!s carried into Ara,bia to a place betw,teen Mecca an,d Tayef, where,.eing first kneaded by tie angels, it was afterwards thshio led hy God h imsel f into a human torm, and left to dry {or tile space of forty (da,ys, or, as others shy as many yers the angls-, in tile m ean tie, often vis.7ilig it, and rbis 0then on; of the anxgels,leares’ to Go4’s presence. afcrw ams the devil) among the rest.: but le, not eonten’d i l ooki n g at it, kicked it with his tfot till it riung, anrd know,,,in,g God designed that cre,ture to be his superior, took a secret resolution never to acknowl.edge hi as such.“Sale. on tihe K,orant. 11 Akind of lantern formerly used by rolbers, called the Hanl of Glo ry, the tandie ter whic h was made of the fitt Ef a dea d naletactoc. ‘_his, bowever, wans rathler a western] tl.~an all eastern superstition. ~1 The material of whih inages of Gaudma (tle Bitn Deity) are .,de, is held sacred. ” Bi troans may not purchase the marble in mas, but are s..f(ered and indee d encouraged], to buy figures of the Deity redy made.”-Si$y e’s Ava, vol.

ii. p. 376 Wan and dejected, through the ev’ning dusk, She now went slowly to that small kiosk, Where, pondering alone his impious schemes, MIOKA.NNA waited her-too wrapp’d in dreams Of the fair-rip’ning future’s rich success, To heed the sorrow, pale and spiritless, That sat upon his victim’s downcast brow, Oi mark how slow her step, how alter’d now From the quick, ardent Priestess, whose light bound Caine like a spirit’s o’er th’ unechoing ground,Fromn that wild ZELICA, whose every glance Was thrilling fire, whose ev’ry thought a trance! Upon his couch the Veil’d MOKANNA lay, While lamps;.round-not such as lend the;r ray, Glimm’ring and cold, to those who nightly pray In holy Koo.,* or MEccA’s dim arcades,But brilliant, soft, such lights as lovely maids Look loveliest in, shed their luxurious glow * The cities of Com (or Koom) and Cashan are full of mosques_ nauoleuims, and seplicres ot’f the descenidants of All, the Saints ot’f ersia. Chard, u. LALLA ROOKU. 1 C-5 11 Ye wise, ye Icarn’d, wl-io grope your dull way on By the dim twinkling gleams of ages gone, Like superstitious thieves, who tliii-ik the light From dead men’s marrow guides theii-i best at iiigh Ye shall have honours-wealth-yes, Sages, ye I know, grave fools, your wisdom’s nothingness Uiidazzled it can track yon starry spliere, But a gilt stick, a bauble blinds it here. How I shall laugh, when trumpeted along, In lying speech, and still more lying otig, By these learii’d slaves, the meanest of the throng; Their wits bou,ht up, their wisdom sl-irunk so small A sceptre’s puny point can wield it all! a

Page 106 view page image v106 THE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ – MIR. “Dark, tangled doctrines, dark as fraud can weave, “Which simple votaries shall on trust receive, “While craftier feign belief, till they believe. “A Heav’n too ye must have, ye lords of dust, A splendid Paradise, pure souls, ye must: “That Prophet ill sustains his holy call, “Who finds not heav’ns to suiit the tastes of all; “Houris for loy-s, omniscience for sages, “And M ings aiid glories for all ranks and ages. “Vain tli:-gs!-as Ist or vanity inspires, ‘Tie lieav n of ea( i is but what each desires, “And, souil or sense, whate’er the object be, ‘

Man would be iman to all eternity! So let hiim-EBLIS!-grant this crowning curse, But keep him whlat he is, no Hell were worse.” “Hath some peculiar, practised power to please, “Some glance or step which, at the mirror tried, “First charms herself, then all the world beside; ” There still wants one, to make the vict’ry sure, ” One who in every look joins everv lure: ” Through whom all beauty’s beams concentred pass, ” Dazzling and warm, as through love’s burning glass; ” Whose gentle lips persuade wi thout a w lgrd, ” Whose words, ev’ii when unmeaning, are adored. ” Like inarticulate breathings from a shrine, ” Which our faith takes for granted are divine. ” Such is the nymph we want, all warmth and light, ” To crown the rich temptations of to-night; ” Such the refined enchantress that must be “This hero’s vanquisher,-and thou art she t” “Oh nmy lost soul!”

exclaim’d the slihudd’ring maid, Whose ears had drunk like poison all hlie said:MOKA.NNA started-not abash’d, afraid,He knew no more of fear than one who dwells Beneath the tropics knows of icicles! But, in those distial words that reach’d his ear, Oh imiy lost soul!” there was a sound so drear, So like that voice, amonig the sinful dead, In whichi the legend o’er Hell’s Gate is read, That, new as’twas fromn her, whom naught could dim Or sink till now, it startled even him. With he r hands clasp’d, her lips apart and pale, The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil From which these words, like south winds through ni fence Of Kerzrah flow’rs, came fill’d with pestilence;* So boldly utter’d, too! as if all dread Of frowns from her, of virtuous fiowns, wvere fled, And the wretch felt assured that, once plunged in, Her womani’s soul would know no pause ill si! At first, though mute she listen’dl, like a dream Seem’d all he said: nor could her mind, whose beam As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme. But when, at length, he utter’d, ” Tlhou art she!” All flash’d at once, and shrieklig piteously, ” Oh not for worlds!” she cried-” Great God! to whon ” I once kn elt innocent, is thi s my doom? “Are all my dreams, my hopes of heav’nly bliss, “My purity, my pride, then come to this,“To live, the wanton of a fiend! to be “The pander of his guilt-oh infamy! “And sunk, myself, as low as hell can steep ” In its hot flood, drag others down as deep! ” Others ha! yes that youth who came to-day” Not him I loved-not hlim-oh! do but say, ” But swear to me this moment’tis not he, ” And I will serve, dark fiend, will worship even thee!” “Ha, my fair Priestess!”thus, with ready wile, Th’ Impostor tlurn’d to greet her”

thou, whose smile “‘lath inspiration in its rosy beam iBeyond th’

Enthusiast’s hope or Proplhet’s dream Light of the Faith! who twiu’st religioi’s zeal “So close with love’s, mene know not which they feel, Nor which to sigh for, in their trance of heart, “The heav’n thou preachest or the hleav’n thou art! What should I be without thee? without thee Howv dull were power, how joyless victory! Though borne by angels, if that smile of thine Bless’d not my banner,‘twere but half divine. “But-why so mournful, child? those eyes that shone All life last night-what!-is their glory gone? “Cowe, comie this morn’s fatigue hath made them pale, “They want rekindling-suns themselves would fail Did not their comets bring, as I to thee, “From light’s own fount supplies of brilliancy. Thou seest this cup-no juice of earth is here, But the pure w aters of that upper sphere, Whose rills o’er riuby beds and topaz flow, ‘“Catching the gem’s bright colour as they go. Niightly my Genii come and fill these urns” Nay), dirik-iii ev’ry drop life’s essence burns; ‘Tw ill make that soul all fire, those eyes all light Come, colie, I want lthy loveliest smiiles to-night: ‘Ii’ere is a youth-wwhy -tart?-thou saw’st him then; “Lo,Jk’d he liot i,o)ly? suich the godlike men “Thou’lt have to woo thee hi thle bow’rs abover; ” Thlough hle, I fear, liath tlioughts too stern for love, Too ruiled ly thliat’cold teiiy of bliss The world c~!lIs virtute-we must conquer this; Nay, shriink not, prettv sage!‘tis not for thee To scan tlie iiitazes of Hleav’n’s mystery: The steel insist pass through fire, ere it can yia M Fit iiistrullerlts for mighlty hands to wield. “This very niglst I mean to try the art Of powverftl b(I;hy v(n, thlat -warrior’s heart.

“All that my Hai-iie boasts of bloom and wit, Of skill aid chiarils, niosst rare anid exquisite, Shall temipt the ioY,;-young MlIRZALA’s blue eyes, “Whose sleepy lid like sniow on violets lies; “AROUYA’S checks, wari.n as a spring-day sun, And lips that, like the seal of SOLOMON, “Have magic in their pressure; ZEBA’s lute, , And LiLI.4a’S dancing feet, that gleam and shoot Rapid and -white as sea-birds o’er the deep All shall combine their witching powers to steep ‘ My convert’s spirit in that soft’ning trance, From which to hlieav’n is but the next advance;“That glowing, yielding fusion of the breast, aOn which Religion stanps her image best. ‘ But hear me, Priestess!- thioughi each nymph eLf these ”

Beware, young raving thing;-in time beware, “Nor utter what I cannot, must not bear, “Ev’n from thy lips. Go-try thy lute, thy voice, “The boy must feel their magic;-I rejoice ” To see those fires, no matter wlheince they rise, “Once more illuming my fair Priestess’ eyes; “And should the youth, whom soon tiose eyes shall warm, “Irdeed resemble thy dead lover’s form, “So much the happier wilt thou find thy doom, “As one warm lover, full of life and bloom, “Excels ten thousand cold ones in the tomb. “Nay, nay, no fiowning, sweet! those eyes were made “For love, not anger-I must be obey’d.” “Obey’d!‘tis well-yes, I deserve it all”On me, on me Heav’n’s vengeance cannot fall “Too heavily-btut Aztm, brave and true “And beautiful-must hle be ruini’d too? “Must he too, glorious as he is, be driven “A renegade like me fi’oin Love and Heaven? “Like me?-weak wretch, I wrong himn-not l’ike me “No he’s all truth and strenigt!h aid(,.‘ity!

“Fill up your madd’ning lhell-cup to the brimii, “Its witch’ry, fiends, will have no charm for him. “Let loose your glowing wantons from their bowits, “He loves, he loves, and can defy their powers “Wretch as I am, in his heart still I reign “Pure as when first we met, without a stain!

“Though ruin id-lost-.iy tnern’ry, like a charm “Left by the dead, still k eeps his soul from iiarm “Oh! never let him know how detep the brow “He kiss’d at parting is dislhotiour’d (ow; “Ne’er tell him how debased, how suink is she, “Whom once he loved-oncce! still loves dotingly. I “It is, con.o.l,y said ill Persia. that i! l ba.:....te in the ha. lsBoulthJ wind, wthicl ill Jum or’;y palscs o~ cr dmt f lower. (tile Kopreh,) it wvill kill him.”-7’hetnot THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 106

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LALLA ROOKH. 107 “Thou laugh’st, tormentor,-what!-tlithou’lt brand my name? “Do, do-in vain he’ll not believe my shanie He thinks me true, that naught beneath God’s sky Could tempt os change me, anid-so once thought I.

But this is past-though worse than death my lot, “Than hell-‘tis nothing while he knows it not. “Far off to some benigh;ted land [‘ll fly, ” Where sunsbeam iie’er shall enter till I die “Where noise will ask the lost one whence she came, “But I may fade and fall without a name. And thou-curst man or fiend,,:vhate’er thou art, “Who fouind’st this burning plague-spot in my heart, “And spread’st it-oh, so quick!through soul and frame, “With more than demon’s art, till I became “IA loathsome thing, all pestilence, all flame!‘If when I’m gone’I ” But turn and look then wonder, if thou wilt, ” That I should hate, should take revenge, by guilt, ” Upon the hand, whose mischief or whose mirth ” Sent me thus niiaimr’d and monstrous upon. earth; ” And on that race who, though more vile they be ” Than mowing apes, are demi-gods to me! ” Here judge if hell, with all its power to damn, ” Can add one curse to the foul thing I am!” ON their arrival, next night, at the place of encamp ment, they were surprised and delighted to find’the groves all around illuminated; some artists of Yaintcheou* hav ing been sent onl previously for the purpose. On each side of the green alley which led to the Royal Pavilion, artificial sceneries of bamboo-workt were erected, repre senting arches, ininarets, and towers, from which hung thousands of silken lanterns, painted by the most delicate pencils of Canton. Nothing could be more beautiful than the leaves of the mango-trees and acacias, slining in the light of the bamboo scenery, which shed a lustre round as soft as that of the nights of Peristan. LALLA ROOKII, however, who was too much occupied by the sad story of ZELICA and her lover to give a thought to any thing else, except, perhaps, him who related it, hurried on through this scene of splendour to her pavilion, -greatly to the mortification of the poor artists of Yamtcheou,-aniid was followed with equal rapidity b)y the Great Cham,erlain, cursinig, as he went, that ancient Mandarin, whose parental anxiety in liglintig up the shores of the lake, where his beloved daughter had wandered and been lost, was the origin of these fantastic Chinese illumi. nations.t Without a mnoment’s delay, young FERAMORz was introduced, and FADLADEEN, who couild never make up his mind as to the merits of a peet till lie knew the religious sect to which he belonged, was about to ask him whether he was a Shia or a Sooiii, when LALLA ROOKII impa tiently clapped her hands for silence, and the youth, being seated upon the musnud near her, )roceeded: Ild, ‘,Yes, my sworn bride, let others seek in bow’is “Their bridal place-the charnel vault was ours! “Instead of scents and balms, for thee and me “Rose the rich steams of sweet mortality; “Gay, flick’riniig death-lights shone while we were wed, “And, for our guests, a row of goodly Dead, “(Immortal spirits in their time, no doubt,) From reeking shrouds upon the rite Iook’d out! ” That oath thou heard’st snore lips than thine repeat”That cup-thou shudd’rest, Lady-was it sweet? “That cLIp we pledged, the charnel’s choicest wine, “Iatlh bound thliee-ay-body and soul all mine; ” BouLnd thee by chains that, whether blest or curst, “No matter now, not hlell itself shall burst! Hence, woman, to the Haremni, and look gay, Look wild, look-any thing but sad; yet stay’ One moment mnore-from what this night hath pass’d, ‘ I see thou kiiow’st me, know’st nme well at last. Ha! ha! and so, fond thing, thou thoughlit’st all true, “And that I love mankind?-I do, I do”As victims, love them; as the sea-dog dotes Uponl the small, sweet fry that round him floats; Or, as the Nile-bird loves the slime that gives ‘That rank and venomous food on which she lives!-t PREPARE thy soul, young AZ2,!-thou hast braved The band s of GREECE, still riglhty though enslaved; least faced her phal anx, arte’d with all its fanie, Her Mlacedorniani pikes and globes of flame;; All this hast fronted, w i th firml heary t tinid bro w; But a more p erilous t rial waits the e now, Woman’s bright eyes, a dazzling host of eyes |From evereery l d whebe woman smi les or sigh s; Of every hue, as Love may chance to raise His black or azur borbanner in their blaze; And each sweet mode of warfare, from t he flas h Th at lighte ns bo ldly t hroughs th e shadowy lash, To the sly, steal ing sple ndours, almost hid, Like swords half-sheathed, beneat h th e downcast l id Such, Azim, is the lovely, luminoLus host Now led against thee; and let conqu’rors boast The feast of Lanterns is celebreated at Yaontcheou pith lore mfag nlificenice than anywhere else: and tlse report goes, that the illu,mlination~! there are so splenidid. that al Emperor obee lot daring openly to leave hiis Court to go thithier. committed hi mslif w ith the Quee nl ind severae Princesses of his tillrally, into tlhe ha n ds of “a nmitian wlIo promised to transport tiem thither in a trie. lHe ia c de the m i n tln e nigi;t to asend magnificent tlron.es that were borne u p b y as wic in a mgoet arrived at Yamtcheou. lhe Esperor saw nt hiis leisuree all tce solemi ity being carried upon a cloud that hovervd over the oity anl desended bly degrees- and came back aga in with tie sa me speed,,d!quipage, no body at Court perceiving h}n absene. ”  The l’rse.‘Tt State of Ckina. p. 156. t See a description of the nuptials of Vizier Ale,, in the.qsiatic J.zD

,nual Register of 1804. “The vfigar a scribe it to an adem tl..t hnl~p’

m-d iIl,he fa‘4.. y,l a fttnious Mlw~lalarill. whiose ~J;ilglzttor, w.

lklitig’ alt c V,. llXg liponl the shoe of a lake, fell in an.d was drOwle d: itlis Rill;tied titely wit h his fam,ily, ranthi ther, and, tl,e I ett, r to ti l };er, i, ( i’-‘. a gt comp:,n F o f l an t er ns i t oIe lig l,t e d. A li th e i. l a bi t l l s,i’ e ~ h c p:, thnzne ed a f t e r him with torches. T’e year ens-uing t,cy rotale fires!po n the..)res tile sa le d ly; tliey con tinu ed th e erem on y e very Ise ar, e very o ne lighted his lanitewrn, and by degrees it conwnear, ^ rt ctmtonJ.”

Prese7 . State of Cli~a. ” And(l, snow thou se,est my soulps angelic hue, “‘Tis time these features were uncurtain’d too;“This brow, whose light-oh rare celestial light! Hath been reserved to bless thy favour’d sight; These dazzling eyes, before whose shrouded might ;Thou’st seen immortal Man kneel down and quake “VWould that they were heaveii’s lightnings for his sake! * vile iblum:;finr-tbird is seaid to run tihis risk for the purpose ofpicki.Ig the c odile’s teetil.‘Pe same circumstance is related of tile laIpwsing,, s; ft to *I:ich he was witness, by Paul Lucas. Voyage fait en 1‘14. Th’le.ztXwient steory conicerninig thec TIrochtiluls, or humminig-bird, enter”,g witl impunity i,!t. tie mouth of the crocodile, is firmly believed at Java.l lorro w a’s (c hin ec]dira. t’Cilcumlzl e, sdimn ripts (Nili, viz.):lies es,t Ibis. Ea serpenttium popul!tur ova, gratissima,,que ex his escam nid.s suis refert.-Soinus. I LALLA ROOKII.

107 He raised his veil-the Maid turii’d slowly round, Look’d at him-slirick’d-and sunk upon the grow)d At this dread word, The Maid, whose spirit hi.-s rude taunts had stirr’d Through all its depths, and roused an anger there, That burst and lighten’d even through her despairShrtiDk back, as if a bliglit in,ere in the breath That spoke that word, and stagger’d pale as death.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Their fields of fame; he who in virtue arms A young, warm spirit against beauty’s charms, EVho feels her brightness, yet defies her thrall, Is the best, bravest conqu’ror of them all. In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays High as th’ enamelI’d cupola, which tow’rs All rich with Arabesques of gold and flow’rs: And the mosaic floor beneath slilnes through The sprinkling of that fotuntaini’s silv’ry dew, Like the wet, glist’niiig shells, of ev’ry dye, That on the margin of the Red Sea lie. Now, through the Harem chambers, moving lights AntI busy shapes proclaimr the toilet’s rites;Fromn roonI to rootii the ready handmaids hie, Sonie skilI’d to wreathl the turban tastefully, ()r hlang the veil in niegligence of shlade, O’er the wiarii binsites of the youthful maid, Whlio, il betswe(ei the folds but oie eye shone, Lf.ike (4.,‘s Queen, could vanquish with that one:* N hIile soiic brrng leave s of Henna, to imbue ‘I’lie fingers’ epds with a bright roseate hue,t So lri(rlit. that in the mirror’s depth they seem Like tips of coral branches in the stream; And others iix the IKehol’s jettv dye, I’ give that long dark languish to the eye,+ W’,hichl makes the miaids, whom kings are proud to cull From fuir Circassia’s vales, so beautiful. All is ii mnotioi’

rings, and plumes, and pearls, Are shiui-ig evi’nywhere:-somle younger girls Are gone by nloonlight to the gardeni-beds, To gather flesh, cool chaplets for their heads;Gtsv cicatures sweet, though mnournfutl,‘tis to see HIlow cacl pre fers a garland from that tree WIlielc brings to mind her childhood’s innocent day, And the dear fields and friendships far away. The mnaid of I.x;I., blest again to hold In her full lip the Clhampac’s leaves of gold,~ ‘rhilks of the time when, by the GANGES’

flood, I1er little playmates scatter’d many a bud Upon her loig, black hair, with glossy gleani Just dripping from the consecrated stream While the young Arab, haunted by the smell Of teer own mountain flow’is, as by a spell,Thie sweet Elcaya,lI and that courteous tree Which bows to all who seek its canopy,~ Sees, eall’d up round her by these magic scents, The elvl, the camriels, and her fatther’s tents; Sighs for the )omce she left with little pain, And wishies earn its sorrows back again! So on, through scenes past all imagining, More like the luxuries of that impious Kinig,tt Whom Death’s dark Angel, with his lightning torch, Struck down and blasted ev’n in Pleasure’s porch, -Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent, Arm’d with Heaven’s sword, for man’s enfranchiseImentYoung Azim wander’d, looking sternly round, His simple garb and war-h)oots’ clankilg sound But ill according with the pomp and grace And silent lull of that voluptuous place. Meanwliile, tlirouhli vast illuminated halls, Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls Of fragrailt waters, gushing with cool sound FiIom litany a jasper fount, is heard around, Young AZINI roams bcwilder’d,-nor call guess What mneans this maze of light and loneliness.

Here, the wvay leads, o’er tesselated floors ()r mnats of CAItO, throulgh long corridors, Where, ranged in cassolets and silver urns, Swe-t wood of aloe or of sandal burns; And spicy rods, such as illume at night ‘i’he bow’rs of TIBET,** send forth odorous light Like Peris’ wands, when pointing out the road Ftor some pure Spirit to its blest abode:And here, at once, the glittering saloon Bursts on his sliht, boundless and bright as noon; Where, in the mnidst, reflecting back the rays ” Is this, the n,”

th ough t the youth, ” is this the way To free mall’s spiri t from the dead’ning sway “Of worldly sloth,-to teach him while he lives, “To know no bliss but that which virtue gives, “And when he dies, to leave his lofty name “A light, a landmark on the cliffs of fame? “It was not so, Land of the generous thought “And daring deed, thy godlike sages taught; “It was not thus, in bowers of wanton ease, “Thy Freedom nursed her sacred energies; “Oh! not beneath th’ enfeebling, with’ring glow “Of such dull lux’ry did those myrtles grow, “With which she wreathed her sword, when she would dare “Immortal deeds; but in the bracing air “Of toil,-of temperance,-of that high, rare, “Ethereal virtue, which alone cal breathe “Life, health, and lustre into Freedona’s wreath. *” Thou hast rai.hed y heart with one ofthile eyes.”-sl. Soig. E t “Tiey tinged tihe ende of hIer fingers scarlet,liti Henna, so tihat they reemle ra ches of coral.”-Story f Priuce’sttun in Ba/arda.nush. Thie wom en black en the inside of their eyelids with a powder named ilie black Kohol. -Ressel. None of these ladies,” says Shaw, ” take thiemselves to be ceompleeley d,ressed till they lave tined the hair and edges of their eyelids with the powder o lea-ore. No, as tis operation is perfu,rmed by dipping first into Ilhe powder a small wooden bodkin of the thickness of dipping ir’s en trepodskises ol gtdloist~ttecrltes-arw a quill, and t en diaws iig it aiter wars tiroug the eyelids over the baill of the eye we shall have a lively image of what the Prophet (Jer. iv. 30) miay be supposed to mean by renlding the eves with painting. This practice is no doubt ot great antiquity; besides the instance already taken notice of we id that w re Jezebel is said (‘2 Kings ix. 30) to have pair.ted her e te ori al. s ar e she ad’ isted hcr eyes with ti,e powder of ead os e.”-S w tw’s T’davels ~

“The appearance (it the tlossoms of the gold-coloured Champac on the black air of te I i n e has suppiaed the Snisecrit poets with any elegant alusions.” -See’siatic Reacathes. vol iv _! A tree fitmous tor its perfume, and comm.on on the hills of Yemen.  ~~ieb) hr. ~ Ot’ tie erus mimosa, “which droops its branches we inever any person pl”ro tches i s itf it saluted those who retire utrder its shade. (-Ibi3. **‘Cle-esh re a principal ingredient in the compos ition of t‘2e pe fumed r, ls, clic n ot rak keep constantly burning in th,ir preSf noe.” 7’.rnr’s Tl’et. * ”

C’est d’oo vient le bois d’nlo6s. que les Arabes appellent Oud Co isisur elegant allo~~~~~~~ioii- – otlieti, e islstondriiio ii ntmg 6. D yc, me ar, et celui du sandal, qui s’y tro e en negrande quatith.”-yD’erh begot.

t Thosands of variegated loories visit tile coral-trees.”-Barro w. “on Mccah the re iare quati tes of blue pigeons, which none will aff right or abuse, m Ich less kill.”’-Pitt’, Acco,un.t tff the Mahometan s. ~‘‘he Pagoda Thrush is esteemed amon,.g tie first choristers of Il di.. It sit s perhed w on the sacredl pagod as, and trom tihene, delivers i u me l odi ous pong.“d-Pennd nt’s d tiidos t tln is T7acel-nlier adds.3 th”t while (he Bi:ds of FPra&dise lie in:;i;> int,xi cated state, the emro ets come and eat off their legs; and that lens it is they are said to have no feet.

~ Birds of Paradise which, at the nutmeg season, come in fighets from tie southerny isles to India; and “the stren gth of the nutmeg,” says Ta,ver,ier, “so ir,toxica,tes them that they li.,! dead dru,nk to the earth.” ** “T}:at bird w Ri ch liveth in Arabia, atd builheti its,est with einna. mon.” Brown’s Vulgar Errors. t’ “Tihe spirits f the n tyrts will be lodigel in the chaps of green birds.” Gibbo)). vol. ix. p. 21. t: Shedad, who made tie deliiious garbdens of ri n, in imi,‘tat ion;t Paradise. and was destroyed, lit blutiing the first tit-e h~e atteLmlpted us outer them. I 108 Here too he traces the kind visitings Of woi-nan’s love in those fair, livin,,,- things Of land and wave, wlie fate-in.bondage thrown For their weak loveliness-is like her own On one side gleaming with a sudden grace Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase In which it undulates, small fishes shine, Like golden ingots from a fairy mine;While, on the other, latticed lightly in With odoriferous woods of COIIORIN,*Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleani between ‘I’he crimson blossoms of the coral treet In the warm isles of Iiidia’s sunny sea: Mecca’s blue sacred pigeoii,t and the thrush Of Hiiidostar,,~ whose holy warblings gush, At evening, froni the tall pagoda’s top; – Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop About the gardens, drunk with tliat sweet foodil Whose sceiit liath lured thcm o’er the summer floods And those that under Arat)y’s soft sun Iquild their high nests of budding cinnamoi,In short, all rare and beauteous things, that fly Through tl. pure element, here calmly lie Sleeping in light, like the green birdstt that dwell In Eden’s radiant fields of aspliodel!

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:~~~~~AL =OKH 10 ” Who, that surveys this span of earth we press,This speck of life in time’s great wilderness, This narrow isthmus’twixt two boundless seas, iTile past, the future, two eternities!Would sully the bright spot, or leave it bare, When he might build himn a proud temple there, “A name, that long shall hallow all its space, And be each purer soul’s high resting-place? But no-it cannot be, that one, whom God Has sent to break the wizard Falsehood’s rod, A Prophet of the Truth, whose mission draws Its rights from Heav’nl, should thus profane its cause “With the world’s vulgar pomps;-no, no,-I see “He thinks me weak-this glare of luxury “Is but to tempt, to try the eaglet gaze Of my young soul-shine on,‘twill stand the blaze!” While others waked, as gracefull y al ong Their feet kept time, the ve ry soul of song From psalt’ry, pipe, and lutems of heav’nly thrill, Or tlheir own youthful voices, lheav’iilier still. And now they come, now pass before his eye Forms such as Nature nmotulds, when she would vie With Fancy’s pencil, and give birth to things Lovely beyond its fairest picturings. Awhile they dance before him, then divide, Breaking, like rosy clouds at even-tide Around the rich pavilion of the sun,Till silently dispersing, one by one, Through many a path that from the chamber leads To gardens, terraces, and moonlight meads, Their distant laughter comes upon the wind, And but one trembling nymph remains behindBeck’ning them back in vain, for they are gone, And she is left in all that light alone; No veil to curtain o’er her beauteous brow, In its young bashfulness more beauteous now; But a light golden chain-work round her hair,* Such as the maids of YEzDt and SsnirAs wear, From which, on either side, gracefully hung A golden amulet in the Arab tonguie, Engraven o’er with somne immiiiiortal line From Holy Writ, or bard scarce less divine; While her left hand, as shrinkingly she stood, Hteld a small lute of gold and sandal-wood, Which, once or twice, she touch’d with hurried strain, Then took her trembling fingers off again. But when at length a timid glance she stole At AzIm, the sweet gravity of soul She saw through all his features calm’d her fear, And, like a half-tamed antelope, more near, Though shrinking still, she came;-then sat her dozen Upon a musntid’st edge, and, bolder grown, In the pathetic mode of ISFAIIAN~

Touch’d a preluding strain, and thus began: So thought the youth;-but, ev’n while he defied This witching scene, he felt its witch’ry glide Through ev’ry sense. The perfume breathing round, Like a pervading spirit;-the still sound Of falling waters, iulling as the song Of Indian bees at sunset, when they throng Around the fragrant NILICA, and deep Iii its blue blossoms hum themselves to sleep;* And music, too-dear music!

that can touch Bevond all else the soul that loves it muchNow heard far off, so far as but to seem Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream; All was too much for him, too full of bliss, The heart could nothing feel, that felt not this; Soften’d he sunk upon a couch, and gave His soul up to sweet thoughts, like wave on wave Succeeding in smooth seas, when storms are laid; Te thought of ZELICA, his own dear maid, And of the time when, full of blissful sighs, ‘‘They sat and look’d into each other’s eyes, Silent and happy-as if God had giv’n Nautght else worth looking at on this side heav’ii. There’s a bower of roses by BENDEMEZER’Sl stream, And the nightingale silngs round it all the day long; In the time of my childhood’twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird’s song. ‘Oh, mv loved mistress, thou, whose spirit still Is with me, round me, wander where I willIt is for thee, fer thee alone I seek The paths of glory; to light up thy cheek WVith warm approval-ili that gentle look, To read my praise, as in an angel’s book, Atid think all toils rewarded, when from thee ‘ I gain a smile worth immortality! blow shall I bear the moment, when restored ‘I’o that young heart where I alone am Lord, ‘IThough of such bliss uniworthy, sinice the best ~ Alone deserve to be the happiest:‘When from those lips, unbreathed upon for years, I shall again kiss off the soul-felt tears, – And find those tears warm as when last they started, ‘‘lThose sacred kisses pure as when we parted. tO my own life!why should a single day, A rin egent keep me from those arms away?” No, the roses so on wither’ d that hung o’er the wave, But some blossoms were gather’d, while freshly tlhe shone, And a dew was distilI’d from their flowers, that gave All the fragrance of summer when slmnmcier was gone. Thus memory draws from delight, er e it dies, An essence that breathes of it many a year; Thus bright to my soul, as’twas then to my eyes, Is that bower on the batiks of the calmi BE:NDE,IZEII! ” Poor maiden!” thought the youth, ” if thIou wert serg, With thy soft lut e andl beauty’s blvndishtlou ent, “To wake unholy wishes in this heart, “Or tempt its troth, thoti little know’st the art. “For though thy lip should sweetly COLunISCl wrong, “Those vestal eyes would disatvow its sonig. “But thou hast breathed sticlh purity, thy lay “Returns so fondly to youth’s virtuous day, “And leads thy soul-if e’er it wander’d thence”So gently back to its first innocence, “That I would sooner stop the uuchain’d dove, While thus he thinks, still nearer on the breeze Come those delicious, dream-like harmonies, Each note of which but adds new, downy links ‘[‘o the soft chain in which his spirit sinks. He turns him tow’rd the sound, and far away Through a long vista, sparkling with the play Of countless lamps,-like the rich track which Day Leaves on the waters, when he siniks from us, So long the path, its light so tremulous;He sees a group of female forms advance, Some chain’d together in the mazy dance By fetters, forged in the green sunny bow’rs, As they were captives to the King of Flow’rs;t And some disporting round, unlink’d and free, WVhio seem’d to mock their sisters’ slavery; And round and round them still, in wheeling flight Went, like gay moths about a lamp at night; A‘ On ofte t the iea-dresses of the Persian women comed of light golleni chain-work seit with small pearls with a thin gold pl,te peident about thie bigness of a crown-piece on whit h is impressed al Ara biati prayer and which hangs upon the heek blow the ear.”-Ha wayls Tiravels. ‘ Certainly the women of Yezd a,re t he ihandsomest women in Persia. The proverbl is that to live Ihappy a man must ae a wi of Yezd, eat the bread of Yzdeas, d drink te wine of Si rz.”-Tacrie. t Musnuds are cutshionted seats usually reserved tIr persons of distinction. ~ The Persians, like the ancient Greeks., call their musical modes or Perdas by tl,e lt names of,ittr,,t countries or cities,s tl mod)e, fl,-fa hah, tile mode of Irak, &c. 11 A river whic h flows near the ruins of Chilminer. M’ “y Pandits assure me that the plant before us (the Nilica) is their t’i ttu;-j X ”” b,, thus nmed because the bees are supposed to sleep on its bl..ascnk..” Sir If. Jerseys. ‘“‘hey dected it till the King of Flowers should ascend his thron e if ti.iaelled toliage. -‘he Blnhardanush. LALT,A ROOKH. 109 That bower and its music I never forgct, But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year, I think-is the nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calin BP.NDE-,IEE’t?

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(10 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. “Wheni swift returning to its home of love, ”’ And round its snowy wing new fetters twine, “Than turn fromn virtue one pure wish of thine!” By all that thou hast To mortals given, Which oh, could it last, This earth were heaven. Scarce had this feeling pass’d, when, sparkling through ‘[‘he gently opeii’d curtains of light blue ‘‘hat veil’d the breezy casement, countless eyes, P’ceping like stars through the blue evening skies, [.ook’d laughing in, as if to mock the paiWe I’lhat sat so still and me.lancholy there:Atid now the curtains fly apart, and in From the cool air,‘mid showers of jessamine Whlich those without fling after themn in play, Two lightsome maidens spring,-lightsorne as the Who live in thi’ air on odours,-and around The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground, Chase one another, in a varying dance Of mirth and languor, coyness and advanice, Too eloquentiy like love’s warm pursuit:While she, who sung so gently to the lute Hier dream of home, steals timidly away, Shrinking as violets do in summer’s ray,But takes with her from Azi.MI’s heart that sigh, We sometimes give to forms that pass us by In the world’s crowd, too lovely to remain, Creatures of light we never see again!

Impatient of a scene, whose lux’ries stole, Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, And where,‘midst all that the young heart loves most, Flow’rs, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost, The youth had started up, and turn’d away From the light nymphs, and their luxurious lay, To muse upon the pictures that hung round,-* Bright images, that spoke without a sound, And views, like vistas into fairy ground. But here again new spells came o’er his sense:All that the peincil’s mute omnipotence Could call up into life, of soft and fair, Of fond and passionate, was glowing there; Nor yet too warm, but touch’d with that fine art Which paints of pleasure but the purer part; Which knows ev’n Beauty when half-veil’d is best,Like her own radiant planet of the west, Whose orb when half-retired looks loveliest.i There hung the history of the Genii-King, Traced through each gay, voluptuous wandering With her from SABA’s bowers, in whose bright eyes He read that to be blest is to be wise:-t Here fond ZLILrIIKA Woos with open arms The Hebrew boy, who flies from her young charms, Yet, flying, turns to gaze, and, half undone, Wishes that Heav’n and she could both be won; And here MoIIAr.lzED, born for love and guile, Forgets the Koran in his MARY’S Smile;Then beckons some kind angel from above With a new text to consecrate their love.11 Around the white necks of the nymphs wli danced flung carcanets of orient gems, that glanced More brilliant than the sea-glass glitt’ring o’er Tie hills of crystal on the Caspian shore;W \hile from their long, dark tresses, in a fall ()1 cirls descending, bells as musical Ats those that, on the golden-shafted trees Of EDEN, shake in the eternal breeze,Ht ltititi round their steps, at ev’ry bound more sweet, As’twere th’ ecstatic language of their feet. At lettirtli the chase was o’er, and they stood wreath’d WVthii! each other’s arms; while soft there breathed IThrough the cool casement, ningled with the sighs (If moonlight flow’rs, music that seem’d to rise k’in some still lake, so liquidly it rose; A:i(l, a: it swell’d again at each faint close, T”ie ear couid track, through all that maze of chords tAd young sweet voices, these inl)assion’d words: With rapid step, yet pleased and ling’ring eye, Did the youth pass these pictured stories by, And hasten’d to a casement, where the light Of the caliii moon canme in, and freshly bright The fields without were seein, sleeping as still As if’ no life remain’d ill breeze or rill. Here paused lie, while the music, now less near, Breathed with a holier language on his ear, As though the distance, and that heav’nly ray Through which the sounds camne floating, took away All that had been too earthly in the lay. A SPlTJT there is, whose fragrant sigh Is burnin, inow through earth and air; 'hlt’,rc cheeks arc bluitlsing, the Spirit is nigh, \VlIere lips are mnceting, the Spirit is there! I lis breath is the soul of flow’rs like these, Alot i is floating ea-esioh! they resembleA : le was! ter-lilies,~ when the breeze is mnakin,g the stream around them tremble. ‘!,‘il to thee, Iiil to thee, kindling pow’r! sfpiiit of Love, Spirit of Bliss! ‘I’liT holiest titte is the moonlight hour, Altid there nwvar was moonlight so sweet as this. * It has bee: generally siuIppose.d that thle Mahlorm,etans prohibit all B te a an bpictures of at,imis: tit t louglI the practice is orliiiddevil by tlhe KJrt, r iy r no t figures sndil hoimages than t o r people. Frm NJ r.

AIirpi,y’s work, oo, we fliud that the Arabs of ~p iii ltad no 1 obj, oti L tilt in ttroductinJi EL’ figaues iCt painting;. t Ls is not quite astroonically true. ” Ir. fItdley (says Keil) has shown that Veus is brhotest we sh e is aijlt orty degrees re oved from the sun; and that ti.e but o. lz, ajo,rt pat of er licitd diskL is to be seen 1’o.tihe earth.”

the For thle lo es of King Solomoni (,a.o was snppo,d to preside ovir the whole race of Genii) wbith Bltki,s, tie Qee o Si a or Sa, see D’Herbdot, and the rates on tfhe, elw cha,p 2 “In the palace which Slon or ed to b il against t. e nrrital of the Que en of Sabla, the floor orpal e l p s (t trparentt gi las;, laidt over running ater, i whic hliseHre s wintiIn.”

This ledl the Queen into a very niatural mistake, which te Koran las not thought beneath its dignity to ommelrae. It s said to hr,‘Enter thle palace.’ And when she w it she imaginedl it to be a great er ad shIe dis covered her legs, Iby Ititing up her robe to pass tihrou,ghl it. Whiereupo Solomon said to her,’ Verily, this is the p!ate evenly floored with glass.’ “-Chlap. 27. i The wite of Potiphar, thus named by the Oriental,s.

The oassion which this frail beauty of n,tiqlty conceived for hei young Hebrew slave as giveng rise to a ucstevmed poem in thi Persian language, entited busfv Zei a, ty JVuretddin Jami; the manuscript copy of whiv, in tihe ul- 11e Library at Ox-trd, is supposed to be Ithe finest in the whole worl t.”-~‘ote upon XNott’s Trasrlation oj Haffz. b’Ihe particulars of Mslioet’s a,mour with Heary, the Coptic girl, ic !j tstification of w rhich he d(itlid a ew celpter to the Koran, rnay b A found in Aa,,icr’$.Notes upon.3b.,[feda, p. 151. By the first love-beat Of the youthful heart, *” To the north of its (on the coast of the Caspian, near Badku) was a m~oun~tainl, whith,}~arkledi like d’iamnonds, arising /Yore the se.-glass and crystals wilh wlich it aounds. ” Jotraey of thte ]Russian.mbassado to Pcr.ia, 1746. t “To Adhich wil’ be ad,ded the sound of the bells, hanging on the trees, which will ie pult in,o,tion by tile witty proceeding from the throne of (ol. a5. offi n al lie l,bi.s(ted w1is; fr musics, Irsif”-ae. Th bluel:; Vlutes’ i evye s resnble bliue water-dilies, agita ted by tihe br,eezc…”.ga…ai/ej ra. ~ She blue lotu1s. w!.ich crowts in Craslnme~e and inl Persia (lo THE MIRROR LIBRARY.

By the bliss to meet, And the pain to part; We call thee hither, entrancing Power! Spirit of Love! Spirit of Bliss! Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, And there never was moonlight so sweet as this. Oh! could he listei). to such souiids unmoved, And by that light-nor droain of her lie loved? B,; the fa’r and brave lvlio bitis-iiing unite, I,Ike the sun and wave, When they nieet at night; By the tear that shows . When passion is nigh, As the rain-drop flows Froni the lieat of the sky;

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Gazing on his-Iot, as they late had been, Quick, restless, wild, but moiurnfuilly serene; As if to lie, ev’n for that tranced minute, So near his heart, had conisolationi in it; And thus to wake in his beloved caress Took from her soul one half its wretchedness. But, when,lhe heard him call her good and pure, Oh,‘twas too niuch too dreadful to endtire. Shudd’ring she broke away from his embrace, And, hiding with both hands her guilty face, Said, ill a tone whose aniguiish would have riv’n A heart of very marble, ” Pure! oil Heav’n!” Dream on, unconscious boy! while yet thou mayst; Tis the last bliss thy soul shall ever taste. Clasp yet awhile her image to thy heart, Ere all the light, that made it dear, depart. Think of her smiles as when thou saw’st them last, Clear, beautiful, by naught of earth o’ercast; Recall her tears, to thee at parting giv’n, Pure as they weep, if angels weep, in Heav’n. ThiIk, in her own still bower she waits thee now, Wkithli the sanie glow of heart and bloom of brow, Yet shrined in solituide-thine all, thinc only, Like the one star above thee, bright and lonely. Oh! that a dreami so sweet, so long enjoy’d, Should be so saily, cruelly destroy’d! That tone-those looks so changed-the withliering blight, That sin and sorrow leave where’er th ey light; The dead despondency of those sunk eyes, Where once, had hie thu s m et h er by surpris e, He would have seen himself, too happy boy, Reflected in a thousand lights of joy; And then the place,that bright, unholy place, Where vice lay hid beneath each winning grace And charm of.lux’ry, as the viper weaves Its wily cov’ring of sweet balsam leaves,* All struck upon his heart, sudden and cold As death itself;-it needs not to be W’:dNo, no-he sees it all, plain as the brand Of burning shame can mark-whate’er the hand That could from Heav’n and him such brightness sever, ‘Tis done-to Heav’n and him she’s lost forever! It was a dreadful moment; not the tears, The ling’ring, lasting misery of years Could match that minute’s anguish-all the worst Of sorrow’s elements in that dark burst Broke o’er his soul, and, with one crash of fate, Laid the whole hopes of his life desolate. The song is hush’d, the lautghing nymphs are flown, And he is left, mlsintg of bliss, alone;Alone?-no, not alone-that heavy sigih, That sob of grit, wlilch broke fromt some one nigh’hiose could it be?-alps! is misery found fere, even here, on tIlis enchanted groul?d? Ho turns, and sees a fenale form, close veil’d, Leaning as if both heart and strength had fail’d, Against a pillar near;-iiot glitt’riiig o’er N itlh germs and wreaths, such as the others wore, Bitt in that deep)-blue, melancholy dress,* [fOKifA.A’S rmaiders wear in mindfulness Of friends or kiindredcl, dead or far away; And such as ZELICA had on that day tte left her- -he,i. with heart too full to speak, He took al ay her last warmn tears Lipoii his cheek. A strange emotion stirs within hill,-more fhian mere compassion ever waked before; Uttcontscioitslv he opes his arms, while she Springs forward, as with life’s last energy, lBut, swooning in that one convulsive bound, einks, ere she reach his arms, upon the ground;Hler vc-1 fulls off-her faint hands clasp his knees’Tis she hersellf-‘tis ZEI,ICA lie sees! But, ah, so jale, so clihanged-iione but a lover Cotild in that wreck of beauty’s shrine discover Thie once-adored divinity-v’n he Stiood for somie momniei ts niute, anid doubtingly Ptlt back the ringlets fi-on her brow, and gazed Upon those lids, where once such lustre blazed, Ere lie could thinkl she was indeed his own, Ow.-i darling mraitid, whom he so long had known In joy and sorrovw, beautiful in both; Vhlo, ev’n wheti griefwas heaviest-when loth He left her for the wars-in that worst hour Sat in htier sorrow like the sweet night-flow’r,t W%hen darkness brings its weeping glories out, And spreads its sighs like frankincense about. ” Oh! curse me not,” she cried, as wild he toss’d His desp’rate hand tow’rds Heav’n -” though I am lost ” Think not that guilt, that falsehood made me fall, ” No, Iio-‘twas grief,‘twas imiadness did it all! “Nay, doubt me not-though all thy love hath ceased-. “I know it hath-yet, yet believe, at least, “That every spark of reasoii’s light must be “Quench’d in this brain, ere I could stray from thee “They told me thou wert dead-why, AziM, why “Did we not, both of us, that instant die “When we were parted? oh! couldst thou but know “With what ade p de votedness of wo “I wept thy absenice ‘er and o’er again “Thinking of thee, still thce, till thought grew pain. “And memn’ry, like a drop that, night and day, “Falls cold and ceaseless, wore mrly heart away; “Didst thou but kilnsi how pale I sat at home, “My eyes still turii’d the way thou wert to come, ” And, all tihe long, lond night of h ope an d fear, ” Thy voice and step still sounding in my ear” Oh God! t!eon wouildst not wonder that, at last, “When every hope wias all at once o’ercast, “When I heard frightful voices round me say, “Azimli is d!e,!-this wretched brain gave way, “And I became a wreck, at random driven, “Without one fnlirnpse of re ason or of b t eav’ne “All wild-and even this ouenclhless love within “Tu-rni’d to fol,i fires to light hiie into si!“‘Thou pitiest rllc, I klnevtw hou wouldst that sky ” Hath nau(].,t benie(ath it half so lorn as I. “The fienid, who lured me hither-hist! come near, *Or thou too, those art lott, if he should hear”Told me such thiirngs-oh! with such dev’lish art, ‘As would have ruiin’d ev’n a holier heart”Of thee, and of that evecr-radiaiit sphere, “Where bless’d at lengrthii, if I but served him here, “I should forever live in thy dear sight, “And drink from those purei e)s eternal light. “Think, think how lost, how inadden’d I must be, “To hope that guilt couldi lead to God or thee! “Look up, my ZELICA-one nmoment show T.}ose gentle eyes to me, that I may know “TI’hy life, thy loveliness is not all gone, “But there, at least, shines as it ever shone. “Come, look upon thy AzINI one dear glF.: ce, “Like those of old, were heav’n!

whateve. chance “Hath brought thee here, oh,‘twas a blessed one! ”

Thsre-rmy loved lips-they move-that kiss lIath run ” Like the first shoot of life through every vein, And iiow I clasp her, mine, all mine agailn.

Oh the delighlt-now, in this very hopLr, When, had the whole rich world been in my pow’r, I shlould( have singled out thee, only thee, From the wiuole world’s collected treasury’T’o have thee here-to hanug thus fondly o’er “My own, tesht, purest ZELICA once more!” It was inde d the touch of those fond lips Lpon her eyes that chased their short eclipse, And, gradual is the snow, at Heaven’s breath, Mtelts off’ a nid siows the azu re flow’rs b eneath, lter lids unclosed, and the br’ight eyes were seen *‘Deep blue is their motring colour.”-Hanway. “Coneerunig the vipers, wtl,Iel Pliny says were frequent among tif t Thie torrowul,elyctaijti es, wineh begins to spread its rich odour after balsam-trees, I mde very prii, laer inquiry; several werebrougat me ,umsel ative both to Y,inbo anl Jidla.”-Bruce. LALLA ROOKH. III

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.2 T “Thou weep’st for me-do weep-oh, that I durst “Kiss off that tear!-but, no-these lips are curst, “They must not touch thee;-ne divine caress, “Onc blessed moment of forgetfulness I’ve had within those armns, and that shall lie “Shrinied in my soul’s deep mem’ry till I die; “The last of joy’s last relics here below, The one sweet drop, in all this waste of wo, My heart has treasured from afifction’s spring, “To sooth and cool its deadly withering! But thou-yes, thou must go-forever go; “This place is not for thee-for thee! oh no: Did I but tell thee half, thy tortured brain Would burni like mine, and mine go wild again! Enough, that Guilt reigns here-that hearts, once good, “N6w tainted, chill’d, and broken, are his food.“Enough, that we are parted-that there rolls “A flood of headlong fate between our souls, ” Vhose darkness severs me as wide from thee ‘ As hell from heav’n, to all eternity!” ” But I must hence -off, off, I am not thine, ” Nor Heav’n’s, nor Love’s, nor aught that is divine” Hold me not-ha! think’st thou the fiends that sever ” Hearts, cannot sunder hands?-thus, then forever!” With all that strength which madness lends the weak She flung away his arm; and with a shriek, Whose sound, though he should linger out more years Than wretch e’er told, can never leave his ears, Flew up through that long avenue of light, Fleetly as some dark, ominous bird of night, Across the suit, and soon was out off sight! LALLA ROOKII could think of nothing all day but the misery of these two young lovers. Her gayety was gone, and she looked pensively even upon FADLADFEN. She felt, too, without knowing why, a sort of uneasy pleasure in imagining that Azim must have been just such a youth as FERAMIORZ; just as worthy to enjoy all the blessinigs, without any of the pangs, of that illusive passion which too often, like the sunny apples of Istkahar, is all sweetness on one side, and all bitterness on the other. As they passed along a sequestered river after sunset, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the bank,t whose employment seemed to them so strange, that they stopped their palankeens to observe her. She had lighted a small lamp filled with oil of cocoa, and placing it in an earthen dish, adorned with a wreath of flowers, had committed it with a trembling hand to the stream; and was now anx. iously watching its progress down the current, heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. LALLA ROOKII was all curiosity;-wlihcn one of her at. tendants, who had lived upon the banks of the Ganges, (where this ceremony is so frequent that often, in the dusk of the evening, the river is seen glittering all over with lights like the Oton-Tala, or Sea of Stars,t) in. formed the Princess that it was the usual way in which the friends of those who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vows for their safe return. If the lamp sunk immediately, the omen was disastrous; but if it went shining down the stream, and continued to burn till en. tirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object was considered as certain. LALLA ROOKH, as they moved on, more than once looked back to observe how the young Hiiidoo’s lamp proceeded; and while she saw with pleasure that it was still unextinguislihed, she could not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better than that feeble light upon the river.‘I’he remainder of the journey was passed in silence. She now, for the first time, felt that shade of melancholy which comes over the youthful maiden’s heart, as sweet and transient as her own breath upon a mirror; nor was it till she heard the lute of FER.AMORZ touched lightly at the door of her pavilioni, that sihe waked from the revery in which she had been wald(eritig. Instantly her eyes were lighted up with pleasure; and after a few unheard remarks from FADLADEEN upon the indecorum of a poet seating h i mse lf i n the pres ence of a Princess, every thing was arranged as on the preceding evening, and all listened with eagerness while the story was thus continued:  ” ZELICA, ZELICA!”

the youth exclaim’d, Iin all the tortures of a mind inflamed Almost to madness ” by that sacred Heav’n, “Where yet, if pray’rs can move, thou’lt be forgiven, “As thiou art here-here, in this writhing heart, “All siiful, wit ld, and ruin’d as thou art! “By the remembrance of our once pure love, “Which, like a church-yard light, still burns above iThe grave of our lost souls which guilt in thee “Cannot extinguish, nor despair in me! I1 do conjure, implore thee to fly hence”If thou hast yet one spark of innocence, Fly with me from this place-” “‘With thee! oh bliss! ‘Tis worth wh ole years of t orment to hear th is. “W hat! take the lost one with thee?-let her rove “By thy dear side, as in those days of love, “When we were both so happy, both so pure?“‘Too heav’nIly dream! if there’s on earth a cure ]For the sunk heart,‘tis this-day after day ‘To be the blest compai;.on of thy way; “To hear thy angel eloquencec-to see ‘; Those virtuous eyes forever turn’d on me; ” And, in their light re-chaste.i’d silently, ” Like the stain’d web that whitens il the sun, ~Grow pure by being purely shione upon! ‘And thou wilt pray for me-I know thou wilt”At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt ‘Come heaviest o’er the heart, thou’lt lift thine eyes, -“Fall of sweet tears, unto the dark’ning,, skies, A A.d plead for ime with Ileav’n, till I can dare rTo fix my own weak, sinful glances there; ‘I’ill the good angels, ~vhen they see me cling IForever nieatr thee, pale and sorrowing, ‘Slall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiven, ~ Anti laid thee take thy weeping slave to Heav’n! Oh yes, I’ll fly with thee ” Scarce had she said ‘lieso breathless words, when a voice deep and dread As that of MONKER, waking up the dead lFroals their first sleep-so startling’twas to bothIRung through the casement near, “Thy oath! th, oath!” t)h Heav’n! the ghastliness of that Maid’s look!‘Tis he,,’ faintly she cried, while terror shook Hler iimost core, nor durst she lift her eyes, Tho)ugh through the casement, now, naught but the skies And inoollight fields were seen, calm as before’Tis he, and I am his-all, all is o’er Go-fly this instant, or thol’rt ruin’d too-H “My oath, my oath, oh God!‘tis all too true, “True as the worm in this cold heart it is”I am MOKAN.NA’s bride-his, AzIv., his  The Dead stood round us while I spoke that vow, “Their blue lips echo’d it-I hear them now! sTheir eyes glared on me while I pledged that bowl, “‘Twas burning blood-I feel it in my soul! ” And the Veil’d Bridegroom hist!

I’ve seen to-night ‘ What angels know no t of-so fotul a sight, ‘ So horrible-oh! never mayst thou see “What there lies hid from all but hell and me! * “In the territory of Istkliahr there is a kind of apple, half of wticb is sweet and mlnf sour.” Ebnr hta.lal. t For an account ot’ tis ceremony, see Grandpre’s Voyage in the di.n Ocean. “The plaice wthere the Wiarigho, a river of Th iubt, rises, and wham there sre or tha hdredt springs wthicih sp):trl like stars when e it is caled litu-nor, ti is, ithle (s of 7ttrs.”-l)c..cription of 7’iibel in Pinkerton. ~”’ The Lescir or Tmperial Cam is divifed, like a regular town, into squares alleys and.

streets, and lrom a ri,i”’ g rou n d f urOi.heso o f the W a emosto asgrhtaeeatle plrospects il thec w-orld. S(r1tirn iup il a tfiV hours in an un.inha.t”I (tl plaits, it ra;.es the idea ol al (i.y hil ty eiIctaitinenit. Eaten thor ie At neve emaa te ttleoir seeus e t il ciiats to.e f tii tl. t: P pr1i,Jce ill hi s progress are f,i’cuetl~aSo c,lkrmcd wit-l tl e l. sc;r when -lluaicd il a bcautifu; and ConvellicStt Dl;tce, tiat l. y calot p cxail W/i.il l.em.~e vei So rff 11 I I I 112 THE MIRROR

LIBRARY. Wiiosp, are the gilded tents that crowd the way Where all was waste and silent yesterday? This City of War which, in a few short hours, Hath sprung up here,~ as if the magic powers

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LALLA ROOKM. 11, Of Him who, iii the twinkling of a star, Buitt the high pillar’tl halls of CIIILMINAR,* Had co)njured uo,, far as,lie eye can see, Thi world, of t it, atil domes, and sun-bright armory: Prniel~iy Im,.iiis 1 scrccO’d by m:ny a fold Of cri::l:.0 ctlot, antl to(01’d w illi halls of gold Po w,wi tC lcou of rich silver spnin, ir cli,is a-nti poitrels,litt’ring in the sunO Anl camels ltufttd o’er with‘‘citeli’s shellsT, ~Sha,~kit,,- in eve,ry breeze their ligh,It-toned bells’ When round him,‘mid the burning sanids, he saw Fruits of the North in icy freshness thaw, And coovd his tthirsty lip, beneath the glow Of Men,CCA’s sun, with urns of Persian s’owu:t* Nor e’er did armam-ent more grand than that Pour fro fie kinigdoms of tile Caliphat. First, in the van, the People of the Rock,t On their light mountain steeds, of royal stock:t Thenci, chieftains of DAMA~scus, proud to see The flashing of their swords’ rich marquetry; ( Men, from the regionis near the VOLGA’S mouth, Alix’d with the rude, black archers of the South; And Indian lancers, in whiite-turban’d ranks, F’rom the fa-r SINDE]’, or A’rTOCK’S sacred banks, With dusky lcgioiis from the Land of Myrrh,ll And many a mace-arm’d Moor and Mid-sea islander Bot yester-Cve, so nmotionless around, So miute was tins wide plaoi, tl’ it not a sound Itil thlt f‘4r tl,rrelt, or the locust bhirdt !1tttut~Iing’Ilnm le 1ll’ thiiek(ets, could be heard io Yet hitrk!

witt ciscortls inow, of ev’ry kind,’ S!louts, laugihs, ani screamis, are revelling in the wind ‘lile neigh of e t – lry; the tinklinig throngs Of ladte caelincs and their drivers’ songs;nw R~iiiging of arms, and flapping in the I)reeze Of streamers fi’oi teii iliotifand canopies;R %‘ar-mutsc, bursttanf out frotmn time to time, WVith gong aid tymbal,ii’s tremeodons chimeuini Or, in the p.‘iu;e, when harsher souiids are mute, Tie mellow breathin,gs of some horn or flute, That far off, broken by the eagle note Of th’ Abyssiniaia trumpet,If swell and floata Nor less in nuaser, though more new and rude In warfare’s school, wa s the vast multitud e That, fired by zeal, or by oppression wrong’d, Round the white standard of tll’

impostor throng’&l Be side his thousands of l oelievers oblind, B3urning, and headlong as the Saminil wind  Many who felt, and more who fiar’d to feet Th e bloody Islaniste’ s cadnvertinrgh ste el, Flock’d to his banner; Chiefs, of th’ Uz13EK race, Waving their heron crests with miartial grace;~ TUR~KOMANS, countless as their flocks, led forth 1From thi‘‘arotmatic pastures of the North; Wild warriors of the turquoise hiills,-and those Who dwel-l b~ey,ond the ever-las,,ing snows Of ItIN’Imo Ko)st’,,,t in tormy freedom bred, iTheir fort the reekl, thieir camiip the torrent’s bed. But none, of all wh,Io own’dt the Chiief’s command, Rtish’d to that lal-ihlwith bolder hand, Or sterner hiate, tban I.-^AN’S ot’.tlaw’d men, tier Wor-stipp~lers of Fireitl’all panting then For vengieanice on tli’ accursed Saracen; Venigeanc.e at last fo)r their dear country spuirn’d, Her throne uisurp’d, and her bright shrines o’erturned From YEZD’s~~ eternial mansion of the Fire, Where aged s;iiiits in dreams of Hleav’n expire: From BAD)KT, and thios,e fountains of blue flame That burm into the CA.sPIAN,Ittl fierce they came, Careless for what or whom the blow was sped, So vengeance trluiumph’d, and their tyrants bled Who leads this mighty army?-ask ye ” who Fp And mark ye no,, those banners of dark hue, h’lie Night and Shadow,, over yonder tent?-W It is the CALIPI’s glorious armament. Roused in his Palace by the dread alarms, TIhat hourly came, of the false Prophet’s arms, And of his host of infidels, who hurl’d I)efiance fierce at Islami and the world,i Though worn withi Grecian warfare, and behind l’lie veils of its bright P’alace calm reclined, Yet brook’d I., no, sitlh blasphemy should stain, Ilihus’Inreve,.ged, the ev~ening of his reign; litt, having sworn upon the Holy GravetFta To conquer or to perish, once more gave His shadowy banners proudly to the breeze, And, with an army nursed in victories, fiere stauds to crush the rebels that o’er-run HIis blest and beauteous Province of the Sun. Ne’er (lid the mitarce of MAfiA Di display Such pomp before;-not ev’n when oil his wayd T, MIECCA’s Teniple, when both laud and seaT Were spoil’d to feed the Pilgrim’s luxury;It Such was the wild and miscellaneous host, That highi in air their mnotley banners toss’d Around ilhe Propliet-Ch,i’ef-all eyes still bent Upon that glitteriug Veil, where’er it went, That beacon through the battle’s stormy flood, That rainbow of lite field, whose showers were blood! Tov. Topreven,t thisincnenec to the, court, the Emperor, after, suffiien,t time,, is, allowed to the tresmento fottow, orders them to be burnt ou f their, tents.”JwsHnot Colonel W.ilks gives a lively picture of a. Eastern er n catp e n t seta, “Hi, camp, like ttint f In aies, ex’ibited a mottey aletio,n tf,covers fom the tcorchingand dewvs of tlhe nigtit, variegated dccrd bei nel Whie tstrea of tear in hiisd,noonti byle snperb suites of teits; ty ra gge clo~~~~~th e o laktsstetchd oestic-ks or bran,!elms pam-‘.sh,tily spr,‘a OiIIII},CI,lover timl’C~ind Onllarlil~l 15siy SoeupptorIa’tIsot hanso thats crimsolndi haeaps ,oa intermixed witbout aity ,cept t f l gs of tisaully p,,‘ti’k the c tt resof a onz~:ie of th~,,-e se s; tie only regular part ,)f the~~~~~~~ encamp”~n en~t~ s teel,o,sop, ecof whi,ch is con tdirly ini th,e fa booth a t a., English fair.’ istor cc’i 0ii bkeltchs ofthei tint o f ii~’ sIed.’-ieiah._.

ill,.‘hg liii el of sitapor and Balbec are (unpprsd to snv) been huiy e~i},a tingunder the orders ( who bvelon e t!e ld h p ile the ri,,, of Zoosr anAdw ae. t*” A;‘p,‘l ae or aeteitd withs and tu ft salel A of.,,~~~~d allured soutI…..d l,y means oftl….e at(,g;1i,ta 5 0et li 1111en Shirat an Iatehar, ca]wdll ed tie Forandh of Bt sir,o ,f’l it,itisofrdta it w’il f(i~l ow whrvrthat water i carried. ‘:. Some of ~he camelshv be.lls abo,ut the~ir necks, and’ some about l1,..lgs, like, thsez whih or caresput about the~ir fr-oss nk, whice itoge ther itly ervant.

(,,h belong to the camels, ,:1insis of g lit siiered’,tiinging night.i men a pleasant noise, andh j~ne asses awy de4”gl, tfi’!y.” Pitt’s Accoun~t of tle Mahometans.. “Thecaml-drver,’%1owsthe cael,inging. and sometimes plain pon h~~~~~~is ie h idr}es~sad pipes, th~e fas.ter the camelsgo N,v hywill stand still wh en he i.e ovr}iusic.”Tavernier. !I’ Tiff trupet s ofen cll,, mAbyss~in,ia, ne cane, wh~ich sig ri N.est!e ot,!f tle B.,al.”.N,te~ rc’s Editor. ?. l~etwobl~ck tanard bone ~etrethe, Caliph., of the House of Abba,s,,ere ca,lled, allegoricalIly, Th. Night and The Stadow. Sce ** “T;e I’,,r,ansswa by the, Tomb of Shahl Bes,ade, who is buriedt at Casbin: and w!,,: on,eirsaother, to assvrt a mtter, he,,,ill ask h i, if} dte sway the Itoly ae.-Sr. ii.5 gamt,:.in a sigepilgrim.age to Meecca, expended si millions of bo ftts * i Metcam apportavit, rem ibi aut n,uquam act raro visam. i’ Th einhabif~tan’ts o lejaz or Arabia Petrma, called by an Eastern reappose writer, “The’((ple ofitie Roek.” Fb Haukal. Ii I an “TnoJe wmreo callerd +hy the Ara,bians Kahalmn, of whom a wr i in gnaloy Ines been kept far,,000 yea.,.’]‘hey are said to derive th i.oiinfo Kin ~g 8olom, n sseds.” .Nieb,hr. o “M liy ot tihe figures n the lisdes of their swovits are wrought in i odor sile, or n mrque,try with -mall gems.” dtsiat. M-lisc. v. i. ~ i of the Uzhek Tarta rs wear a plnme of white heron’s Ntmount of indKea ir teyindou ‘. t urquo ise..-b~Iakal.

‘r r ail descngription of these stupendous ranges of mountains, see El.hiso’s Canbid. +ea y deP rmts o r Gu e bresb, those original natives of Persia who adher,,, to ti-.eir aninttith, the religion of Zoroaster, Dnd who, after t]3q contuest of theCoer iir Icaiotry by the Arabs, were either persei uted at home. or fi,rced] to b~ecome wanDderers abroad. ~~"~ezd, t:ef h idef reidte th icient natives, who worship ehCaliphs of the Fire.

wotilch latter they have carefully kept lighted, y ight ain The eti)hd for a oextnt, about 3000 years, on a muan er~z ca,Illed Aiti Qn,edah, signiifyiitg the House or Man Pthe ire. tie is rcikonedi very unftortunate who dies off that I When,, t}.e, wea-ris Liay. the sings of Naphtita (on an island nc[Bk),boil up thebihe. n the, Na!tha often takes fire on the s n racao,ttoe e,u e:th, anti r us lina ilante itt o the sea to a ilistance ahtost ir. aan te,e at Balu. 2 f i i I i I I I I LALLA ROOKU. I if

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114 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. By which the prostrate Caravan is awed,* In the red Desert, when the wind’s abroad. “On, Swords of God!” the panting CALIPH calls,“Thrones for the livinig-Heav’n for him who falls!” On, brave avengers, on,” MOKA.NNA cries, And EBLIS blast the recreant slave that flies!” Now comes the brunt, the crisis of the dayThey clash-they strive-the CALIPr’S troops give way MIOKAN.NA’S self plucks the black Banner down, And now the Orient World’s Imperial crown Is just within his grasp-when, hark, that shout! Some hand hath check’d the flying Moslem’s rout, And now they turn, they rally-at their head A warrior, (like those angel youths who led, In glorious panoply of Heav’n’s own mail, The Champions of the Faith through BEDER’S valet., Bold as if gifted with ten thousand lives, Turns on the fierce pursuers’ blades, and drives At once the multitudinous torrent backWVhile hope and courage kindle in his track; And, at each step, his bloody falchion makes Terrible vistas through which vict’ry breaks! In vain MIOKANNA,‘midst the general flight, Stands, like the red moon, on some stormy night, Anmong the fugitive clouds that, hurrying by, Leave only her unshaken in the skyIn vain he yells his desp’rate curses out, Deals death promiscuously to all about, To foes that charge and coward friends that fly, And seems of all the Great Arch-enemy.

The panic spreads-” A miracle!” throughout The Moslem ranks, “a miracle!”

they shout, All gazing on that youth, whose coming seems A. light, a glory, such as breaks in dreams; And ev’ry sword, true as o’er billows dim Ihe needle tracks the load-star, following him! O ne sole desire, one passion now remains To keep life’s fever still within his veins, Vengleance! dice vengeance on the wretch who cast O’er him and all he loved the ruinous blast. For this, when rumours reach’d him in his flight Far, far away, after that fatal night,Rumours of arm-nies, thronging to th’ attack Of the Veil’d Chief,-for this he wing’d him back, Fleet as the vulture speeds to flags unfurl’d, And, when all hope seem’d desp’rate, wildly hurl’d Himself into the scale, and saved a world. For this he still lives on, careless of all The wreaths that Glory on his path lets fall; For this alone exists-like lightning fire, To speed one bolt of vengeance, and expire! Right tow’rds MIOKANXNA now he cleaves his path, lnipatient cleaves, as though the bolt of wrath He bears frotii.Heav’n withheld its awful burst From weaker heads, and souls but half-way curst, To break o’er Him, the mightiest and the worst! But vain his speed-though, in that hour of blood, Hlad all God’s seraphs round MOKANNA stood, With swords of fire, ready like fate to fall, MOKANNA’s soul would have defied them all; Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too strong For human force, hurries ev’n him along: In vain hlie struggled’mnid the wedged array Of flyingf thousand-he is borne away; And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows, In this forced flight, is murd’ring as he goes! As a grini tiger, whom the torrent’s might Surprises in some parch’d ravine at night, Turns, ev’n in drowning, on the wretched flocks, Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks, And, to the last, devouring on his way, Bloodies the stream he hath not power to stay. But safe as yet that Spirit of Evil lives; With a small band of desp’rate fugitives, Trhle last sole stubborn tfagmenit, left unriv’n, Of the proud hcst that late stood fronting Heav’n, He gain’d MT.:,oi breathed a short curse of blood O’er his lost throne thlien pass’d the JIHON’s flood,t And gathi’ring all whose madness of belief Still saw a Saviour in their down-fall’n Chief, Raised the whiitt banner within NEKSHEB’S gates,; And there, untanned, th’ approaching conq’ror waits. Of all his Itareiii, all that busy hive With music and with sweets sparkling alive, He took but one, the partner of his flight, One-not for love-not for her beauty’s lightNo, ZFI.ICA stood with’ring’midst the gay, Wan as the blossom that fell yesterday From th’ Alma trec and dies, while overhead Tro-day’s young flow’r is springing in its stead.~ Oh, not for love-the deepest Damn’d must be Touch’d with lheaven’s glory, ere such fiends as he Can feel one glimpse of Love’s divinity. But no, she is ls victim; th ere lie all Her charms for i in cl’arms that can never pas, As long as hell within his heart can stir, Or one faint trace of Heaven is left in her. To work an angel’s ruin,-to behold As white a page as Virtue e’er unroll’d Btacken, beneath his touch, into a scroll Of damning sins, seaI’d with a burning soulThis is his triumph; this the joy accurst, That ranks him amtiong demons all but first: “Alla illa Alla!”-the glad shout renew Alla Akbar!“t-the Caliph’s in MEItoU. Hang out your gilded tapestry in the streets, And light your shrines and clhaint your ziraleets.~ The Swords of God have triumph’d-on his throne Your Caliph sits, and the veil’d Chief hath flown. Who does not envy that young warrior now, ro whom the Lord of Islam bends his brow, In all the graceful gratitude of power, For his throne’s safety in that perilous hour? Who doth not wonder, when, amidst th’ acclaim Of thousands heralding to heaven his name * Sarary says of the south wind, which blows in Egypt from Februm7 to May, “Sometimes it appears only in the shape of aii impetuous whirlwind, which passes rapidly, and is fatal to the traIveller, surprised in the middle of the deserts. Torrents of burning sand roll before it, the firmament is enveloped in a thick veil, and the sun appears of the colour of blood.

Sometimes whole caravans are buried in it.” t In the great victory gained by Mahonaed at Beder, lae was assisted, , the Mussulmans, by three thiousand angels, led by Gabriel, imoul nte on his horse lliizum.-See The Koran and its Commentators. The Tecsir, or cry of tlhe Arabs. ” Alia Akbair’” says Ockley, means, ” God is most mighty.”. ~ The ziraleet is a kind ofi chorus, which th.e women of the East sing 4on joyful occasions.

tsscl. *‘I’he Dead Seat, which con.tain,s neither animal nor vegetable life. .The ancient Ox,,s. I A city oTransoxiana ” You lever ca ca, st your eyes on this tree, but you meet there either Gblossomn. or Quit; and a.s the blossom drops, underneath on the groulnd (which 1 is fliiutltly eoust, w ith these purple-coloored flow.re ) othen collme lbrthl il ti~i, t.aI ”

&c. &c.-Ad’uho,T. 11 I I i 114 TFIE MIRROR LIBRARY. ‘Mid all those holier harmonies of fame, Which sound along the path of virtuous souls, Like music round a planet as it rolls He turns away-coldly, as if some loom Hung o’er his heart no triumphs can illume Some sightless grief, upon whose blasted gaze Though glory’s light may plav, in vain it play& Yes, wretched AziAi! thine i such a grief, Beyond all hope, all terror, all relief; A dark, cold calm, which nothing now can break, Or warm or brighten,-like that Syrian Lake,* Upon whose surface morn and summer shed Their smiles in vain, for fill beneath is dead!Hearts there have been o’er which this weight of wo Cari-ie by Iiii, use of suff’ring, tame and slow; But thine, lost youth! was sudden-over thee It broke, at )nce, when all seem’d ecstasy; When [-Ioie look’,] til), and saw the gloomy Past llelt iiito spleii(lour, and Bliss dawn at last ‘Tw;is tl)en, ev’ii then, o’er joys so freshly blown, This i-ilortal billet of misery came down; ;n tll(,n, the full warm gushings of t4y heart Were cli(!cli’d-like fount drops, frozen as they stard.And there-, like them, cold, sunless relies hang. Each fix’d and c[ililld into a lasting pang. i i

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Instant from all who saw th’ illusive sign O A murmur broke-” Mi racul ous! divine!” rhe Gheber bow’d, thinking his idol star Had waked, and burst impatient through the bar I Of midnight, to inflame him to the war; W ~Vhile he of MoUssA’s creed saw, in that ray, I The glorious Light which, in his freedom’s day, Had rested on the Ark,* and now again ‘

Shoine out to bless the breaking of his chain. this gives the victim, that before him lies Blighted and lost, a glory in his eyes, A light like that with which hell-fire illumines I’lie ghlastly, writhing wretch whom it consumes! P,lt other tasks now wait him-tasks that need All tile deep daringuess of tlough,t and deed W itli which tlhe Dives* have gifted him-for mark, t)ver yow plains, which night had else made dark, l’hose lanterns, countless as the winged lights li’hzt spangle INDIA’s fields on show’ry nights,-t Far,s their formidable gleams they slied, ‘c iiilhtv tents of the beleigiterer spread, ’” ring alonig tli’ horizon’s dusky line, ,:l tlelce in nearer circles, till they shine ‘lti;, the fotunts and groves, o er which the town ..!1 it s a: iii’d ill gilificence looks down.

~’#.I,, i-less, from his lofty battlements ;1 .\NNA \views thait multitude of tents; i t niles to think that, though entol’d, beset, “;,,t less than myriads dare to front himn yet;‘i”litt friendless, throneless, he thus stands at bay, . thus a match for myriads such as they. i’h l)r a sweep of that dark Angel’s wing, “I,,,) brntsh’d the thousands of th’

Assyrian Kingt I,, darknkess in a Itoment, that I might ~’.t,le Hell’s chambers with yon host to-night! ~, come what may, let who will grasp the throne, Q t:ih or Prophet, Man alike shall groan; l,ct who will torture him, Priest-Caliph-King I A’ke this loathsome world of his shall ring \N’tit victims’ shrieks and howlings of the slave, u:ownds that shall glad me ev’ni within my grave’!” T’~lus, to himself-but to the scanty train kt i’ left around him, a far different strain: ‘lorious Defenders of the sacred Crown I bear from Heav’n, whose light nor blood shall (I o’A m “N,ir shadow of earth eclipse;-before whose ger.I,. ‘ The paly pomp of this world’s diadems,, ‘Xte crown of GERASHID, the pillar’d throne Ot PAitviz, and the heron crest that shone,U ‘MIagnificent o’er ALI’S beauteous eyes,~ Fade like the stars when morn is in the skies: “\Varriors, rejoice-the port to which we’ve pass’a o’er Destiny’s dark wave, beams out at last! Vict’rv’s our own-‘tis written in that Book *’

Upon whose leaves none but the angels look, ~I’Iiat IsLAM’s sceptre shall beneath the power O(); her great foe fall broken in that hour, \t hen the noon’s mighty orb, before all eyes, Ftrcai NEKSIIEB’s Holy Well portentously shad rise! ‘ Nowv turn and see”! – ” To victory!” is at o nce the c ry of all Nor sta nds MOKANNA loit’rifo g at that call; BItt inist(ant the huge gates are flung aside, And forth, like a diminutive mountain-tide Into the boundless sea, the y speed their course Right on into th e Mosle m’s mi ghty forc e. T hle watchmen of th e camp, -who, in their rounds lt ad paused, a nd even forgot’ the punctual sounds Of the small drum with which they count the nigh, To gaze upon that supernatural light, Now sink beneath an unexpected arm, Aind in a death-grOan give their last alarm ‘On for the lamps, that light yon lofty scren,; “Nor blunt your blades with massacre so mean; “T/terc rests the Caliph-speed-one lucky lance. “May now achieve mnankind’s deliverance.’’

l)esp’rate the die-such as they only cast, WVho venture for a world- 2nd stake their last. But Fate’s no longer with him-blade for blade Springs up to meet thiem through the glimm’ring,.,,d, l And, as the clash is heard, new legions soon lPour tw the spot, like bees of KAUZEROON~ rI’,o tte snri!! timbrel’s summons,till, at length, ] 7’hT, mighty camp swarms out in all its strength. I1 An I back to NFKSHEB’S gates, covering the plain With random slaughter, drives the adventurou train; Among the last of whom the Silver Veil Is seen glitt’ring at times, like the white Hail O Of some toss’d vessel, on a stormy night, Catching the tempest’s momentary light! And hath not this brought the proud spirit low? Nor dash’d his brow, nor check’d his daring? No Though half the wretches, whom at night he led To thrones and vict’ry, lie disgraced and dead, Yet norning h m ears him, with unshrinking crest, Still vaunt of thrones, and vict’ry to the rest;And they believe him!-oh, the lover may Distrnst that look which steals his soul away;The babe may cease to think that it can play With Heaven’s rainbow;-alchymists may doubt The shining gold their crucible gives out; But Faith, fanatic Faith, once w%edded fast To some dear falsehood, hugs it to the last. They turn’d, and, as he A s,tdden splendour all around them broke, .,‘id they beheld an orb, ample and bright, ‘,ise fromn tile Holy Well,”’ End cast its light it);trd the rich city and the plain for miles,-tt F’lingring such radiance o’er the gilded tiles ( mariny a dome, and fair-roof’d imaret, As autumn suns shled round them when they set. And well th’ Impostor knew all lures and arts That LUCIFER e’er taught to tangle hearts; Nor,‘mid these last bold workings of his plot Against men’s souls, is ZELICA forgot. Ill-fated ZELICA! had reason been Awake, through half the horrors thou hast seen, Thou never couldst have borne it-Death had come At once, and taken thy wrung spirit home. But’twas not so- a torpor, a suspense Of thought, almost of life, came o’er the intense And passionate struggles of that fearful night, When her last hope of peace and heav’n took flight: And though, at times, a gleam of phrensy broke,As through some dull volcano’s vale of smoke Ominous flashings now and then will start, T Ie Demons of the Persian mythology. arreri mentions thie fire-flie in India during the rainy season. B-See .lis TravelsO : Sernaclerib, called by the Orientals King of Moussal.D’Herbel ot. ~ tilosooes. For the description oft his Throne or Palace, see Gibbon as! D‘1)Hebelot. T ere were said to be under this Throne or Palace of Khlosrou Parviz a buldrd vaults filled ovitt “treasures so immeese that some Mahometa ritrs tell,us their Propitet to encourage his disciples carried them to a r.k wiich at his command opened and gave then aprospect tlrough ~t or the treasures of Kihosrou.”

Universal History. i{ “The crowa of Gerasiid is cloudy and tarnished before the heron tutt ofthly turban. From one of the elegies or songs in praise of Al, riten in characters of gol round the gallery of Abbas’s tomi See (:/‘tardlin. T le beauty of Ai’s eyes was so remarkable that whenever the Per,,.I oould describe an y thing as very lovely, they say it is Ayn Hall, or l e Ey-,s of Ali.Chardin. am ” e are not told..re of this trick of the Impostor, than that it was “une machine, qu’il disoit 6tre la Lune.” According to Richardson., the :miracle i. perpetuated in Nekscheb.” Nakshlab the name of a city in Transoxiana. where they say there is a well in which the appea rance of t;.e n,.,n is t- he seen night,and day.” t? “11 areusa pendant deux mlois le peuple de la ville de Nekhscheb, en bisanlt soytit toutes ies n,uits du fond d’un puits.n corps lumine, x sent*’.ile X a e. qui porto:t so lumie’e jusqt’k la distance de plisirurs mills.“D’ferbeot. Hence he as called azendehma, or the Moonm,aker. *The Shechinah, called Saklnat in the Koran.-See Sale’’ JVot6 chap. ii. r rThe parts of the night are made known as well by instruments of msiC, as by the rounds of the watchmen with cries and small dru.ms.-See Bu,rde,‘s Oriental Custgos, vol. i. p. 119. t The Serrapurda, high screens of red cloth, stiffened with t:te, used to enclose a considerable space round the royal tents. -o:.. n th Bahardanush. The tents of princes are generally illuminated. Nttrden.tet- un that the tent of the Bey of Girge was distinguished from tie other tents lsy firty lanterns being sittpetded before it.-See Harier’s Observationu on J.I” r. I h~ “From the groves of orange-trees at K.uzeroon tile bees rt:11 a cl !-‘.rated honey.” orier’, Travd, LALLA ROOKH. 115 spoke,

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Which sh: w the fire’s still busy at its heart; Yet was she mostly wrapp’d in solemn gloom,Not stv-h as Azim’s, broodin-g o’er its doom, And calm without, as is the brow of death, While busy worms are gnawing underneath-n But in a blank and pulseless torpor, free From thought or pain, a seal’d-up apathy, Which left her oft, wit-6 scarce one living thrill TIhe cold, pale victim of her tort’rer’s will. At festivals of fire, were sent aloft Into the air, with blazing fatgots tied To their huge wings, scatt’ring combustion wide All night the groans of wretches who expire, In agony, beneath these darts of fire, Ring through the city w~hile, decscenidinig o’er Its shrines and dourues and streets of sycamore,Its lone bazars, wit!i their brig,ht cloths of gold, Since the last pwacsfel pageant left u jtso]‘d,Its beauteous marble baths, whose idl~e jets Now gush with bloo~d, aid its tall minare,,ts, That late have stood up in the evening glare Of the red sun, uinhallow’d by a prayer; O’er each, ini turn, the dreadful flamt~ie-Ibolts fall, And death alid coniflagratoion through,Iout all Th’le desola~te city hold hl,igh fe;,4tival ~ Again, as in Madou, be had her deck’d Gorgeounly out, the Priestess of the sect; And led her glitt’ring forth before the eyesO Of his rude train, as to a sacrifice,  Pallid as she, the young, devoted Bride Of the fierce NILE, when deck’d in all the pride Of nuptial pomp,,he sinks into his tide.* And while the wretched maid hurg down her head, And stood, as on.e just risen from the dead, Amid that g,azinig crowd, the fiend would tell His credulous slaves it was seme charm or spell Possess’d hera now,-and from that darken’d trance Should dawn ere long their Faith’s deliverance. Or if, at times, goaded by guilty shiam-e, Her soul was roused, and words of wildness came, Instant the bold blasphemer would translate Her ravings into oracles of fate, Would hail Heav’n’s signals in her flashing eyes, And call her shrieks the language of the skies! H

MOKANNA sees the world is his n-o more; One sting at parting, aind ]~if.

firasp) is o’er. AWhat!-droolinii now? t” tius, with unblushing cheek He hiails the few, who ye,t can hear hiii,:peak, Of all those fam-iishi’d slaves arounird hiim, lyinig, And by the ligh~t of b’aizi,gi, tempj~les dyling;” What!-drooping n owu’now, wsieii at length we press ” Home chsvery thresho ld of s u ccesst “When ALLA ft(om otir ranks t.::ttii tllinn’d away “Those gross,,er branche~s, thak-t k(tlpt ouit his ray “Of favotir from- us~, and we s~tanid at length “Heirs of his light atnd children of hiis strength, “The chosen few, who shiall survive the fall “Of Kings and Thirones, triumiiphant over all! “tave you then lost, weak muI~rnm’rers as you are, “All faith in him, who was yea,r Light, your Star? “Have you forgot the eye of glory, hiid “Beneath this Veil, tile flashing of whose lid “Could, like a sun-strolke of tlie, desert, wither “Millions of such as yonder Chief brinigs hither? “Long have its lightnings slep~t too long-but now “All earth shiall feel th’ unveiling of this brow! “To-fnight yes, sainted meni! this very night “I bid you all to a fair festal rite, “Where-having deep refi’esli’d each weary l~inm “With viands, such as feast Ilcaven’s cherubim, “Arid kitidled up yo)ur souls, now sunik and dim, N”tlit that puire wiine the Dark-eyed Maids above “Ke~ep, scal’d with precious mu.-:k, for those they love,* . “I will mhyself unieurtain in your sighit “The( wenders of this brow’s ineffable light; “Then lead you forth, and with a wiiik disperse “Yoiinimyriad:%,i howling,, through the universe!” But vain at length his arts-despair is seen Gath’riug around; and famine comes to glean All that tie sword had left uureap’d:-in vain At morn and eve across the northern plain He looks impatient for the promised spears Of the wild hordes and TAPTAlt mountaineers; Thev come not-while his fierce beleaguerers pour Engines of liavoc in, unknown before,t And horrible as new;:-javeliis, that fly Enwrcath’d with smoky flames thirugh the dark sky, And red-hot globes, that, opening as they mount, Discharge, as from a kindled Naphtha fount,Wf Showers of consuming- fire o’er all belowi [,ooking, as throougl th’ illunmined night they go, Like those wild birds’! that by the Muaians oft, *” A customc still subsisting at ti aeayp, se t pe ms those they poveta ,he Egyptians formerly saeribeco a youni virgin to tie God of ttie Iile; to ihy now make a otatue o f earth ii.lipe of a girs o tis browy ine tile nae of the Betrot,ed lt,row it,to hei, t That they knew the secret of ti GrIeek firo n among twe disps early in tile eleveith rea n i at i ury,appears myrd owln toug t universe I. “Whe,n hec a r iet oum.findi~ l I-at the cutyo teJt was dfended by great river he ordered fitteen hundre d boats to be b u i t e hof wn h~ lirmed with siix iron spike, por.- ig,.o iheir prous and sides, to preveint their being bopi y tle t en-ey who w,ervey expert in that kind of wa.-. WVi~, henbhdiacbdbi ot, h orderedI twenty acbhe ew into theich boat, afts;itio flrme bafls,to btie tiig craiit of the Jith, nd npohuthi ances to the lhtle r~~~~~~iae n t firpe.”

Tag,ee a steo, toi, in Indian potims- the Cnstruief re-ehor in, waoice fiam finopt ge etiengrauias lonu bfr ppoffendl to mignic y tha bids herlk Freie. osei dfik’ South eryndi, uope int. 4byl.,Aml itm ne bathiths e hJv, o, glhe Bratoug m na geiiie noie C eplist by Sto Sth esi ho in f,ames hadlltry st ava, we find, ” I I, a i Bd at the art of 8o6tw the s!;arp-pointcd ~/epn ofFr. he meat ie a luderosrin ho l a hondr a u, lg tl Arabi ans, long f ea fbo i bppyosea diocomb tery in Earopt,e,s hintrouced by ten fire, Egyptian gaon 1the thirteenth century. ofodic. The “. sY.

aty” te by o rpions, bo und round aI-d din sed wittid;it-, o.de,, glide I,..” i.le soe; pae etc loo’o, ad f wtuny ghen as itwr,d bu.rn,. Bt ~thrae other s Whrt, c.st in-to the, an e.,,‘b..,ad tow which,,,,d.tpl tae siee ofg ^ ucunt of the ypar f in the yerdart of whic,ie Aled cilbe, by sea sa f ao Jobustibla matt,e r, wi th a ighsty t orw edddi er ly emittrd, strikes wit the force of lightning, and pk e ctadel.5 a-maethe xtracts from i Bi blith. Arab. Hispoug. i the Appmdidi. to Bertnfton’s3 Li,terary History of the MideAges. Th Gre k fir,, be.i w hhas nowviy o eit d the longrshou the ilda alhies. “Itwa.sasGbo,“ihrauheinrdotalso -to,,, and iron. or dar,t,,, in arrow,s, ad jvln.twistedronwihfa and to,, which t d dce ply inr ithe d th e ind flolwe f il.” ~ See Hanway,‘s Accoun~t of the Springs of Nttp!.tl,,a at Baku (wh~ich Is, called by Lieuten,an~t Po,ttin.er Joala, MoTokee. or, theFlmn Mouth) taki~ng fire andt running in’-to the sea. Dr. C.oke,, in hisi Journal, mentions om well., in Circasiia stogly im~pregna,ted with, this in,,ta able oil, from which iseboinwae.‘Though~ the wecather,” he adds, ” was, now very coId, thewrt of these weIls of hot water produced near them the vedu,re and flowers of spr.ng.” Majir ~%ott a ays that naphth a is u(t by th, as e are told i t was in hT!el. tos l ar s. Eag,er they listen-while each accent darts iNew life into thleir chlll’d and hlope-sick hearts; aShiteli treacli’ronis life as the cool draught supplies t poe lm upon the stake, who drinks and dies Wil,_i1y the(y point their lances to the light 0n1, lie fast siuking sun, and shout ” To-night!” “T-irt” their Chief re-echioes in a voice Of fiendS-like mockery that bids hiell rejoice. Deliuded victims! never hath this earth Seen miouirningi half so mournful as their mirth. H’,.to tile:.-‘w, whio:~ ironi frames had stood Tis’ackitat{ waste of famrine and of blood, vFaaint, dy’irig wretches ciung, from whom the shout Of triumph like a maniac’s laugli broke out: T’here, others, lighted by the smould’iring fire, Danced, like wani ghiosts about a funeral pyre, Alnong the dead and dyinig, strew’d arountd; While some pale wretchi look’d on, and from his wo!und Plucking the fiery dart by which lie bled. In ghastly transport waved it o’er his hecad! ‘Twas more than midnight niow a fearfuil paus~e Ilad follow’d the long shouts, t he wild applause, That lately from t,hose Roya~l (ilardens h~urst, W”here the Veil’d detiion held his feast accurst, m and b ird.s, wiich being thie let tih,,si., le air aipte artd aippereid nr, great illumination, aud as thece. teillied sinially fled(l t,, the awoods for shelter. it is -asy to ci,,Ccixe i;: efli,:’:ai-ous they pro I * *‘The righi.-  si~tlie r’ise I,o iritk.’ pure -iii,is, s,-ah-d: lb !] “At the great festival of fire, attd i Si i,,y lice it dot ,.e to targe b’ne e f ]y eor;:i-,ltil~s.,.’. l roi:id ild L5v a – i. i 11(i …...... ma.y a r.,,, ori”t““y ],,.p.,..d bla..g t,d W t I tj .phtl,.,.d a,,p,,,Itu. yill’.g lig,,t A. ro.,. ky.

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– ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When Zelica-alas, poor riin’d heart, In ev’ry horror doom’d to bear its part!W&L oidden to the banquet by a slave, W11ho, while his quiv’ring lip the summons gave, Grew black, as though the shadows of the grave CoIapass’d hint round, and, ere he could repeat His ities.sage through. fell lifeless at her feet! Shuddlering she weit-a soul-felt pang of fear, A presage that her own dark doom was near, lRoused ev’rv feeling, atid brought Reason bacO Oiice more to writhe her last upon the rack. All rotiod scil’di traIquil-cv’n the foe had ceased, \As it aware of that demoniac featet, Htis fiery bolts, and thoughl the heav’nis look’d red, ‘‘w as I5bit soime (distant conflagrationl’s spread. l!Lt Itisrk-she sto)s-t he listens-dreadful tone! ‘is hIe!‘I’orrtetor’i s lau,gh-and now, a groan, .A loi2 d atl -groan con(s with it:-can this be ‘l’ie Ili ce of mirth, the bower of revelry? Sl:c enteis-Holy ALL., what a sig,ht s there befo!‘e her! By the glimmn’ring light t)f th1 pale dawn, mixx’d with the flare of brands ‘ltiat r)ound iy burnintn,, drcpp’d from lifeless hands, S-he saw the board( iti splendid mockery spread, Rich censer.s breatliiig-;garlai,ds overhead’Flie uri;s, the cuprs, fron wiichi they late had q(uaff’d, All told anid geii,s. but-what had been the draught? Oh w ho need ask, that saw those livid guests, \ ith tt’cir swoll n heads siiiik black’ining on their breasts, Or looi.ing pale to Hleav’ii with glassy glare, As if t!eiy solghlit but stw no mercy there; As if they felt, thougli poison rack’d them through, i’,el1orsc {t;e deadlier tor,,letit of the tw?o! t ohile 0 the brav,est, hardiest in the train ‘)i hei false Clhief, who on the battle-plain \ oldi have itet death with transport by his side, I i.r u e and helpl)ess gasp’d;-but, as they died, (. horrible vengeance with their eyes’ last strain, A.t1d tiacih’d the slakk’iting hand at him in vain ” For mne-I too must die-but not like these “Vile, rankli)g things, to fester is the breeze; “To have this brow in ruffian triumph shown, “With all death’s grimness added to its own, “And rot to dust beneath the taunting eyes “Of slaves, exclaiming,’ There his Godship lies!’ “No-cursed race-since first my soul drew breath, “They’ve been rny dupes, and shall be even in death. “Thou seest yon cistern in the shadc-‘tis fill’d “With burning drugs, for this last hour distill’d:* “There will I plunge me in that liquid flame io “Fit bath to lave a dying Prophet’s frarne!“There perish, all-ere pulse of thine shall fail”Nor leave one limb to tell mankind the tale. “So shall my votaries, wheresoe’er they rove, “Proclaim that Heav’ln took back the Saint it gave;“That I’ve but vanish’d from this earth awhile, “To come again, with bright, unishrouded smile! “So shall they build me altars in their zeal, “Where knaves shall minister, and fools shall kneel; “Where Faith may mutter o’er her mystic spell, “Written in blood-and Bigotry may swell “The sail he spreads lor Heavi’n with blasts fi’om bell! “So shall my banner, through long ages, be “T’he rallying sign of fraud and anarchy;“Kinigs yet unborn shall ruc MOKANNA’S name, “And, though I die, my spirit, still the same, “Shall walk abroad in all the stormny strife, “And guilt, and blood, thiat were its bliss in life. “But, hark! their batt’ring engine shakes the wall”Why, let it shake thus I can brave them all. “No trace of me shall greet them, when they come, “And I can trust thy faith, for-thou’lt be dumb. “Now mark how readily a wr-etch like me, “In one bold plunge commiien-ces Deity!,” l)re dful it was to see the ghastly stare, ‘I’lit sto-)y look of horror and despair, I’lie h some of these expiring victims east tI)oi their soiils’ torimenitor to the last;Ui)on thiat imocking Fiend, whose veil, now raised, .i,(w’d tlieii. as in deatlih’s agony they gazed, \ot tle line promise. light, the brow, whose beaming W\as to come forth, all conquering, all redeeming, B: eat: res I orribler t}LO Ileil e’er traced * its ownl brood; no I)einoii of the Waste,* N r tellrch-y-ard Ghole, caught liugering in the light Oi tihe blest sun, e’er blasted humrran sight ' ithl linciameits so foul, so fierce as those t l’

Imnpostor now, in grimniuc inock’ry, shows: e’i’ rc, vw ewise Saints, behIolil your Light, your- Star “Ye wo.tI be dupes and victims, and ye are. Is it en-ough? or must I, while a thrill Lises in your sapient bosomns, cheat you still? S’:;wear that the burning death ye feel within Is but the trauce with which Heaven’s joys begin; ‘‘hat this foul visage, foul as e’er disgraced “E v’n monstrous mnan, is-after God’s own taste; –

And thaitt-but see!-ere I have half-way said AMy greetings through, th’

uncourteous souls are fled. Farewell, sweet spirits! not in vail ye die, “If EBLIS loves you half so well as I. “[Ha, mny youlng bride!-‘tis well-take thou thy s C Nay come-no shluddeting-didst thou never meet “I’he Dead Before? they graced our wedding, sweet; Andl these, my guests to-nighit, have brimm’d so true ‘[‘lleir partinig cpll)s, that t!toe shalt pledge one too. “But-lihow is thlis?-all empty?-all drunk up? fIlot lips have been before thee in the cup, ‘Young bridc-3-et stay-one precious drop remains, “tnotiufi to warm a gentle Priestess’ veins;’ [Iere, drinik-and should thy lover’s conquering arms li* “1 dona’Iu poison dans le vi,, ik tous se gent, et se jeta lui-m^ me e nsuite dat une clve plein*c i l rogues brrlantes et co,stmantes, afirn qa’il ite rec.dt/t rie, de totlS ti ntent,lres te son corps, et q ue ceux qui recs,tiecnt dit ta se i te pttis.‘i’ croire qu’il e6toit monite u cielt, ce qti ne m’;~l(lt”. It’lS d’a river.” J)Itc*rb,:lot. t r’i,, y hei;.11 *3 tt rreat reverenen fttr tiorinl grounds, whtich they isomtinn cct ll ii y tI timy t/t,cti(‘:tl inti if Citie of t, e Ci ntti, tilt( “wh:t t’o Cs~ pcpit wt:,i f,e Clt,sts otf tlh’e d.par:tdr tt. I io sit,,Iteh it the hitti ol his VusIJ g:ratV,;,i.;}de it, molrtalI c’y?e..”’!,k}i nis;/J6e. ‘i “‘F:1., Af 5;d autn 1, o it.ttit if t‘e numerotus solitutdes anti desert, ,r tl’.e- tvt~:: r ittjt’thjil t-‘t ty 1.,y,i a le t de,,,n, sl,IIm t ey call the .’; t!:‘e -s. J..;,:t I-r.|asr’; ttf’ itte’t’;st*. Thiy oiti il;lutstrates thes , I:t’<,}f "'y s q-,.l;St{,,,,l ttille. byj -:tyin;:, t'ey;t,<' a< wild a-. the D('1…'' O,~:' t t ".!I,, t..''...,h st.s (I',.,D&'t i I i i i i I i i I LALLA ROOKH. 117 ” Speed hither, ere thy lip lose all its charms, 11 Give him but half this venom in thy kiss, ” And I’ll forgive my haughty rival’s bliss! He sprung and sunk, as the last words were ca,,(iQuick closed the burning waters o’er his licad.. And ZELICA was left-witliin the ring Of those wide walls the only livitig thing The only wretched one, still cursed witi-i breath, In all that frightful wilderness of death! More like soine bloodless gliost-slcli as, tlley tcll, In the Lone C’ti,-s of the Sileiitt dwell, And there., unseen of all but ALLA, Si’, Each by its own pale carcass, watching it But iiiorn is up, and a fresh warfare stirs TI-iroughout the camp of the beleagiierers. Their globes of fire (the dread artill’ry lent By GREECE to conquering MAIIADI) are spent And now the scorploii’s shaft, the quarry sent From high balistas, and the shielded throng Of soldiers swinging the huge:-am along, All speak tlil iitipaticiit I,,:Ianiite’s intent To try, at le’i,.gtl), if tower and battlement And bastioned wall be not less hard to win, Less tough to break down than the hearts wittila. First in iinpatience and in foil is he, The burning Azim-oh! could lie but see Thl Iii)postor once alive within his grasp, Not the gauiit lion’s hug, nor boa’s clasp, Could match that grll)e of vengeance, or keep pace With the fell heartiness of Hate’s embrace! Loud rings the ponderous ram against the walls; Now snake the ramparts, now a buttress falls,. But still no breach , Once more, one mighty swing 11 Of all your beams, together thundering!”

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11 TEMIRR IRNY There-the wall shakes-the shouting troops exult, “Quick, quick discharge your weightiest catapult “Right on that spot, and NEKSIIEB is our own!” ‘Tis done-the battlements come crashing down, And the huge wall, by that stroke riven in tawo, Yawning, like some old crater, rent anew, Shows the dim, deso’late city smoking through. But strange! no signs of life-naught living seen Above, below-what can this stillniess mean’? A mninute’s pause suspends all hearts and eyes” In through the breach,”

impetuous AzIM cries; But the cool Cti ir,IP, fearful of some wile In this blank stillness, checks the troops awhile,Just then, a figure, with slow step, advanced Foih from the rtiin’d walls, and, as there glanced A sunbeam over it, all eyes could see The well-known Silver Veil’“‘Tis HIe,’(is lie, “MOKANNA., and alone!” they shout around Young AzIM from his steed springs to the ground”Mine, Holy Caliph! mine,” he cries, “the task “To crush yon daring wretch‘tis all I ask.” Eager hlie darts to meet the dernoin foe, Who still across wvide heaps of ruin slow And falteringly comnes, till they are near; Then, with a bound, rushes on AziM’S spear, And, casting off the Veil in falling, showsOh!-‘tis his ZFLICA’S life-blood that flows! Had stood, with pity in their eyes, to see T he maiden’s d eath, an d the youth’s agony, Were living still-when, by a rustic grave, Beside the swift Amnoo’s transparent wave, An aged man, who had grown aged there By that lone grave, morning and night in prayer, For the last time knelt down-and, though the sha(d6 Of death hung dark’ning over him, there play’d A gleam of rapture on his eye and cheek, That brighten’d even Deatht-like the last streak Of intense glory on th’

lhortzoll’s brim, When night o’er all the rest hangs chill and dim. His soul had seen a Vision, while he slept; She, for whose spirit he had pray’d and wept So many year,, had come to him, all dress’d In angel smiles, and told him she was bless’d! For this the old man breathed his thanks, and died And there, upon the banks of that loved tide, He and his ZELICA sleep side by side. TtIE story of the Veiled Prophet of Khorassan nei,tg ended, they were now doomed to hear FADLADEEN’S criticisms upon it.

A series of disappointments and accidt,its had occurred to this learned Chamberlain during the journey. In the first place, those couriers stationed. as in the reign of Shah Jehan, between Delhi and the NWest. ern coast of India, to secure a constant supply of niatigoes for the Royal Table, had, by some cruel irregularity, failed in their duty; and to eat any mangoes but those of Mazagong was, of course, impossible.* In the next place, the elephant, laden with his fine antique porcelain,i had, in an unusual fit of liveliness, shattered the whole set to pieces:-an irreparable loss, as many of the ~ ssels were so exquisitely old, as to have been used under tile Emperors Yan and Chun, who reigned many ages before the dynasty of Tang. His Koran, too, supposed to be the identical copy between the leaves of which Mahoniet’s favourite pigeon used to nestle, had been mislaid by his Koran-bearer three whole days; not without miuch spir itual alarm to FADLADEEN, who, though professing to hold with other loyal and orthodox Mussulmans, that salvation could only be found in the Koran, was strongly suspected of believing in his heart, that it could only be found in his own particular copy of it. WVlien to all these grievances is added the obstinacy of the cooks, in pititing, the pepper of Canara into his dishes instead of the ciIinamon) of Serendib, we may easily suppose that he camne to the task of criticism with, at least, a sufficient degree of irritability for the purpose. “In order,” said lie, importantly swinging about his chaplet of pearls, “to convey with clearness my opinion of the story this young man has related, it is necessary to take a review of all the stories that have ever -” ” My good FADLADEEN!” exclaimed the Princess, interrupting him, “we really do not deserve that you should give yeurself so much trouble. Your opinion of the poem we have just heard, will, I have no doubt, be abundantly edifying, without any further waste of your valuable eruditioii.”” If that be all,’,” replied the critic, evidently mortified at not being allowed to show how much he knew about every thing, but the subject immediately before him,-” if that be all that is required, the matter is ea sily dispatched.” He then proceeded to analyze the poem in that strain, (so well known to the unfortunate bards of Delhi,) whose censures were an infliction from which few ” I meant not, AzI,i,” soothingly she said, As on his tremiAbliingd arm she lean’d her head, And, looking in his face, saw anguish the re Beyond all wounds the quiv’ring fleseh can bear “I meant not thou shouldst have the pain of this:“Though death, withe s hee thus tasted, is a bliss “Thou wouldst not rob me of, didst thou but know, “How oft I’ve pray’d to (God I might die so! “But the Fiend’s veiiom was too scant and slow;“TI’o linger on ere mnadd’ingsig-and I thought “If once that Veil-nay, look not on it-caugliht “The eyes of your fierce soldiery, I should be “S truck by a thousand deatl-darts ins tan tly. “But this is sweeter  – oh! b elieve me, yes”I would net change this sad, but dear caress, “This death within thy arms I would not give s For the most smiling life the happiest live! “All, that stood dark and drear before the eye “Of my stray’d soul, is passing swiftly by; “A light comes o’er me from those looks of love, “Like the first dawn of mercy from above”And if the lips but tell me I’m forgiv’n, “Angels will ecelo the bless’d words in Heav’n! “But live, my AzI; i-ooh! to call thee mine “Thus once-again! any Azim-dream divine I “Live, if thou ever lov’dst me, if to meet “Thv ZELICA hereafter would be sweet, “Oh, li e to pray for her-to bend the knee “Morning and night before that Deity, “To whomn pure lips and hearts without a stain, “As thine are, AzI_X, never breathed in vain,“And pray that fie may pardon her,may take “Compassion on her soul for thy dear sake, ” And, naught rememb’ring but her love to thee, “Make her all thline, all His, eternally! “Go to those happy fields where first we twined “Our youthful hearts together-every wind “That meets thee there, fresh from the well-known flow’rs, ‘ Will bring the sweetness of those innocent hours ” Back to my solI, and thou mayst feel again ” For thy poor ZELICA as thou didst then. ” So shall thy orisons, like dew that flies “TI’o Heav’n upon the morning’s sunshine, rise ” With all love’s earliest ardour to the skies! ” And should they-but, alas, my senses fail” Oh for one minute!-should thy prayers prevail”If pardon’d souls may, from that World of Bliss “Reveal their joy to those they love in this” I’ll come to thee-in some sweet dreamland tell’; Oh Heav’n I die-deal love! farewell, farewell ”’ ‘ he celebrity of Maza-gong is owgtotsmnoswicar certainlity the best truit I ever tasted. he parent-tree, from which all those ot this specits have been grafted, is lionoir’d during the fruit-se.Osoin by a guard of spOys: aid, in the reign ofStal} Jeihan curiers e re statioine t ili sd the i tilMratta coast. to se cure al abundaint ando fresh supply of mangoes for tie royal tGb,le.”- -,hrs. Grabam’s Jouihal to a Resid ence inl Indsia. t Tis old porceain is tf..nd in digging, and “if it is eIsteemd. it. not bease it ha s acquiedt rely netv detcree ef I)t:utly il tle ealtt, blt becauise it has retained s eiets t be ty;t ti h m is of geat iportalnce* iln Chln~t, wJlerc th~ey g:ive’ ]ar,,e’sumls fior l’.e sma;ile.~t vessels Xwhich wevere used tumhit’r the I npi rors Y~an and C l.i w},ot:eielged many age.s i?etfre the dilasty. i f T tic, at whi!. time prela,ii tif,gani to Te u.f(eyl by tie Eil ” rotrs. (:tho the y ar 41‘2. ) .v1Ts ( tlectiioi ft broitris I ] b,ervatti’is,, c.,; a,,., p silti, o, soit e. parts ob the L[j’ trex _l.l e (ri. s of…. t;‘till- arl Jetuits.

Time fleeted years oni ye ars had pass’d away, Aitd few of those who an it,-“,,,,,rnful day, 118 THE MIRROR LIBRKRY.

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LALLA ROOKII. 119 recovered, and whose very praises were like the honey extracted from the bitter flowers of the aloe. The chief personages of the story were, if he rightly understood them, an ill fa-vonred gentleman, with a veil over his face;-a young lady, whose reason went and came, according as it suited the poet’s convenience to be sensible or otherwise;and a youth in one of those hideous Buciiarian bonnets, who took the aforesaid gentleman in a vcil for a Divinity. ” From such m1aterials,” said he, ; what can be expected?after rivalling each other in lo) i speeches and absurdities, through some thousands of i’les as indigestible as the filberts of Berdaa, our friend ;i the veil jumps into a tub of aquafortis; the young lady ies ini a Set speech, whose only recommendation is that it is her last; and the lover lives on to a good old age, ‘i,r the laudable purpose of seeing her ghost, which he at iast lappily accomplishes, and expires. This, you will -~.1-ow, is a fair summary of the story; and if Nasser, the VArabian merchant, told no better, our Holy Prophet (to wiomn be all honour and glory!) had no nieed to be jeal ous of his abilities for story-telling.”* With respect to the style, it was worthy of the matter  it had not even those politic contrivances of struc tlare, which make up for the commonness of the thoughts l)y the peculiarity of the manuner, nor that stately poetical lphraseology by which sentiments mean in themselves, l;ke the blacksmith’st apron converted into a banner, are so easily git and embroidered into consequence. Then as to the versification, it was, to say no worse of it, exe crable: it had neither the copious flow of Ferdosi, the sweetness of Hafez, nor the sententious march of Sadi; but appeared to him, in the uneasy heaviness of its move mrients, to have been modelled upon the gait of a very tired dromedary. The licenses, too, in which it indulg ed, were unpardonable;-for instance this line, and the poemin abounded with such; tmore as speedily as possible. Her manner, however, of first returning to the subject was unlucky. It was while they rested during the heat of noon near a fountain, on which sohne hand had rudely traced those well-known words from the Ga rden of Sadi,-” Many, like me, ha ve view – d this fountain, but they are gone, and their eyes are closed forever!”-that she took occasion, fr om the melancholy beauty of this passage, to dwell upon the charms of poetry in general. ” It is true,” she said,” fet e poets can im i tate t h at sublime bird, whi ch flies always in the air, and never tou c he s e th e math:*-it is only once in many ages a Genius appear s, wh ose words, like t hose on the Written Mountain, l ast forever:t-but still there are some as delightful, perhaps, though not so wonderful, who, if not stars over our head, are at least flowers along our path, and whose sweetness of the moment we ought gratefully to inhale, without calling upon them for a brightness and a durability beyond their nature. In short,” continued she, blushing, as if conscious of being caught in an oration, ” it is quite cruel that a poet caninot wander through h is re gions o f enchantment, without having a critic forever, like te Old Man of the Se a, upon his back!“t FADLADEEN, it was plain, too,& this last luckless allusion to himself, and would treasure is as’

iII his mind as a whetstone for his next criticism. A sua len silence ensued; aind the Princess, glancing a look at FERAMORZ, saw plainly she must wait for a more cour ageous moment. – But the glories of Nature, and her wild, fragrant airs playing freshly over the current of youthful spirits, will soon heal even deeper wounds than the dull Fadladeenrs of this world can inflict. In an evening or two after. they came to the small Valley of Gardens, which had been planted by order of the Emperor for his favourite sister IRochinara, during their progress to Cashmere, some years befc. e; and never was there a more spark. ling assemblage of sweets, since the Gulzar-e-Irem, or Rose-Bower of Irere. Every precious flower was there to be found that poetry, or love, or religion, has ever con secrated; from the dark hyacinth, to which Hafez coin pares his mnistress’s hair,~ to the Cdimalatd, by whose rosy blossoms the heaven of Indra is scented.11 As they sat in the cool fragrance of this delicious spot, and LALLA ROOKii remarked that she could fancy it the abode of that Flower-loving Nymph whom they worship in the temples of Kathay,l or of one of those Peris, those beautiful creatures of the air, who live upon perfumes, and to whom a place like this might make some amends for the Para dise they have lost,-the young Poet, in whose eyes she appeared, while she spoke, to be one of the bright spirit ual creatures she was describing, said hesitatingly that he remembered a Story of a Peri, which, if the Princess had no objection, he would venture to relate. ” It is,”

said he, with an appealing look to FAILLADEEN, ” in a ” What critic that can count,” said FADLADEEN, “and has his full complement of fingers to count withal, would tolerate for an instant such syllabic superfliuities?“lie h ere looked r ound, and disco vered that mo st of his audience were asleep; while the glimmering lamps seemtd inclined to follow their example. It became necessary, therefore, however painful to himself, to put an end to his valu able animadversions for the p resent, an d he accordilly colncluded, with an a ir of dignified candour, tlius:-

Noteitstand ig wii thae obs ervations which I have thaoLag ht it my duty to make, it is by no means mly w ish to discourage the young man:-so far from it, indeed, th at if he will but to tally alter his style of writing and thllilkig, I have very littl e doubt t hat I shall be vastly [leased with him.” Done days elapsed, after this harangue of the Great (

Chamberlaini, before LALLA ROOKII could ventur e to ask ior a nother story.‘Tihe youthi was st ill a we lcom e guest I,I the pavilion-to ofie heart, perhaps, too dangerously fvelcoie;-ibut all mention of p oetry was, as if by commiion consent, avoided. Though none of the party had ,iluchi respect for FADLADEEN, yet his censures, thus magisterially delivered, evidently made an impression on t!em all. T’he Poet, himself, to whom criticism was quite a new operation, /being wholly unknown in that li’ara(lise of the Ildies, Ca shmere,) felt the shl ock as it is ,ei,erally felt at first, till use has made it Inore tolerable to the patient; ,,he Ladies began to suspect that they ,ought not to be pleased, and seemed to conclude that there must have been much good sense in what FADLA DZE..N said, from its having set them all so soundly to sleep;-while the self-complacent Chamberlain was left to triumph in the idea of having, for the hundred and fiftieth time in his life, extinguished a Poet. LALLA ROOKH alone-and Love knew why-persisted in being delighted with all she had heard, and in resolving to hear “The Hums, a bird peculiar to the East. It is supposed to fir constantly il tile air, anl never touch the ground; it is looked upon as a Ih lir(l py o inalP meii; aud that every hleaa it overshades will in Otme wear as crown.”-Wicho,rds~rn. n thc teris of alliancve made by Fuzzel Oola Khan with Hyder in 17n, one of the stipulation s o was, ” that he should have the distinction of two lhonorary atte.ndaiits standing behind him, holding faus composed of ite featihers of t um, according to the practice of his family.” Wilk,s’s Sou,th of In,diu. lie adds in a note: ” The Ilumma is a fabubI d T ird ihe head over which its shadow once asses will assuredly he circled with a crown. The splen(did little bird suspended over the th,rone of Tippo Suitun, found at Seringapatam in 17P99, was intended to represent tihis poetical fimcy.” f’a o the pilgrintm to MonenO t i Sinai we must attribute the inscriptions, figures. dc. on those rocks, wIhich have from thence acquired the name of the Written M ountain.”~Folney. M. Gebelin and others aave been et much paisas to oloac soe myste ri o us and important meaning to these inscription s; but Niel)ulr, as well as Volney, thinks that they must have .een executed at idle hours by the travellers to Mount Sinai, ”

who were satisfied withl cuttin g t he unpolished rock with any pointed instrument adlding to their namnes and the date of their journeys some rude figures, whitch bespeak the hand of a people but little skilled in the arts.” iei The Story of Sinb,ad 6 ase.‘ott’s Hafez. Ode v. “the Ciamalata (called by Linnieue, Tpomnea) is the most beautif. of its order, both in the ct,our and fbrm of its leaves and flowers; its elegant bl.,ossom are’celestial rosy red, L,ove’s proper hue,’ and have justly procured it the name of Camalatat, or Love’s Creeper.” – Sir W. Jones. ”

Camalat’ may also mean a mythlological plant, by which all desires are grante,d to such as inhabit tie heaven of Ind, ra;* and if ever flowe c wal worthy of Paradise. it is our charming lpomaea.“‘Ib. ~” Accordin,g to Fatiher Premare, in his tract ni Chinese Mythology, the Motiher of Fo-Ifi was tie dalghter of heaven surnamed Flower-hi v ige anc d as tie iymiph was walking alone on tlie bank of a river, She t ifiiiiiid herself enciircledl by a rainbow, after wtih she became pregnant, tian, ait tiale eunt i)f twelve years, was delierel of a son iadiaut as her ,self.”-.siat.

Res. * “La lecture de ces Fables plaisoit i fort aix Arabes, que, quand Mlahomet less (rareternoit dte l’itistoire de I’Ancienl Testament, ils les mne-| p, isiie.l t,!ui!isatit que (:elles (DNi e N r isier l cur raio ietotie n t eioient be au I cndup wluo e hs. Crii petitee aii I toy ti r, i h NAsser la malla-dictioi dte Maixtomnet et dle tons.-e~ distiples ”

!J’}icl, cl(,t. t Ti,e hlu(-k, mit, l G~(,, wita silver sotidly r~..isted t:e tyrant Zohak, and asho se apron becume the Royal ~;andar(I o Persia. I LALLA ROOKH. 119 Like the faint, exquisite music of a dream.

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I’HE MIRROR LIBRARY. fighter and humbler strain than the other:” then, striking a few carel.ss but melancholy chords on his kitar, he thus began: “Beneath the pillars of CIIILMINAR [t~ “I know where the Isles of Perfume are,t “Many a fathom down in the sea, “To thle south of sun.bright ARABY;t I know, too, where the Genii hid “TI’he jewell’d cup of their King JANISIIID,~ “With liie’s elixir sparkling high But gifts like these are not lor the sky. “Where was there ever a gemn that shlone “Like the steps of ALLA’s wonderful Throne? “And the Drops of Life-oh! what would they be “In the boundless Deep of Eternity?” ON., morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood, disconsolate; Anrd as she listen’d to the Springs Of Life withlin, like music flowing, And caii,ght tlhe light upon her wings IThio lh the half-open portal glowing, Sh e w ep t to thigik her recreant race Should e’er have lost that glorious place! WVhile thus shie mused, her pinions fann’d The air of thiat sweet Indian land, Whose air is balni; whose ocean spreads O’er coral rocks, and amber beds;ill FVriose imiountairus, pregnant by th e bean Of the warm sun, with (lianonds te em; Whose rivulets are like rich brides, Lovely, with gold beneath their tides; Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice Might be a Peri’s Paradise! But crimson now her rivers ran With human blood-tlhe srnell of deati Came reeking frormi those spicy bowers, And man, the sacrifice of man, Mingled his taint with every breath Upwafted from th’ innocent flowers. Land of thle Sun! what foot invades TI’hiy Pagods and thy pill)a’d shalte(s-s Thy cavern shrines, an-d Idol stonies, Thy Monarchs and their thousand’T’lirones!I “‘is lie of GAZNAtt-fierce in wrath He comcs, and INDIA’S diademi1s Lie scatter’d in his ruinous path. His bloodhounds lie adorns witil gems, Torn from the violated necks Of m any a younig arid loved Sultana;t Maidens, within their pure Zenana, Priests in the very fatne he slaughters, And choaks tip wN’ithi the glitteri-ng wrecks Of Golden shrines the sacrcd waters! How happy,” excltaiin’d this child of air, Are the hloly Spirits whxo wander there, “‘Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall; “Though muile are the gardens of earth and sea And the stars thleinselves have flowers for me, “One blossom of Heaven ouiit-blooins themn all “Though sunny the Lake of cool CAshnJERE, “With its p!ane-trec Isle reflected clear, “And sweetly the founts of that Valley fall; Thougl bright are the waters of SING-SU-IIAY, And the gol(len floods that thlithlerward stray,t Yet-oh,‘tis only the Blest can say ‘ lowv the waters of Heaven outshine them all! Go, w-ing thy flight from star to star, “From world to luminous world, as far “As the universe spreads its flaming wall: Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And sntiltiply each through endless years, “One minute of Heaven is worth them all!” The glorious Angel, who was keeping The gates of Ligt, beheld her weeping; And, as he nearer drew and listen’d To her sad song, a tear-drop glisten’d Within his eyelids, like the spray From Eden’s fountain, when it lies On the blue flow’r, wihichi-Bramins say Bloomiis nowhere but in Paradise.t Downward the Pr:Rl turns hier gaze, And, throlghl the war-field’s bloody haze, Beholds a youthful warrior stand, Alone beside his n,ative river, The red blade broken in his hand, And the last arrow ini his qtuiver. “Live,” said the Coiq(lu’ror, ” live to share “The trophies antil the crowns I bear!” Silent that yotitlhful warrior stood Silent lie pointed to the flood All crimson with his country’s bloold, *

The Forty Pillars; so the Persians call the ruis o’.Perse,.,. It is imagineld hy them that tbis palace.an( thle ed,ii,s,s at Bilbec ^ ere bai by enii, r the p rpose o hiig if tihei r.btrraeos caer s i menselc treasu^llres, whichl still renmai there. I’Hcr belot, Vohle ~/. Ditede m ntion-s nnentions tbe s le of Pnchai, to te soIt,ith of Ar bia e lix, whelre th rsa temple f Jupiter. ohis isahd, or raather cito r ot’ isles, I,s disappearedl,’ suni,k (says (radprd) in the a,byss mde 1 t he fr e be pearth tieir tsundatiols.”Voya,e to the Ini dian O,cai.. The Isles of Pl nchaia. ~ “Th e cup of Jam,;shid, discove,reld, they say, when digging i’or t’i] tkmndaltionis of’ Persepolis.” ltichaurdson. Il” It is not like the.( Sea of Iia;, whose bottom S ricl, with pea,rls a,t] anbergris, whose l fOUlitils ot theconst are ~torcd wi!h gold tt p::citols stonJcs whose gultf breed cre atures that yiehl ivory, and;,m,),;g the plants o whose s hores are elbon,Y, red uwood, atd the w!ood f l’::ir zan, ulocs, camphor, cloves, sandal-wood, aned a1ll othler spi:ces a,til’tt, mutics; wihere parrots andl peacocks nre birds of the fi)e.t, at.t.,:k and civet are collected upon the lands.“e Tr ds of tw”o,ll,J/am::s dans. “Nymph of a fair but erring line!” Gently he said-” One hope is thine. “‘Tis written in the Book of Fate, ” The Peiai yet mray be forgiv’n, “$ Vho brings to this Eternal gate ” The Gift that is most dear to Heav’n! Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin“‘Tis sweet to let the pardon’d in.” Rapidly as comets run To th’ embraces of the Sun * Flecter than the starry brands Flung at night fromn angel handsn At those dark and daring sprites Who would climb tlh’

empyreal heights, Down the blue vault thIe PERI flies, And, lighted earthward by a glance That just then broke from mornilag’s eyes, Hung hov’ring o’er our world’s expanse. But whither shall the Spirit go To find this gift for Heav’n?-” I know “The wealth,” she cries, “of every urn “‘In which unnumber’d rubies burn, ” Numerons smal itnds enierg e from tlie Lakeof Cashmere. One I calle Char Clenaur, from the plane trees ipon it.”-FCster. t’rhe Altan Kol or Golden River of Tibet, which runis into the lakes of Sing-su hay, has aboundance of go’d in its sauds, which employs the insabitants all the summer in gathering it.”Deseription of T7bet in. Pinkerton. “The Brahn s f thi province insist that the blue camopac flow ers enTy in Praie.” r. Jones. It appears, however, tfom a curious letter of the Slta o enancalow. given by Marsden, that one place on ea!rth may lay caim to tie possession of it. ” This is tie Sultan, who kieepq t’e floer ciatepaka that is blue. and to l)e founid in no other cou,ntrybut his, bei,g yellow elsewhere.” !arsden’s Sumatra. av~ “Ti1e eaio,eat.ns souv ppo e that falling s tars are the firebrands w!,erewith the good angels drive way the ha/, when they approach too orar the empy-ean or ve-ee of tl,e heaven,s “-Frver. Thie beided twigs take root, nd hters grow About tle mother-tree, a piiar’d s/a de ligie over ” rcl’d, and eli wks eween. ITo. Fer a parti ular dtescription attnd plate of ti Banly:lm-tr c, see Cf r di ner’ s C eylon.’ 1 “With this immense trea,~ur e Ma mooul rttrned to,,and in the yenr 400) preparedl a.,ag ili(. ct festival. wl,ere he,i llycd to l ie, people his wea~lth in goldensi thlrones axl in otlher ornanmntest>, i~ a gf,~t plain without tihe city ot Gh izni.”-kiri. ‘ta tt “Mahmood ot’Gazna, or Ghizni,who e }llqtr( ] li;a i; t! e I,:,:~) i!g of the 1I thcen tury. ” See Jlisl~isory i~ ])ow;in,!

$ir.I..I./c,, T. “It is report,ed th.at tlhe hni. g eq,.il):,,q (,t til, tll; 1!-,,.,d was so magnificent, that he kept 41Y) grdyl(utidan l,h},~il.ct1t Is,.”:‘t of whichl wore aI colhr set wvith] je wels. at d1 a covc t.,!: ediged ss ~t}, gr izj andl pearls.” Unioersal Hifstern.

v01t~. iii. II I i I i I 120 PARADISE AND THE PERI.

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LALL ROK. 2 When their beloved Sun’s awake – Those ruin’d shrines and towers that seem The relics of a splendid dream Amlid whose fairy loneliness Naught but the lapwing’s cry is heard, Naught seen but (when the shadows, flitting Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam,) Some purple-wing’d Sultana* sitting Upon a column, motionless And glitt’ring like an Idol bird!Who could have thought, that there, even there, Amid those scenes so still and fair, The Demon of the Plague hath cast From his hot wing a deadlier blast, More mortal far than ever came From the red Desert’s sands of flame! So quick, that ev’ry living thing Of human shape, touch’d by his wing, Like plants, where the Simoomn hath pass’d, At once falls black and withering! The sun went down on many a brow, Which, full of bloom and freshness then, Is rankling il the pest-h1oLuse now, And ne’er will feel that sun again. And, oh! to see th’ unburied heaps On which the lonely imioonlight sleepsThe very vul!ttres turn away, An(d sicken at so font a prey! Only the fierce hyuena stalkst Throughotit the city’s desolate walkst At midnight, and his carnage plies: Wo to the half-dead wretch, who meets The glaring of those large bluie eyes< Amid the darkness of the streets! Falre flew the shaft, though pointed well; The Tyrant lived, the Hero fell!Yet mark'd the P.r.I where he lay, Arid, when the rush of war was past, .Swiftly descending on a ray Of morning light, she caught the lastLast glorious drop his heart had shIed, Before his free-born spirit fled! Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight, "My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. 'I'ltough foul are the drops that oft distil On the field of warfare, blood like this, For Libeity shed, so holy is,* It would not stain the purest rill, h'I'lat sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss! Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphere, A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, "l'is the last libation Liberty draws From the heart that bleeds anid breaks in her cause!" " Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave ''The gift into his radiant hand, " Sweet is our welcome of the Brave "Who die thus for their native Land. "But see-alas!-the crystal bar ' Of Eden moves not holier far " Than even this drop the boon must be, "l'hat opes the gates of Heaven for thee!" l[Ieir first fotnd hope of Eden blighted, Now among AFRIC’S lunar Mountains,t Far to the South, the PER) lighted; Atid sleek’d her plumage at the fountains Of that Egyptian tide-whose birth Is hiddein irom the sons of earth Deep in those solitary woods, W’here oft the Genii of the Floods Dance round the cradle of their Nile, Anrid hail the new-bornt Giant’s smile.l ‘Thlence over EvYPT’S palmy groves, Her grots, and sepulchres of Kings,~ The exiled Spirit sighling roves; And now hangs listening to the doves In warin IROSETTA’S valell-now loves To watch the moonlight on the wings Of the white pelicans that break ‘‘The azure calmn of AIm s’ Lake.C ‘Twas a fair scene a Land more bright Never did mnortal eye behold! Who could have thought, that saw this night T’hose valleys and their fruits of gold Basking in Heaven’s sereniest light;‘I’hose groups of lovely date-trees bending Languidly their leaf-crowii’d heads, like youthful maids, when sleep descending Warns them to their silken beds;**W Those virgin lilies, all the night Bathling their beauties ill the lake, That they may rise more fresh and bright, Oblcctions may be made to my use of the word Liberty in this, an d e.,pecially in the story that tillows it as totally inapplicable to any state of tiingi tat has eer existed i te East; but thoughi I canno t, of c ours e, ean to emp!oy it inl that e.larged a.‘I noble sese which is so wtl understood att the present day, and, I grieve to say, so l ittle acted uill, yet itis no disp tragi’ enit to the word to apply it to tihat natiot nal idep e ndnce, thsat t Jee Jtiomo t he iterrence and dictation o for ign ers, itrout nwhich, ideeil, +o liberty f any kind can exist; and C.”

wSich both Hilldos and Pt trsianhs ought against tirerir yussulhnan iiva ders wirth, i smaniy rcases, a bravery t hat deserved much better aliec i iss. t ” T’lie Mou,mtai,s of’ tie Moon., or tile Montes Lunm of antiquity, at he loot of w-.ich thle Nile is supposed to arise.”-Brtce. ” Sometimres cal!ed,” saiys Jackson, “Jibbel Kumrie, or tile white ;I. lunar-coloured moullins; se a white horse is called by the Arabians It mo1{)1-cohlured |1Or’~+, N “The Nile, whic’,he Ah~yssin,ians know by the names of Abeyand Aliaway, or the Giant.”-f/siat. Research. vol. 1. p. 3a7. 9 “See Perr}y’s V’iev lf the Levan,t tbr an account ofthe sepulchres in ~‘pper Thebes. asd th;e nu f,srl,ss Trots, covered all over with h.ierogyip~ies irn the mount-aires of [‘lpper.,ypt. ]j ” TIhe orcl.;ards c t Rosetla are fib (I{t with] turtle-doves.”-$onnzili. a Sa,ar,y meat~ohs tl,e p:lleaz s nponlhake/ticris. ‘t “‘J’h.e st:,.rb m!tte tr, tin se h d languidly re‘inbs l’ke that of vhaatiniije wom[I:m~ over’comle wvith ~!ccp.”-Iafrd el mess,ah!. Just then beneath some orange trees, Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze Were wantoning together, free, Like age at play with infancyBeneath that fresh and springing bower, Close by the lake, she heard the moan Of one who, at this silent hour, Had thither stol’i to die alone. One who in life where’er he moved, Drew after him the hearts of many; Yet now, as though he nie’er were loved, Dies here unseen, unwept by any! None to watch near him-i-one to slake The fire that itl his bosom lies, With ev’n a sprinkle from that lake, Which shinles so cool before his eyes. No voice, well known through m.iany a day, To speak the last, the parting word, Which, when all other sounds decay. Is still like distant music heard;That tender farewell o01 the shore Of this rude world, when all is o’er, Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark Puts off into the unknown Dark. gof any tid can ______________ c*s” a T’lch bt beautiful bird, with plumag e f t h e finet s hi.fing blue, with purplea beak and leas, the natural illS living ornaineit of ile tetupli. an.d palaces of the Greeks and Romans, w lici, t.om the sttteliuess of its port, as well as thie brilliaicy of’ its clours, as obtaied tie title of Sultana.”

Sontnini. t Jackson, speaking of tlhe plagu.e that occurred i West Itirbar,y. when,. he reas there, y, says, Thi ie bird f t fe ai y fle w rm tp abodes of me i.‘hie hyeias, on tle cooitrary, visitedi the ce eteie s, &ce + “Gondar was full of ita,ynas from thle time it t dr,c(1 dark, tll the dawn of (lay, seeking tlie dilrlrent pieces of slaughlertri c.tassa, twhich this cruel iiid iiilci; p eiopli expose in tile 9 r cts with o ut itIriti am] wlho firiIly believi that threse ailALLA ROOKH. Then sent his last remaining dart, l’or answer, to th’ Iiivader’s heart. 11 Poor race of men!” said the pitying Spirit, 11 Dearly ye pay for your primal Fall.” Some flow’rets of Eden ye still inherit, 11 But the trail of the Serpent is over them all!’ She wept-the airgrew pure an(] clear Around her, as the bright drops ran; For there’s a magic in each tear, Such kindly Spirits weep for man!

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*22 FHE MIRROR LIBRARY. Deserted youth! one thought alone Shed joy around his soul in deathThat she, whom he for years had known, Anid loved, and might have call’d his own, Was safe from this foul midnight’s breath,-T

Safe in her father’s princely halls, Where the cool airs from fountain falls, Freshly perfumed by many a brand Of the sweet wood from India’s land, Were pure as she whose brow they fann’d. Thus saying, from her lips she spread Unearthly breathings through the place, And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed Such lustre o’er each paly face, That like two lovely saiints they seem’d, Upon the eve of doomsday taken From their dim graves, in odour sleeping While that benevolent PERI bearn’d Like their good angel, calmly keeping Watch o’er them till their souls would waker But see-who yonder comes by stealth,* This melancholy bow’r to seek, Like a young envoy, sent by Health, With rosy gifts upon her cheek? ‘Tis she-ifar off, through moonlight dim, He knew his own betrothed bride, She, who would rather die with him, Than live to gain the world beside!Her arms are round her lover now, His livid cheek to hers she presses, And dips, to bind his burning brow, In the cool lake her loosen’d tresses. Ah! once, how little did he think An hour would come, when he should shrink With horror from that dear embrace, Those gentle arms, that were to him IHoly as is the cradling place Of Eden’s infant cherubim! And now hlie vields-iiow turns away, Shudd’ring as if the venomn lay All in those proffer’d lips aloneThose lips that, then so fearless grown, Never until that instant came Near his unask’d, or without shame. “Oh! let me only breathe the air, “The blessed air, that’s breathed..by thee, And, whether on its wings it bear “Healing or death,‘tis sweet to me! There-drink my tears, while yet they fall-_ ” Would that my bosom’s blood were balm, And, well thou know’st, I’d shed it all, To give thy brow one minute’s calm.

“Nay, turn not from ime that dear face “Amn I not thine thy own loved bride”The one, the chosen one, whose place, ” In life or death, is by thy side? “Thliink’st thou that she, whose only light, “In this dimn world, from thee hath shone, Could bear the long, the cheerless night, “That must be hers when thou art gone? That I can live, and let thee go, “Who art nmy life itself?-No, no W hen the stein dies, the leaf that grew Out of its heart must perish too! Then turn to me, miy own love, turn, Before, like thee, I fade and burn; (Cling to these yet cool lips, and,hare The last pure life that lingers there!” She fails-she sinks-as dies the lamp In charnel airs, or cavern-damp, So quickly do his baleful sighs Quench all the swecet light of her eyes. One struggle-and his pain is past Her lover is no longer living! One kiss the it,aideti gives, one last, Long kiss, which she expires in giving! But morn is blushing in th e sky; Again the PERI soars above, Bearing to Heav’n that precious sigh Of pure, self-sacr-ificing love. High throbb’d her heart, with hope elate, Th’

Elysian palm she. soon shall win, For the bright Spirit at the gate Smiled as she gave that off’ring in; And she already hears the trees Of Eden, with their crystal bells Ringing in that ambrosial breeze That from the throne of ALLA swells; And she can see the starry bowls That lie around that lucid lake, Upon whose banks admitted Souls Their first sweet draught of glory take!e To one, who look’d from upper air O’er all tlh’ enchanted regions there, How beauteous must have been the glow. The life, the sparkling from below! Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks Of golden melons on their banks, More golden where the sunlight falls;Gay lizards glittering on the wallst Of ruin’d shrines, busy anti bright As they were all alive with light; And, yet mole splendid, numerous flocks Of pigeons, settling on the rocks, With their rich restless wings, that glcamn Variously in the crimson beam Of the warmi West,-as if inlaid With brilliants from the mine, or made Of tearless rainbows, such as span Th’

unclouded skies of PERISTAN. And then the mingling sounds that come, Of shepherd’s ancient reed,~ with hunm ” Sleep,” said thle PaRI, as softly she stole The farewell sigh of that vanishing soul, As true as e’er warin’d a wontan’s breast ” Sleep on, in visionIs of odour rest, ” In balhnier airs than ever yet stirr’d ” Th’ enchanted pile of that lonely bird, ” Who silgs at the last his own death-lay,t “And in music and perfume dies away!” a This cireumait-titime thas seen often introduced into poetry;-by Viiieentit Fitbricius, bIy Darwin, and lately, wit!, very powerful effect, by M,.W;Ison., t ” i t E ast, they -uppse thel P’.,enix to have fitty otifices in his – l bi,h i,, i ‘i:e’ ho 1’iea pre slg atl tit: l that, fte r living one tdio etsand v,..f,:,. it-tiltl. wll::!‘it f~l~t’ultl pi’, eil,g, a m,e,lodious air of different harmonies through rhis fifty organ-pipes, flaps, hi,sw wingw ith a velocty which sets fire to the wood, a nd c o n.sues hilselt”-Richardson. ” On the sf rea of a quadr.lngular ke stald u tlousand goblets, made of stars out of hich sotis pretde-ti.ed to njoy feiity drink the crystal wave – From C1t…ri -‘s lscriptiotl oi the Mahomettap Paradise, in his Beauties -.f Christiae.ty t Rich ardson thinks that Syria hd its a troll Suri, a beautiful eonl Adoicate species of rose, for w hic tlit country hIas been always famou, hence, Suritan,. tie L(nI o’ Rose s. t” ie num r of lizards sw oe day in tle great curt of tbe T emple S. t t te ovSui at Balthec amounted to m ny tao us adsa the ground the walls, and stones of the ruine,d buildings, were covered with t”he.I  Bruce. ~ “Tie Syrinx or Pan’. pipe is stiL a pas.oral instrument in Svria -RusseJ. 0 122 rHE MIRROR LIBRARY. But, all!

even PERis’ hopes are vain Again the Fates forbade, again Tli’ immortal barrier closed-‘, Not yet,” The Angel said, as, with regret, He shut from her that glimpse of glory True was the maiden, and her story, Written in light o’er ALLA’s head, By seraph eyes shall lon be read. But I PERI, see-the crvstal bar Of Eden moves not-holier far 11 Than evlii this sigh the booii must be That opes tile Gates of Ileav’ii for thee Now, upon SYRIA’S land of rosest Softly the light of Eve reposes,, And, like a glory, the broad sun Hangs over sainted LEBANON; Whose head in wintry grandeur towlro, And whitens with eternal sleet, While summer, in a vale of flow’rs, . Is sleeping rosy at his feet.

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LALIA ROOKH. 123 Of the wild bees of PALESTINE,* Banquetid g through the flow’ry vales; And, JORDAN, those sweet banks of thine, And woods, so full of nightingales.t The boy has started from the bed Of flow’rs, where lie had laid his head, And down upon the fragrant sod Kneels* with his forehead to the south, Lisping th’ eternal naime of God From Purity’s own cherub mouth, And looking, while his hands and eyes Are lifted to the glowing skies, Like a stray babe of Paradise, Just lighted oil that flow’ry plain, And seeking for its home again. Oh!‘twas a sight-that Heav’n-that childA scene, which might have well beguiled Ev’n haughty EBLIS of a sigh For glories lost and peace gone by! But naught can charm the luckless PER Her soul is sad, her wings are wearyJoyless she sees the Sun look down On that great Temple, once his own,t Whose lonely columniis stand sublime, Flinging their shadows from on high, Like dials, which the wizard, Time, Had raised to count his ages by! Yet haply there may lie conceal’d Beneath those Chambers of the Sun, Some amulet of gems, anineal’d In upper fires, some tablet seal’d With the great name of SOLOMON, Which, spell’d by her illumined eyes, May teach her where, beneath the moon, In earth or ocean, lies the boon, The charm that can restore so soon An erring Spirit to the skies. And how felt he, the stretched Man Reclining there-while memory ran O’er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o’er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace? There was a time,” hle said, in mild, Heart-humbled tones-” thou blessed child! When, young andl haply pure as thou, I look’d and pray’d like thee-but now-” He hung his head-each nobler aim, And hope, and feeling, which had slept From boylhood’s hour, that instant came Fresh o’er him, and he wept-he wept!

Cheer’d by this hope she benids her thither; Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, Nor have the golden bowers of Even In the rich West begun to wither;When, o’er the vale of BALBEC winging Slowly, she sees a child at play, Among the rosy wild-flow’rs singing, As rosy and as wild as they; Chasing, with eager hands and eyes, The beautiful blue damsel-flies,~ That flutter’d round the jasmine stems, Like winged flow’rs or flying genms:And, near the boy, who tired with play Now nestling’mnid the roses lay, She saw a wearied man dismount From his hot steed, and on the brink Of a small imaret’s rustic fountll Impatient fling him down to drink. Then swift his haggard brow he turn’d To the-fair child, who fearless sat, Though never yet hath day-beam burn’d Uponi a brow more fierce than that,Sullenly fierce-a mixture dire, Like thunder clouds, of gloom and fire; In which the PERI’s eye could read Dark tales of many a ruthless deed; The ruin’d maid-the shrine profanedOaths broken-and the threshold stain’d With blood of guests!-there written, all, Black as the damning drops that fall From the denouncing Angel’s pen, Ere Mercy weeps them out again. Blest tears of soul-felt penitence! In whose bcnign, redeeming flow Is felt the first, the only sense Of guiltless joy that guilt can know There’s a drop,” said the PERI, ” that dow. fen the Falls through the withering airs of June Upon EGYPT’S land,t of so healing a poy’r. So balmny a virtue, that ev’n in the hour That drop descends, contagion dies, And health reanimates earth and skiec tOh, is it not thus, thou man of sin, ” The precious tears of repentance fall? Though foul thy fiery plagues within, “One heavenly drop hath dispell’d th,; a And now-beh old him kneeling there By the child’s side, in humble pray’rto While the samiie suiibeanl shines upon The guilty and the guiltless one, And hymns of joy proclaim through Ho N’a The triumph of a Soul Forgiv’n! ‘Twas when the golden orb had set, While on their knees they linger’d yet, There fell a light more lovely far Than ever came from sun or star, Upon the tear that, warm and meek, Dew’d that repentant siinner’s cheek. To mortal eye this light might seem A northern flash or meteor beamBut well the enraptured PERI knew ‘Twas a bright smile the Angel threw From Heaven’s gate, to hail that tear Her harbinger of glory near! Yet tranquil now that man of crime (As if the balmy evening time Soften’d his spirit) look’d and lay, Watching the rosy infant’s play:Though still, whene’er his eye by chance Fell on the boy, its lurid glance Met that unclouded, joyous gaze, As torches, that have burnt all night Through some impure and godless rite, Encounter morning’s glorious rays. But, hark! the vesper calls to pray’r, As slow the orb of daylight sets, Is rising sweetly on the air, From SYtRL’s thousand minarets. ” WVild bees, Srequent in Palestine, in hollow trunks or branches of trees, and the clets of rock. ThIlus it is said, (Psaltn lxxxi.)‘Ahoney out of the stony rock.’ “-Burder’s Oriental Custon.is. t ” Tihe river Jordan is on iotl sidtes Iteset with little, thick, and pleasant woods, intutg t whiichi tlhousoads of nightingales sarble all togettler.”  Thevtcnot. Tche’l’clye of ttie Sun at Balbec.

.~‘‘Sots bet~oh!l there n considternblte number of a remar kable species of bt~ tiit l; il tecs-, tile eleglif ne of whouse appearance anid their tttirel ,oisured t.‘r tl}e itle nlamtiCe of’ Dtumsels.”’-Si&aiani. Il Imilaret, I’ll I,.g, o t gitrrit. gratis. les p6e1rinspnda.nt trois jiiiirs.”-7’I?itiit. teassa ted bh tlhe -qbbe de Cotritatid. Sic also C(ste latt’s. r}ur ss des Ot:,ol”;, s, ttm.s v. p. 145. * ” Such Turks as at the common hours otf prayer are on the road, om so employed as not too fid coveiece to atte the osques, are still obliged to execute that dtty; nor are they ever known to thil, whatever business they are their about, but pray ittmelitti ly whlen the hour alarts them, wirefever they are abo,,ut, in, tIhat very plane they chance to stald on; insomuc h tlwlat wen a, jaiss. ry whom. you ha.ve to guard you uip and down” the city, hears the n~l ice w i;dt is b,iro f o tf ie steeple hie w\ill tuirn Utout, stland l Sill, amll bec’(kon w~ith} Ijis 1Imml, to telf hiss chla,rge i,e mu,st ha ve pati (‘e tbr a w h ile; w lt, t a king out his hansdkerchlief, he sp>read~s it on1 th~egrztml,l sits cross ]frefed thlereup-nor, aInd shtys his preyers, t loungl in’ ti t{zipsi oi lt ket, ws. icti, hatvingt ettlIed, lie l eaps brisk)rly ip shut,.- th p, rLALI,A ROOKH. 123 ,,Joy, joy forever! my task is done” The gates are pass’d, and Heav’n is won.

Page 124 view page image elsy kind of isietre in which it was written ought to be who informed her that the King h’ad arrived in the Valley, lenounced, he said, as one of the leading causes of the and w’ts himself superintending the sumpituouis preparisalarming gre’wth of poetry in our times. If some check tiOIs that were then making in the Saloons of the Shah. were not given to this lawless facility, we should soon mar fiur her reception.‘I’ie chill she felt on receivilig be overruni by a race of bards as numerous aud as shal- this iiitelligeiice, which to a bride whose heart was frce lowv as the hundred and twenty thousand Streams of aud light would have brought only images of affection Basra.( They who succeeded in this style deserved aud pleasure,-convinced her that her peace was gonie chastisement for their very success;as warriors have forever, and that she was in love, irretrievably in love, been pu,iislied, even after gaining a victorv, because they with young FERAMORZ. The veil had fallen off ini whiec had lake n the liberty of gaining it in an irregular or un this passion at first disguises itself, and to know that she established manner. What, then, uas to be said to those loved was now as painful as-to love withoat knowiug it who failed? to those who presumed, as iii tue present had been delicious. FERAMORZ, too,-wliat nisery would lamnentable instance, to imitate the license and ease of be his, if the sweet hours of intercourse so impruden’,ly the holder sons of song, without any of that grace or alloweed them should have stolen into his heart the same vigosir which gave a dignity even to negrligence;who, fatal fascination as into hers;if, notwitlistanding her liki them, flung the jereedll carelessly, but not, like themn, rauk, and the modest homage he always paid to it, evca to the mark;” and wio,” said he, raising hi3 v oice to lhe should have yielded to the iifluence of those long aud ,.xcitc a proper degree of wakefulness inl his hearers, happy interviews, where music, poetry, the delightful contriive to appear heavy and constrained in the midst of I scenes of iiattire,all had tended to briiig their hearts ill t he latitude they allow themselves, like one of those close together, and to waken by every iiieaiis that too you enir pagrans that dance before the Princess, who is irn ready passion, which often, like the younlig ef the desert…,c ious enlough to move as if her linb~s were fettered, in bird, is warmed isito life by the eyes alo’ie!t She saw . p ir of the lightest and loosest drawers of Masulipit~tin!” but one way to preserve herself from benlug culpable as It wias but little suitable, he conitinsued, to the grave’ well as uiihappy, and this, however painful, she was lnaIch of criticisiii to follow tills fai’tastical Peni, of whom’I resolved to adopt. FERAMORZ must no nllore be adnitted they had just heard, through all tier flisrhts and adventures to her preseisce. To have strayed so far ilto the daugerhetween earth and heaven; but he could not help advert- ous labyrinth was wrong, but to liuger in it, while the in5 r to the puerile conceitedhess of the q’three Gifts wluich clew was yet. ini her haud, would be criminal. Tlhough she is supposed to carry to the skics,t dcrop of blood, the heart she had to offer to the King of Buctiaria issight torsooth, a sigh, and a tear! IHow the first of thesc asli be cold and broken, it should at least be pure* aud she cles a’as delivered into the Aingel’s ” radiant halnd” he must only endeavour to forget the short dreaiii of happilprofe ssed hiniself at a loss to discover antd as to the safe ness she had enjoyed,-like that Arabian shepherd, who, carriage of the sigh and the tear, such Peris and suchl in wandering iuto the wilderness, caught a glimpse of the poets were beings by far too incomnprehenisible for him Gardens of Irim, and then lost them agaill forever!~ even to guess how they managed such niatters. “But, The arrival o* the young Bride at Lahore was eelein shert,” said he, “it is a waste of time and patiencc to i brated in the most enthusiastic ilmailner. The Raijas and dwell longer upon a thing eo incurably frivolous, puny I Omras in her train, who had kept at a certain distance even among its own puny race, and such as olnly the duringr the journey, and isever encamped nearer to the Banyan Hospital~ for Sick Insects should undertake.”

Princess than was strictly necessary for her safeguard, e itheriick, lame, o r infirm, through age (or accident. On my arrival, there wer e presepeted to my view inlasly llorsee, COWS, a51(1 oxell, il onle apartmcnt; ill aceo thier, dogs, sheep, goals, and monkeys, wit h clean strasw for them to repose on. Above-stairs weie depositories fi~r seeds of many sorts. and flat,, brond dlishes fo~r water, for thle use of blirds andl ins-ects.” – Parsonl’s TIralvels. It is said lhe ala as hninalg s klnow the Banyasys, that tIe niot limidt approacl them, asnd t! at birels will fly neazrer to tl.eml~ thsa, to oti;er people.’  See Grandpre. * “A v( ry Iragrant grass from the bank s of the (ganges, near Ileridwar. which inl sonie places covers wh ole,,eros,nd ciff’uses, whe n crust eia strong or eour.” Sir..nnos ar tle Spirckonerd of tihe A ncients. he “Near tohis is a cus rious hill. ca l led rI, Talim. le Mountain of til Tanlisman.l because, acc ordini to tl r l(,itioii of’ th onitry, o person ever.uc eae(lel d in g’I it’iig its sillllllil.’ ]’ i C 50r1 “. $“Th’le Arn i i:ttt, bselieve.:*halt thle os1 t’i,‘lcs!,’::h 11 1.ir y1onnga ],y _rll Ic(;okitwon at l(ie:l.’- /:. [‘.7s’t /t’^, ].~/(t/. ~.”’ ]”?.&! ~~.e ~y,‘ee) Sale’s Kora, 11ote, vo1. Ji. 1. 4,tt. *‘I’he Cou~lntry of Delight the name of a province in the kingdom of Jinnisman. o;r Fairy iand. the capital of wvhich is called the City of Jewels. AmbLeraibad is anotlher of the eities of Jinnistan. tThle tree’loolba, that stanlds in Paradise, in thle palalce of Mahomet. See Sal,‘s Pre/im. Disc. Tooba, says D’Herbelot, signifies beatitude, or eternal happines.-. ; Mlahomliet is described, in the 53d chxapter of thle Koran, as having secn the an5gel GSabriel “by th e lote-tree, beyond which there is no passinlg: near it is the Gardlenl f Eternlal Abode.” Tlis tree say the comm~entators; statnd. i.l the sevenith Healven, 0!1 t!.e righlt hiand of the Thlrone of Godl. g “Ilt is sail tlmt th~e rivers or streams of Basra wvere reckoned in the tim1e o!‘45 Pca b~en Abi Bo{rdleh. and amlouilte,1 to the nlumb~er ouf onxe l]uI]‘J]re,l {I and twVen~ty theiis tad strearmls.”-Eb.7. Heruka/. 11’Ii e namite of lhe j.

veti: wxt!~ wibich ttze lEasternls ex~rc ise. F~ee C,?.‘fz.!l/,,,lSet/rs dt,’ (;thoanltafn, tomn. iii. p) ]F~l. ‘,1 |Tlds.c,’,,u,‘lt ex,.~tf.d R

~].sire )f’ vijE ti.; t~l’eT lkrn:~.l; os0R;t::, aIs I had el~t,a’;: h..f(1 ht 1 i: bclte lutX,>iic to;:1, kRi:.s cfl all.m:l:l~- that uere

Page 125 view page image tlhey led, and, in spite of all the Great Cliamberlain’s of an ancient Fue-Iille, built by those Ghebers or critilsc s, were s tasteless as to wish for the poet again. IPersians of the old religion, who, many hundred years OlC c~veiii,, as they were proceeding to their place of since, had fled liitheir fiom their Arab conquerors,t pre re,t foi thc nigi it the Princess, who, for the freer enjoy- ferring liberty and thieir altars in a foreign land to the al ue.,t of tle’air, had i’nouit,t,d her favourite Arabian pal- ternative of apostasy on perseeution iin their own. It was frcy, in passin r by a suail grove heard the iiotes of a lute impossible, lic added, not to feel interested in the many from, w’itlin itS lei..es, and a voice, which she but too well glorious but unsuccessful struggles, which had been made ki,rw, singinir the following words: by these original natives of Peisia to cast off the yoke of their bigoted conquerors. Like their own IF ire in the TELL me not of joys above, Burning Field at Bakou,; when suppre: sed in one place, If that world can give no bliss, they had but broken out with fresh flame in ainothere Truer, happier than the Love aud, as a native of Cashmere, of that faii aut Iloly Val Which enslaves our souls in this. ley, which litad il the same manner becom, the prey of strangers,~ and seen her anienit shb-es i nd native Tell me not of Hotiris’ eves;- princes swept away t)efore the inarchl, tier intolerant in Far from me their dangerous glow, vaders, he felt a sympathy, he owueed, v,‘l the sufferings If those looks that light the skies of the persecuted Chebers, which every monument like XVound like some that burn below. this befoie ttieiii but teiidecd nore pwerlutlv to awaken. It was the first tinie that FLi lAMIORZ? had ever ventured Who, that feels what Love is here, upoII so iiiuch prose befoie FAIinADi::.’, and it may easily All its falsehood-all its pain- be conceived whbat eflect suicti prose as this must havo WVould, for even Elysitim’s sphere, pro(1ucd upon that ni,‘st oithocdox and iiiost pagan Risk the fatal dream again? ha ltiiigpersonage. lie sat foi soine nmiiiutes aghast, ejac.

ulatilig onily at intervwls, ”’-ig roted conquerors!sympa Who, that’iiiidst a desert’s heat thy witli ire woslilftits i”il while 1

ERiAMORZ, happy Sees tie wvaters fade away,’ to take advantage of this alnost speeclless horror of the Would not rather die thain meet.

(haliiberlatii, )roceeded to say tllat he knew a nielan. Streams again as false as they? cioly story, coinected with the events of one of those struggles of the brave I ire-worshippers against their Arab [Itc tone of melaneclioly defiance in wh’ch these words nasters, which, ii the eveningis was not too far advanced, were uttered, wvent to LALLA RooKti s heart;‘and, as lie should lhave iich tilas wite in beiug allowed to relate she reluctantly rode on, she cotild:tot help feeling it to be 1 to the Prinicess. It was imitpossible for LALLA ROOKH to a sad but still sweet certainty, that Fli i’.MORaz was to the I refuse;lie tid never before looked hlalf so aniiated; and lull as enanioured aud miseratble as heiself.‘whei hle stokie of the h1oly Valley }is eyes had sparkled, The place where they encsiuped that eivening was the she olltightt, like the talilsnainic characters on the scimi. first delightful spot they had c(,me to since they left La- tar of Sotloion. Icr coliscint was therefore most readily lirore. Oii one side of theimi was a grove fill of small erratited, and wliilc I at in unspeakable diskt,iaidoo temples, cund plauted with the most glaceful trees may, expecting treasoin aud aoboiniiation in every line of the East; where the taiiiariiid, the Cassia, and the the paet thlis begaii his story of the Fire worshippers:silken plautains of Ceylon were ningled in rich contrast u_il.h thk,,r~ f} Il;,I,A; 4’... 1;.1’...... _, _ 1, r.. w “titre is n folrage pagoda thy n tiatnk, on lhe water of which float multvladriers of the lmauxilrl tell lotus: thei flower is larger than that of the white water lily,‘ii is the imiost lovely of the nymplheeas 1 have seen.”.rs.

(,rah/ei’s Jouirinal of a tesidence in Ildia t “On lea voit p ier. mle~s par lis Khalitis se retire, dana le9 mon a anes du Keriiai: pl u.ieurs choisirent pour retraite la Tartarie et la (}itsile; dl’astr,s.‘arr~drct.lr le -ti rs I lu Ger l ge, t l’est de Delta.”.2tl.

Jnqltestil, Mlelmoires dle l’Acad~lamic, tom. xxxi. p. 3X46. it The “OAgr ralthers,” uiescribtet oy Aernpfer,.tlmnictat. F xot ~ “C:ashner~er (salys its historianls) hladlits own prinees 4000 years b~ heyre i d nlliao atriutencrit aItS eiifu’t y Akhar i i ir eouldl htve found yome arisaieillty tO retuce tins paradlise ot thie In(lies situ’c ted as it is suih;...1 a fort…..i…....tai…. hlt it…... ti elt ut its iti ilr Iuse l”-‘juI l, we. a s lwa’;ba lyetralyedl by his Omlrahs.”’-Pental t. 11

Voltaire tells s that in }i. Tragedy “Les G etres.” le wias genieraiilly sappodla tO have allf’ to the Janes i.ts l si,iuld nrt ie s;i:  pri.id if t’ iahis slory ol thl e Fi re-osrlippers were lotulln cuapli}e of a sinfi !atr doubllehless ofl opplication. * Oriental Tales. tFcrishta. ” Or rathler,” says Scott, uponl the passage of Ferishlta, iron w12ich this is takien, “small coins, stamped with tie figure of a +t~ wer. They are still usey in India to din t ribut e in charity, ind, on oc.qs~o,, tierownv b~y thle purse-b~earers of thje great amnong thle po~pulac.” t’i’he~ fine road.( mr:d,1 1y thle Empe3(ror Jchanr-(,‘uire fromx Agru to!,a h,;:,, p::ntl wiot. th tr~,.s otnl eacht side.^.‘I’iiis roadl is;250( leagules inl lenlgti~. It:m.~ “ir’jle pyc’,t~;2.ls or t. urrets,” salys Bernlet,‘“erected( eve ry half ,’:’-“A~.. toJ lw!“rk; 1l~.E >iys, l:!{l t eq!lCllt wvells to aflbrd dri:‘l to) pa’sst, n;~“r,, 1~i,] 1o w\v\t( r l!;,,. yolln tree,-e.” ’’1!, Bayal, or llltia: C~ro~st-beak.,”Si: /-.

Jtones.

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126 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Like gems, in darkness, issuing rayw They’ve treasured from the sun that’s set, Beam all the light of long-lost days!

And swords she hath, nor weak nor slow To second all such hearts can dare; As he shall know, well, dearly know, Who sleeps ill moonlight lux’ry there, Tranquil as if his spirit lay Becalhn’d in Heav’n’s approving ray.

Sleep on-for purer eyes than thine Those waves are hush’d, those planets shine; Sleep on, and be thy rest unmoved By the white moonbeam’s dazzling power;None but the loving and the loved Should be awake at this sweet hour Tis moonlight over OMAN’s SEA;* Hcr batiks of pearl and palmy isles Bask in the isight-beam beauteously, And her blue waters sleep iii smiles. ‘Tis moonlight in }tAR.-IOZIA’st walls, And through her E.txIR’s porphyry halls, Where, some hours since, was heard the swell Of trumpet and the clash of zel,; Bidding the bright-eyed sun farcwell;The peaceful sun, whom better suits The music of the bulbul’s nest,., Or the light touch of lovers’ lutes, To sing him to his golden rest. All hush’d-there’s not a breeze in motion; The shore is silent as the ocean. If zephyrs come, so light they comne, Nor leaf is stirs d ior wave is driven;The wind-tower on the E.MIR’s dome~ Can hardly win a breath from heaven. And see-fwhere, high above those rocks That o’er the deep their shadows fling, Yon turret stands;-where ebon locks, As glossy as a heron’s wing Upon the turban of a king,* Hang from the lattice, long and wild,‘Tis she, that EmIR’s blooming child, All truth and tenderness and grace, Though born of such ungentle race;An image of Youth’s radiant Fountain Springing in a desolate mountain St Ev’n he, that tyrant Arab, sleeps Calm, while a nation round him weeps; While curses load the air he breathes, And falchions from uiunomber’d sheaths Are starting to aven-ge the shame His race hath brought on IRAN’sIl name. Hard, heartless Chief, unmoved alike ‘Mid eyes that weep, and swords that strike;One of that saintly, murd’rous brood, To carnage and the Korani given, Who think through unbelievers’ blood Lies their directest path to heav’n;One, who will pause and kneel unshod In the warm blood his hand hath pour’d, To mutter o’er some text of God Engraven on his reeking sword;-11 Nay, who can coolly note the line, The letter of those words divine, To which his blade, with searching art, Had sunk into its victim’s heart! Oh what a pure and sacred thing Is Beauty, curtain’d from the sight Of the gross world, illumining One only mansion with her light! Unseen by man’s disturbing eye, The flow’r that blooms beneath the sea. Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie Hid in more chaste obscurity. SO, HINDA, have thy face and mind, Like holy myst’ries, lain enshrined. And oh, what transport for a lover To lift the veil that shades them o’er!

Like those who, all at once, discover In the lone deep some fairy shore, Where mortal never trod before, And sleep and wake in scented airs No lip had ever breathed but theirs. Just ALLAI what must be thy look, When such a wretch before thee stands Unblushing, with thy Sacred Book,‘I’urning the leaves with blood-stain’d hands, And wresting from its page sublime His creed of lst, and hate, and crime -; Ev’n as tlhose bees of’rRESIZON, D, Which, from the sunniest flow’rs that glad With their pure smile the gardens round, D)raw venomn forth that drives men mad.** Never did fierce ARAnIA send A satrap forth more direly great; Never was IRAN doom’d to bend Beneath a yoke of deadlier weight. [Her throne had fall’n-her pride was crusli’dHer sons were willing slaves, nor blusli’d, In their own land,-no more their own,To crouch beneath a stranger’s throne. Her tow’rs, where MITHRA once had burn’d, To Moslem shrines-oh shame!-were;.urn’d, Where slaves, converted by the sword, Their m ean, apo stat e worship pour’d,’ And cursed the faith their sires adored. Yet has she hearts,‘mid all this ill, O’er all this wreck high buoyant still With hope and vengeance;-hearts that yet Beautiful are the maids that glide, On summer-eves, through YFMEN’s: dales, And bright the glancing looks they hide Behind their litters’ roseate veils;And brides, as delicate and fair As the white jasmine flow’rs they wear, Hath YEMEN in her blissful clime, Who, lull’d in cool kiosk or bow’r,~ Before their mirrors count the time,dl And grow still lovelier ev’ry hour. But never yet hath bride or maid In ARABY’S gayf Haremn smiled, Whose boasted brightness would not fade Before AL HA,.,N’S blooming child * “Their kings wear plumes of black berois’ feathers lipin the rigli side, as a badge of sover,ignty.” a,w ay t “The Fountain of Youth, by a Maliometan tradition, I situate in some dark region of the East.” ichardson. : Arabia Felix. ~ “In the midst of the garden is the chiosk, that is, a large roon commonly beautified with a fi li i te m ist of it. It is raise nine or ten steps, and enclosed with gilte,d latice s round which vines. jessamines, and hone,suckles, make a sort of green wall; large trees are planted round this pflice, which is tihe scne of their greatest pleasures.” -Lady J}L W. d/ lontalu. 11 Thle awomen of thelast are never withloutu their looking-glasses. ” lil Barbary,” sys Sha.w, “they are so foil of their looking-glasses, which they hang upon their breast that they -ill loot lay them aside, even w hen after the drudgery of the (lay tlh y are e,liget to go two or thret miles with a pitcher or a go,tt’s skin to tistci water.”-Travels. Il other parts of Asi:’ they wear little looking-glasses on thir thumbs. ” Hence (and from tie tus bei cosiere te emblem of beauty) is ththe meaning of the following ut i ntercourse of two lovers before their T’lle Persian Gulf, sometimes so called, which separates the shores t Persia and Arabia. The present Gombaroon, a town on the Persian side of the Gulf. ; A Mloorishl instrument of mnusic. A: Gombaroon and other places in Persia, they have towers for ti1,e purpose of catching tile wind, and cooling the hoURSe.D- le Br,yn. il “[lrail is tile true ge neral na,e for the empire of Persia.”

.siat. Res. IDi.uc. 5. O” the I, -l,des of their scimitars some verse from thle Koran is ta~it:’!) inst reiltetl’”-Iaessel. *o’ Tlhere is a Hill osf Risloodetdros abtoitTrebizontd, whose flowers Ith. lutiste {e(s Uait, ai’l li,e lissney thene drives people trad.”-Touret Barb. TF-IE MIRROR

LIBRARY. 126 I THE FIRE-WORSHIPPERS. Light as the angel sliap(s tli,-tt [)less An itifant’s dreain, yet ijot tile less “‘H,k iti.,alit, f ],le, I t,s t li. p,,,.’,i: Sh ais,,d I,,, to I,i,, i,,’, Theii t.r,-‘d it i.,,,,,d to l,,. ,Isi.ti,.4Ii8cdlany. Y,.l ii

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Came, in the flush of love and pride, And scaled the terrace of his bride * . When, as she saw him rashly spring, And midway up in danger cling, She fang him down her lon-, black hair, Exclaiming, breathless, ” There, love, there!” And scarce did inaiilier nerve uphold The heco ZAL ill that fond hour, Than wings the youth who, flect and bold, Now climbs the rocks to HINDA’S bower See-light as up their granite steeps The rtck-goats of ARABIA clamber,* Fearless from crag to crag he leaps, And now is in the maiden’s chanber. Rich in all woman’s loveliness;With eyes so pure, that from their ray Dark Vice would turn abash’d away, Blinded like serpents, when they gaze Upon the em’rald’s virgin blaze;-* Yet fill’d with all youth’s sweet desires, \Ii-gling the meek and vestal fires Of other worlds with all the bliss, Tile fonid, weak tenderness of this: A soul, too, more than half divine, Where, through some shades of earthly feeling, Religion’s soften’d glories shine, Like light through summer foliage stealing, Shedding a glow of such mild hue, So wParm, and yet so shadowy too, As makes the very darkness there More beautiful than light elsewhere.

She loves-but knows not whom she loves, Nor what his race, nor whence he came; Like one who meets, in Indian groves, Some u eos beauteous bird without a name, Brought by the last ambrosial breeze, From isles in th’

undiscover’d seas, To show his plumage for a day To wond’ring eyes, and wing away! Will he thus fly-her nameless lover? ALLA forbid!‘twas by a moon As fair as this, while singing over Some ditty to her soft Kanoo,’,t Alone, at this same witching hour, She first beheld his radiant eyes Gleam through the lattice of the bow’r, Where nightly now they mix their sighs; And thought some spirit of the air (For what could waft a mortal there?) Was pausing on his moonlight way To listen to her lonely lay! This fancy nie’er hath left her mind: And-though, when terror’s swoon had pass’d, She saw a youth, of mortal kind, Before her in obeisance cast,Yet often since, when he lhatlh spoken Strange, awful words,-and gleams have broken From his dark eyes, too bright to bear, Oh! she hath fear’d her soul was giv’n To some unhallow’d child of air, Some erring Spirit cast from heav’n, Like those angelic youths of ol(l, Who burn’d for maids of mortal mould, Bewilder’d left the glorious skies, And lost their hcav’n for womani’s eyes. Fond girl! nor fiend nor angel he Who woos thy young simplicity; But one of earth’s inipassion’d sons, As warm il love, as fierce in ire, As the best heart whose current runs Full of the Day God’s living fire. Such is the maid who, at this hour, Ilath risen front her restless sleep, And sits alone in that highi bow’r, Watching the still and shining deep.

Ah!‘twas not thlus,-with tearful eyes And beating heart,-slie used to gaze On the magnificent earth and skies, In her own land, in happier days. Why looks she now so anxious down Among those rocks, whose rugged frown Blackens the mirror of the deep? WV1iotn waits she all this lonely night?

Too rough tile rocks, too bold the s teep, For nman to scale that turret’s height! So deem’d at least her thoughtful sire, When high, to catch the cool nighlt-air, After the day-beam’s with’ring fire,t He built her bowlv’r of freshness there, Ald had it deck’d with costliest skill, And fondly thought it safe as fair;  ‘rhinK, reverend dreamer! think so still, Nor wake to learn what Love can dare; Love, all-defyiing Love, who sees No charm in trophies won with ease; Whose rarest, dearest fruits of bliss Are plack’d on Danger’s precipice! Bolder than they, who dare not dive For pearls, but when the sea’s at rest, Love. in the tempest most alive, Hathli ev’er held that pearl the best lie finds beneath the stormiest water. Yes-ARABY’s unrivall’d daughter, Though high that tow’r, that rock-way rude, There’s one who, but to kiss thy cheek, WVotild climb th’ untrodden solitude Of ARARAT’S tremendous peak,F And think its steeps, though dark and dread, Heav’nl’s pathways, if to thee they led! Ev’n now thou seest the flashing spray, That lights his oar’s impatient way; Ev’nl now thou hear’st the sudden shock Of his swift bark against the rock, And stretchest down thy arms of snow, As if to lift him from below! Like her to whom, at dead of night, T’he bridegroom, with his locks of light,~ They say that if a snake or serpent fix his eyes on the lustre of :.~ose stones (emeralds) he immediately becomes bliHnd.o sw-med ben ,,ft,dl ziz, Treatise on Jewels. t At Gorbaroon and tile Isle of-Ormus it i sometimes so hot, that :, ople are obliged to lie all day in the water.”-JSarco Polo. 1hi mountain is generally supposed to be iSaccessible, Stray says, I ea ell assure the reader tla ttheir opini on is not true, wio suppose tni.

mount. to be inaccessit le.” He adds, that “the lower part ot the ~ inta is cloudy, misty, and dark, thie middlemost part very cold, and ie lotds of snow but tl e upper regions perfectly calm.”-It was on t,is mountain that tie Atk was supp-osed( to have rested after thie Deluge, ,:d part of it, t”ey say, exists there still, whlicl Struy thus gravely accounts r:-”

WVhiereas none can reIember tlhat the air on thie top of thie hill d’l ever change or was subject either to wind or rain, wliici is presumed t e the reason treat the Ark has endured so long without being rotten.” See Crrcri’s Travels, wiere the doctor laughs at this wliole account of Mount Arirat. ~ Il onte of the tiooks of the Shah Nameh,, when Zal, (a celebrated hero of Persia, reniorkable for sis white hair,) comes to the terrace of iis mistress Rlodaheer at night, she lets lown hier long tresses to assist l in Ihis a‘ent -hf, howev er, ianaies it in a less rimanltic way by riai,g his crook in tt prios etlg beam.-See Champion’s F’rdosi. ” How sweetly,” staid the trembling maid, Of her own gentle voice afraid, So long had they in silence stood, Looking upon that tranquil flood” How sweetly does the moon-beam smile ” To-naight upon yon leafy isle! ” Oft, in my fanicy’s wanderings, ” I’ve wish’d that little isle had wings, ” And we, within its fairy bow’rs, I LALLA ROOKH. I.;Z. But quencli’d tO-Digilt that ardour seems, And pale his cheek, and sunk his brow Never before, but in tier dreams, flad she belield liiiii pale, as now And those were di-eartis of troubled sleep, From wliieli’twas joy to wake and weep; Visi,“r)s, that will not be forgot, But sadden every making scene, Like warning ghosts, that leave the spot All witherld, where they once have been. *:: 0. th,- of A,,,Ii, P,,t,-,, ,,, o,k-g..t. “-N iebuAr.

t C”.,U,’.p,,ce’I,, I”,.Ito!’, .,,, od,,, i. I,.Yaux . lei ., di,,,, 1, (I!”,  point’. d. c(,,. – 7, t,a.s,af,d by 1),

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0o see thee, h1ear thee, cal tnee mine, “Ob misery! must I lose that too?

s Yet go Oh peril’s brijik we meet;-T “Those frightful rocks-that treach’rous sea-A ‘No, never come again-though sweet, fThoughl hear’n, it may be death to thee. ‘Fareweil! and blessiugs on thy way, “Where’er thou goest, beloved stranger! ‘ Better to sit and watch that ray, ‘ And think thee safe, though far away, “Than have thee near me, and in danger!” ” Who cursct th l oturret’s Arabg calie “TTo desolate our sh ri’re s of fla tre, “And sleear, before God’s burnTieng eye, “So break orr country’s cthains, or d ie! H Thy bigot sire,-nay, tremble not,i “He, iwho gane birth to those ldear eyes, “W spith me is stcred as th e spot ” Frorn which oulr fires of worship rise! ” But know‘twras hc I sought Illat night, ” Whenl, from mny watch-boat on the sea, ” I caught this turrct’s glimmlr’rinlg light, ” And up the rude rocks desp’rately “‘Rush’d to my preysthou knlow’st the rest  ” I climb’d the gory vulturc’s nest, ” And found a tremlbling dove within;” Thine, thine the v ictory thine the sin” If Love hathl madl e oeC thlought hlis own, ” That Vengcanlcc claims first last alole! ” Oh! had we nevser, never inet, ” Or coukl thlis heart ev-en nowv forget ” How linlk’dl, howv blcss’d wre mright hlave been, ” Had fate not frownl’d so dark betweenl! ” Hadst thlou beenl bornl a Perls ian mraid, ”

In nleighlbourliug valley-s }:3ad we dwelt, “T’Ihroughl thce same fie lds inl childhood play’d, ” At tile sam~ne kindflinlg,liar kne lt,-. ” Then, thenl, while} all thlose nlamleless ties, ” Ill whichl thc cha~rml of Country lies, ” Ilad rouuld our hearts beenl hourly spun, “Till IRAN’s cause andl thinle were one,; ” While. in t~hy lute’s awak’nlirg sigh ” I heard thle voice ol day s gonle by, ” And sawv, in ev’ry smlile oi’

thsine, ” Returning hours of glory shine; ‘Daiger!oh tempt me not to boast” The youlth exclaim’ld ” thou little know’st ‘What he can brave, who, born and nursed ‘In Danger’s paths, bas ilared her worst; ‘Upon whose ear tbe signal-word ‘oi strife and death is hourly breaking; ‘ Who sleeps wvith head upon the sword] “His fever’d hand must grasp in waking. Danger!

” ‘ Say on-thou fetar’st not then, ‘And we.‘nay mneet oft meet again?” ~

Oh! look not so-beneath the skies ‘I nlows fear nothing bult those eyes.

If aught on earth could charm or force Myl sp~irit from its destined course,‘I’ anight could make this soul forget lThe bond tv which its seal is set, ‘Two:‘Id be those eyes; they, only they, ‘Could melt that sacred seal away! Butt ns-‘tis fix’d-my awful doom *Is fix’. on this side of the tomb e’W meet no more;-why, why did Heav’n Minigle tw o souls that earth has riv’n, * Has rent asunder wvide as ours? ‘Oh, Arab mnaidl, as soon the Powers “Of Light anld Darknless may combine, ~‘As I be linlk’d w-ith thee or thine’ ~‘Thy Faither- ” * They (the Glebers) lay so much stretss on t ylr cushee or girdle, au not to dare to be nn i nst a nt wititut it.

(urosccs Voyage.-“L~ jeune Asll be liik’aord wlt cthoseo thin, ayint tte dipuuille dl e sa robe, et la large ein*turc qiu’il portotit c()mme Otldl)re, ” &. &c.lt’ Herb elot art. AgduanA. “‘our ~C a distingu(;r d,‘s ld,,I.,tres tie l’nde, les Gu dbrei se ceignlent tous d tin cor(hm dc l:e, (,ud tio il *l cimmeau.” tncy Clop~ie P}‘a~lcoise. T k’Herobelo t says te 4liuhir s hie l w s te?r: t litt of h yath r. t ” They suippole the’t’tlr(,ne ~,f lh~e A’r;ql ltv is seated;a the sun, anti hencs*e thleir worsiipy of{ thait hu,;iiry.’ lattway. “A.s to fire, thle Ght’be~rs plac e t!ce.-;pringe-t catd of it. i!~ thltt globe of fire, the Sun,!)y il ellt called 5lyt tras, or Mi hir: to w~icl) the y pyte th ighest Noreverendei, il gratittud’; icr tlte mttnitb,d t ~e 1) iil.s Ih~wvttg trom its ministerial onenisence. whot twley pire wou llr tthee ctti>Wltli:k tie subiorttdination |o tAne ty. rbot sptir t, ojresty he. it s (trt;jttr, t’.,a: t.ley i tot only attr’ butte b1 rigt ofascelhsio or be;ysnihis to t):.;titl (;r!‘cr:’, l yiily o’its opera tiuns, heard him}>ii swear Isit.i.pill’ ly ) i l’iii irc,,:, ttiretaedn nd tgoverned’ y t i~ e’::lictt; i’i’lc’iition /; it ii. t ill (f hi;vt it but Itey tm sgo hvoul givb ta}l wariol’l;bidey,,tll-gtacri,s i}t g i it i., ii ore thi an the ‘!....gl iili l1isrt hsis:;v~~,,:.,w(:r th,ll lil~ixlll ot ui::t:~.” /,f‘r.e.‘I lie false ch~argres br~ugi:t;gi’rt:lst )i-(e’(ligi,))l(,f tl:,,s( p)(.,,p,e I;y t’:~ei,’.Mussulrn,’ ” tyratta ”

i. but alte i!i i)=t’:tt,t’’;:‘tny 01 l[)e t:, tf tl*is *riter’s reI tsd.ark, th./ “c’ltlll y iS!] u t o i)t,,et”,io~:,’ but (br th,, site t’fJlti!tg J;, _ __ _. __ ” His gray head from that lightning glance! ”

Thou knows’st himn not he loves the brave,: ” Nor lives there ulndcr heaven’s expanse “sOne who would prize, wsould worship thee ” And thy bold spirit, more than he. “OCft when, in childhood, I havc play’dl ” W\ith the bright falchion by hi3 side, “>I’ve heard him swear his lispinlg m~aid ”

In time should1 be a w^arrior’s bride. ” And still, when-e’er at ttarexnl hours, “l take h imr eoc, l she~rbets and flow’rs,

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ROOKI((. 129 signal of the bamboo-staff*, with the white flag at its top, renminding the traveller that, in that very spot, the tiger hlad miade some human creature his victim. It was, therefore, with much pleasure that they arrived at sunset in a safe and lovely glen, and encamped under one of those holy trees, whose smooth columns and spreading roofs seem to destine them for natural temples of religion. Beneath this spacious shade, some pious hands had elerected a row of pillars ornamented with the most beau. tiful porcelaint, which now supplied the use of mirrors to the young maidens, as they adjusted their hair in descending fromn the palankeens.

Here, while, as usual, the Princess sat listening anxiously, with FADLADEEN in one of his loftiest moods of criticism by her side, the young Poet, leaning against a branch of the tree, thus continu. ed his story: “T, While t wron g’d Spirit of our lan d “Lived, look’d, aid spoke h er wrong s th rough thee,“G od! who ceuld thlic e this sword wTithstand a? ”

Its very flash were victory! “But now estranged, div)rced forever, “Far as the grasp of Fate can sever; Our only ties hwhat lov e ihas ove, “I I’aith, friends, country, suiider’d wvde, “And then, then on,ly, true to love, “A Wher i false t o al l that’s dear besides BThy father IRAN’s deadliest foe”Thyself, perhaps, even now-but no”Hate never look’d so lovely yet! “No-sacred to thv soul will be “The land of him who could forget {‘ All but that bleeding land for thee. “When other eyes shall see, unmoved, ” Her widows mourn, her warriors fall, “Thou’lt think how well one Gheber loved, “And for his sake thou’lt weep for all! ‘But look – At THE. morn hath risen clear and caln, And o’er the Green Sea’ palely shines, Revealing BAHREJN’S~ groves of palm, And lighting KISIIMA’S~ amber vines. Fresh smell the shores of ARABY, While breezes from the Indian Sea Blow round SELAMA’S~ sainted cape, And curl the shining flood beneath,Whose waves are rich with many a grape, And coce’a-nut and flow’ry wreath, Which pious seamen, as they pass’d, Had tow’rd that holy headland castOblations to the Genii there For gentle skies and breezes fair! The nightingale now bend s her flightd l From the high trees, where all the night She sung so sweet, with none to listen; And hides her from the morning star Where thickets of pomegranate glisten In the clear dawn, bespangled o’er With dew, whose night-drops would not stain The best and brightest scimitar** That ever youthful -Suiltaii wore On the first morning of his reign. With sudden start he turni’d, And pointed to the distant wave, Where lights, like chlarnel meteors, burn’d Bluely, as o’er somie seamian’s grave: And fiery darts, at intervals,* Flew up all sparkling from the main, As if each star that nightly falls, Were shooting back to heaven again. My signal lights!-I must awayBoth, both are rluin’d, if I stay. Farewell-sweet life! thou cling’st in vain-S “Now, Vengeance, I am thine again!” Fiercely he broke away, nor stopp’d, Nor look’d-but from the lattice dropp’d Down’mid the pointed crags beneath, As if he fled from love to death. While pale and mute young HINDA stood, Nor moved, till in the silent flood A momentary plunge below Startled her from her trance of wo; Shrieking she to the lattice flew, “I come-I come-if in that tide Thou sleep’st to-night, I’ll sleep there too, ” In death’s cold wedlock, by thy side. Oh! I would ask no happier bed ” Than the chiill wave my love lies under:  Sweeter to rest together dead, Far sweeter, than to live asunder!” But no their hour is not yet come Again she sees his pinnace fly, Wafting him fleetly to his home, Whlere’er that ill-starr’d home may lie; And calmn and smooth it seem’d to win Its moonlight way before the wind, As if it bore all peace within, Nor left one breaking heart behind!

And see-the Suin himself!-on wings Of glory up the East he springs. Anigel of Light! w ho from the time Those heavens began their march sublime, Hath first of all the starry choir Trod in his Maker’s steps of fire! Where are the days, thou wondrous sphere, When IRAN, like a sun-flow’r, turn’d To meet that eye where’er it burn’d? Wheti, from the banks of BENDEMEEIR To the inut-groves of SAMARCAND, Thy termples flamed o’er all the land? Where are they? ask the shades of them Who on CADESSIA’stt bloody plains, Saw fierce iniva(ders pluck the gem From IRAN’s broken diadem, And bind her ancient faith in chains:Ask the poor exile, cast alone On foreign shores, unloved, unknown, fle Princess, whose heart was sad enough already, colh(i have wished that FERAMORZ had chosen a less mielanicholy story; as it is only to the happy that tears dre a luxury. Her Ladies, however, were by no means sorry that love was once more the Poet’s theme; for, whenever ihe spoke of love, they said, his voice was as sweet as if he had chewed the leaves of that enchanted tree, which grows over the tomb of the musician, TanSein.t Their road all the morning had lain through a very dreary country;-through valleys, covered with a low bushy jungle, where, in more than one place, the awful * ” Tlhe Manietulkes that were in the other boat, when it was dark, used to shoot up a sort of fiery arrows into the air, which in some measure resembled l.ghtnmg or talhng stars.”-Baumgarten. t ” Within tile e iclosure which surrounds this monument (at Gualior) is t sine l1 thumbn to thse,,emory of Tani-Sethl, a mnusic ian of incomparable skill, who flourishsed at the court of Akbar.

Thle tomb is overshatdowved by a tree, concerning which a superstitiouls notion prevails, tl iwt the ch ewing of its leaves i gie, an extraordinary melodiy to the voice.”.Aarrati,, of a Journey from d,gra to Ou.ein, by TV.

Hunter, Esq. * “It is usual to place a small white triangular flag, fixed to a bamboo stafi’ o’f ten or twelve feet long, at the place where a tiger has destroyed a man. It id common tbr the passengers also to throw each a stone or brick near the spot, o that in the course of a little time a pile equal to a good wagou-load is collected. The sight of these flags and piles of stones imparts a certain mehmcholy not perhaps altogether void of ap prehlensiol.” Oriental Field Sports: vol. ii. t lhe Fieus Indica is called tle P,‘god Tree and Tree of Councils; tahe first from the idols placed under its shade; the second. because m eetings were held under its cool branches. In some places it is bolieved to be the ia.unt of spectres as the ancientspressiig oaks of Wales lhave been of fairies; in others are erected beneath the shade pillars of stone, or posts elegantly carved and ornamented with the most beautifid porcelain to supply the use of mirrors.”Pennant. The Persians Gulf” To dive for pearls in the Green Sea, or Per sianl Gulf:”-Sir W..Iones. ~ Islands in the Gulf… Or Selemeh, the genuine name of the headland at the entrance of the Gulf commamsly called Cape Mlisseldom. “The Indians, whenthey pass the promontory t hrow cooa,-nu,ts, fruits, or flowers into the ~m to secure: propitious voyage.”-Jlforier. m iTle nightingale sigs figon the pomegranate-groves in the darytimc and from the loftiest trees at iigit.”

– Russi’sAleppo. I** I speaking of the climate of Sliraz, Franklin says, The dew is of such a pure iature that if the brightest scimitar should be exposed to it all night, it,(u,, iot receive the least rust.”. tt Tlie place where tle l’ersiis were finally defeated by the b and their,iet monarchy dstroyed. I i I LALLA

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– I L Beyond the Caspian’& Iron Gates,* Or on the snowy Mossian mountains, Far from his beauteous land of dates, Her jasmine bow’rs and sunny fountains: Yet happier so than if he trod His own beloved, but blighted, sod, Beneath a despot stranger’s nod!Oh, he would rather houseless roam Where Freedom and his God may lead, Than be the sleekest slave at home That crouches to the conqu’ror’s creed! ‘Tis HAFED-name of’ fear, whose sound Chills like the mutt’ring of a charm!Shout but that awful name around, And palsy shakes the manliest arm. ‘Tis HAFED, most accursed and dire (So rank’d by Moslem hate and ire) Of all the lebel iSonls of Fire!

Of wi ose In align, trem,:ndou. – pow~ r The Arabs, at their mid-watch hour, Such tales of fearful wonder tell, That each aftrighted sentinel Pulls down his cowl upon his eyes, Lest HAFED in the midst should rise! A man, they say, of monstrous birth, A mingled race of flame and earth, Sprung from those old, enchanted kings,* Who in their fiery helms, of yore, A feather from the mystic wings Of the Simoorgh resistless wore; And gifted by the Fiends of Fire, Who groan’d to see their shrines expire, With charms that, all in vain withstood, Would drowii the Koran’s light in blood’ Is IRAN’s pride then gone forever, Quench’d with the flame ill MITtIRA’Ss raves’No-she has sons, that never-never Will stoop to be the Moslem’s slaves, While heav’n has light or earth has graves;Spirits of fire, that brood not long, But flash resentment back for wrong; And hearts where, slow but deep, the seeds Of vengeance ripen into deeds, Till, in some treach’rous hour of calm, They burst, like ZEILAN’s giant palm,t Whose buds fly open with a sound That shakes the pigmy forests round! Yes, EMIR! he, who scaled that tow’r, Anrid, had he reach’d thy slumbling breast, Had taught thee, in a Gheber’s pow’r How safe ev’n tyrant heads may restIs one of many, brave as he, Who loathe thy haughty race and thee; Who, though they know the strife is vain, Who, though they know the riven chain Snaps but to enter in the heart Of him who rends its links apart, Yet dare the issue,blest to be Ev’n for one bleeding moment free, And die in pangs of liberty! Thou know’st them well‘tis some moons since Thy turban’d troops and blood-red flags, Thou satrap of a bigot Prince, Have swarm’d among these Green Sea crags; Yet here, ev’n here, a sacred band Ay, in the portal of that land Thou, Arab, dar’st to call thy own, Their spears across thy path have thrown; Here-ere the winds half wing’d thee o’erRebellion braved thee from the shore. Such were the talcs, that won belief, And such the colourieg Fancy gave To a young, warm, and dauntless Chief, One who, no more than mortal brave, Fought for the land his soul ador ed, For hail)py holes an d altars free, His only talisman, the sword, His only spell-word, Liberty! One of that ain( icnt hero line, Along whose glorious current shine Names, that have sanctified their blood;. As LFBANON’S small mountaini-flood Is render’d holy by the ranks Of sainted cedars on its banks.t ‘Twas not for hiiii to crouch the knee Tamely to Moslem tyranny; ‘Twas not for him, whose soul was cast In the bright mould of ages past, Whose melancholy spirit, fed With all the glories of the dead, Though fraimied for IRAN’S happiest years, Was born an.long her chains and tears!‘Twas not for him to swell the crowd Of slavish heads, that shrinking bow’d Before the Moslem, as he pass’d, Like shrubs beneath the poison-blastNo-far lie fledl-indignant fled The pageant of his country’s shame; While every tear her (children shed Fell on his soul like drops of flame; And, as a lover hails the dawn Of a first smile, so welcomed he The sparkle of the first sword drawn For vengeance and for liberty! Rebellion! foul, dishonouring word, Whose wrongful blight so oft has stain’d The holiest cause that tongue or sword Of mortal ever lost or gain’d. How many a spirit, born to bless, Hath sunk beneath that with’ring name, Whom but a day’s, an hour’s success Had wafted to eternal fame! As exhalations, when they burst From the warm earth, if chill’d at first, If check’d in soaring from the plain, Darken to fogs and sink again;But, if they once triumphant spread Their wings above the mountain-head, Become enthroned in upper air, And turn to sun-bright glories there! But vain was valour-vain the flower Of KERMAN, in that deathful hour, Against AL

HASSAN’S whelming power, In vain they met him, helm to helm, Upon the threshold of that realm He came in bigot pomp to sway, * Tahmuras, and othler ancient IKings of Persia; whose adventiis in Fairy-land among the P,et ie and Dives may be found in Richardson’s carious Dissertation. The gritffi Simoorgh, they say, took some feathers from her breast tfr Taumiras, with which he adorned his helmnet, and transmitted them after,wardls to his descendants. ‘t I his rivulet, says Danidii, is called the Holy River from the “cedarsaints” among which it rises. In the Lettree Edmb ante,a ther e is a different cause assigned for its name of Holy. In these are deep caverns, which formerly served as so many cells for a great nuiner of recluses, who had chosen these retreats as the only witnesses upon earth ot’ the severity of their penanon. The tear s of these pious pe iitents gave the river of which we have jiut treated the name of the Hloly River.”-Ses C/hdteaubrand’s B,a-es lof Christianity And who is he, that wi eld s the m ight Of Freedom on the Green Sea brink, Before whose sabre’s dazzling lightt The eyes of YEMEN’s warriors wink? Who comes, embower’d in the spears Of KERMAN’S hardy mountaineers? Those mountaineers that truest, last, ~ Derbend.-” Les Turcs appelent cette ville Demir Capi. Porte de Faer’ ce font len Canpise Portfe des ancient.-D’Herbeltt.‘n tthe Talpot or Talipot tree. “This beautiful palm-tree, which -ows in the heart of the forests, may be classe d among the lof tiest trees, and becomes still higher when on the point of bursting forth from its ieafy summit. The sheath which then envelops the flower is very large, andl, when it bursts, makes an explosion like the report of a cannon. Tun/der~.e. t ” When the bright cimitars make the eyes of our heroes wink.” -The Moallakat, Poem of A:mru. I I I 130 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Cling to their courtry’s ancient rites, As if that God, whose eyelids cast Their closing gleam oii IRAN’S heights, Among her snowy mountains threw The last light of his worship too!

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LAL ROKH’ 1 31 Thither the vanquish’d HAFED led His little army’s last remains;“Welcome, terrific glen!” he said, “Thy gloom, that Eblis’ self might dread, ” Is Heav’n to him who flies from chains!” O’er a dark, narrow bridge-way, known To him and to his Chiefs alone, They -oss’d the chasm and gain’d the tow’rs, This honb,” he cried, ” at least is ours;“Here we may bleed, unmock’d bv hymns ‘,Of Moslem triumph o’er our head; “Here we may fall, nor leave our limbs ” To quive: to tl,e Mo;lem’s tread. “Stretch’d on this rock, while vultures’ beaks “Are w hetted on our yet warm cheeks, “Here-happy that no tyrant’s eye “Gloats on our torments-we may die!” There stood-but one short league away From old HArtMozsIA’s sultry bay A rocky mountain, o’er the Sea Of OIAN beetling awfu’ly;* A lasi a!-id solitarl ink Of those stupendous chains that reach From the broad Caspian’s reedy brink Down winding to the Green Sea beach.

Around its base the bare rocks stood, Like naked giants, ill the flood, As if to guard the Gulf across; WVhile, on its peak, that braved the sky, A ruin’d Temrnple tower’d so high ‘That oft the sleeping albatrosst Struck the wild ruins with her wing, And fromn her clotid-rock’d slumbering Starte(d-to find man’s dwelling there In her own silent fields of air!

l3e: eatlih, terrific caverns gave l)ark welcome to each stormy wave That dash’d, like midnight revellers, in; And such the strange, mysterious din At tines throughout those caverns roll’d,And such the fearful wonders told Of restless sprites itnprisoii’d there, That bold were Moslem, who would dare, At twilight hour, to steer his skiff Beneath the Gheber’s lonely cliff.t ‘Twas night when to those towers they came And gloomily the fitful flame, That from the ruin’d altar broke, Glared on his features, as he spoke:‘Tis o’er-what men could do, we’ve done If IRAN will look tamely on, And see her priests, her warriors driven ” Before a sensual bigot’s nod, “A wretch who shrines his lust in heav’n, ” And makes a pander of his God; “If her proud sons, her high-born souls, ” Men, in whose veins-oh last disgrace! “The blood of ZAL and RUSTAM* rolls, ” If they w711 court this upstart race, “And turn from MIruaAR’s ancient ray, “To kneel at shrines of yesterday; If they will crouch to IRPAN’S foes, ” Why, let them-till the land’s despair Cries out to Heav’ln, and bondage grows ” Too vile for ev’n the vile to bear! Till shame at last, long hidden, burns Their inmost core, and conscience turns Each coward tear the slave lets fall Back on his heart in drops of gall. But here, at least, are arms unchain’d, And souls that thraldom never stain’d; ” This spot, at least, no foot of slave Or satrap ever yet profaned; – ” And though but few-though fast the wave Of life is ebbing from our veins, Enoughl for vengeance still remains. As paiin.!.ers, after set of sun, Rush from the roots of LEB3ANON Across the dark-sea robber’s way,t We’ll bound upon our startled prey: And when some hearts that proudest swell Have felt our falchion’s last farewell; When Hope’s expiring throb is o’er, And ev’n Despair can prompt no more, This spot shall be the sacred grave Of the last few who, vainly brave, Die for the land they cannot save!” On the land side, those tow’rs sublime, That seem’d above the grasp of Time, Were sever’d from the haunts of men By a wide, deep, and wizard glen, So fathomless, so full of gloom, No eye could pierce the void between: It seem’d a place where Gholes might come WVitli their foul banquets from the tomb, And in its caverns feed unseen. Like distant thit’der, from below, The sound of iiiany torrents came, ‘I’oo deep for eye or ear to know If’twere the sea’s imprison’d flow, Or floods of ever-restless flame. For, each ravine, each rocky spire Of that vast mountain stood on fire;4 And, though forever past the days WVlien God was worshipp’d in the bi”W e ‘I’llat from its lofty altar shone,‘Thloughl fled the priests, the volt’-ies gone, Still did the mighty flame burn Ot).,l Through chance and change, through good and ill, Like its own God’s eternal will, Deep, constant, bright, unquenchable! His chiefs stood round-each shining blade Upon the broken altar laidAnd though so wild and desolate Those courts, where once the Mighty sax Nor longer on those mould’ring tow’rs Was seen the feast of fruits and flow’rs, With which of old the Magi fed The wand’ring Spirits of their dead;I Though neither priest nor rites were there, Nor charmed leaf of pure pomegranate;~ This mountain is my own creation, as the” stupendous chain,” of vi,ichI L suppose it a link, does not extend quite so far as the shores of the P’ersians Gulf. “This long and lofty range of mountains formerly divided Media lIrou Assyria, an,d tow torms the bounldary of the Perian and Tirkish cmpires. It runs parallel witht the river Tigris and Persian Gulf, aud almost disappearing in the vicin.:y of Gonberooi (Hlarmozia) seems ce ore to rise in the souther districts f Kerman, and following a. -asterly course thlrough tle ent re of Mekraun and Balouchistan, is en;rily l,st il the deserts of Sinde.” Kinier’s Persian Empire. T These birds sleep in the air. They are most common about the Cape of Good Hlope. ‘’” ere is a.

extraordinary hill in this neighbourliood called Koh6 Gtibr, or tie Guebre’s mountain. It rises in the form of a lofty cupola, tod on the summit of it, they say, are the remains of an Atush Kuduor ‘lire’Temnple.

It is superstitiously held to be the residence of Deeyes or Sprites anud many marvellous stories are recounted of the injury and ss:atchcratt suffired by those who e,ssyed in former days to ascend or exlore it.”

Pottig,er’s Beloochistan. The G;ebers generally built their temples over subterraneous fires. tl ” At the city of Yezd, in Persia, which is distinguished by the ,p’-l lation of tile Darfi1 Abadut, or Seat of Religion, tile Guebres are paeritte d to hllve al Atusl Kudu or Fire’

emple (which, they assert, ta., Iy tt,e pacred fire in it since tle, days of Zoroaster) in ti he air o ~.,mpartmen~t of thre city: but tor thlis indulgence they are indebted to the a va~lrl, not the toleran-e of tile Persian government, Zurich taxes then) :;t twventy-five rupees each man.”

Pottin,ger’s Belooch,itan. * Ancient heroes of Persia. Among the Gueb,res there are some who boast their descent from Rustam.”-St Iten’s Persia. t See Russel’s account of a panther’s attacking travellers in the night on the sea-shore about the roots of L,ebanon. t “Among other ceremonies, the Magi used to place upon thie tops of high towers various kinds of rich viandis, upon which it was supposed the Peris and the spirits of their departed heroes regaled themselves.” Richardso,n. ~t, tie ceremonies of the Glhebers round their Flire, as described by ict Lord, “the, Daroo,”

hle says, ” giveth then wi;.‘r to drink, andl a p,Rme granate leaf to chew in the mouth. to cleanse I} i irois.stard inclealneas.” LALL. ROOKH. iii And with their corpses bloc In vain-for everv lance th Thousands around the conq For every arm that litied th Myriads of slaves were wa A, bloody, bold, and coutitte [3efore whose swarm as fas As dates beneath the tocus

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TilE- MIRROR LIBRARi’Y. Nor hymn, nor censer’s fragrant air, Nor symbol of their worshipp’d planet;* Yet the same God that heard their sires Heard them, while on that altar’s fires They sworet the latest, holiest deed Of the few hearts still left to bleed, Should be, in IRAN’s injured name, To die upon that Mount of FlameThe last of all her patriot line, Before her last untrampled Shrine. Seven nights have darken’d OMAN’S ea, Since last, beneath the moonlight ray, She saw his light oar rapidly Hurry her Gheber’s bark away,And still she goes, at midnight hour, To weep alone in that high bow’r, And watch, and look along the deep For him whose snmiles first made her weep, But watching, weeping, all was vain, She never saw his bark again. The owlet’s solitary cry, The night-hawk, flitting darkly by, And oft the hatefuil carrion bird, Heavily flapping his clogg’d wing, Which reek’d with that day’s banqueting Was all she saw, was all she heard. Brave, sufPring souls! they little knew How many a tear their injuries drew From one meek maid, one gentle foe, Whom love first touch’d with others’ woeWhose life, as free from thought as sin, Slept like a lake, till Love threw in His talisman, and woke the tide, And spread its trembling circles wide. Once, E.tla! thy unheeding child, ‘Mid all this havoc, bloom’d and smiledTranquil as on some battle plain The Persian lily shines and tow’rs,: Before the combat’s redd’ning stain Hath fall’n upon her golden flow’rs. Light-hearted maid, unawed, unmoved, While Heav’n but spared the sire she loved, Once at thy evening tales o’f blood Unlist’ning and aloof she stoodAnd oft, when thou hast paced along Thy Harem halls with furious heat, Ilast thou not cursed her cheerful song, That came across thee, calm and sweet, Like lutes of angels, touclh’d so near Hell’s confines, that the damn’d can hear! ‘Tie the eighth morn-AL HASSAN’S brow Is brighten’d with unusual joy What mighty mischief glads him now, Who never smiles but to destroy? The sparkle up on HERKEND’S Sea, Adhen toss’d at midni gh t furiously,* Tells not of wreck and ruin nigh, More surely than that smnilinig eye! “Up, daughter, up-the KERNA’St breath “Has blown a blast would waken death, “And yet thou slcep’st up, child, and see “This blessed day for Heaven and me, “A day more rich in Pagan blood “Than ever flash’d o’er OMA,N’S flood. Before another dawn shall shine, His head-heart-limbs-will all be mine, This very night his blood shall steep These hands all over ere I sleep!” Far other feelings Love hath brought Her soul all flame, her brow all sadness, She now has but the one dear thought, And thinks that o’er, almost to madness! Oft doth her sinking heart recall His words-” for my sake weep for all;” And bitterly, as day on day Of rebel carnage fast succeeds, She weeps a lover snatch’d away In ev’ry Gheber wretch that bleeds. There’s not a sabre meets her eye, But with his life-blood seems to swim; There’s not an arrow wings the sky, Btut fancy turns its point to him. No more she brings with footstep light AL HASSAN’s falchion for the fight; And-had he look’d with clearer sight, Had not the tnists, that ever rise From a foul spirit, dimm’d his eyesHe would have mark’d her shudd’ring frame, When from the field of blood he came, The falt’ring speech-the look estrangedVoice, step, and life, and beauty changedHe would have mark’d all this, and known Such change is wrought by Love alone! “His blood!” she faintly scream’d-her mind Still singling one from all mankind”Yes-spite of his ravines an d tow’rs, “HAFEDt c, my child, this night is ours. “Thanks to all conqu’ring treachery, ” Without whose aid the links accurst, “That bind these impious slaves, would be ” Too strong for ALLA’S self to burst! “That rebel fienid, whose blade has spread “My path with piles of Moslem dead, “Whose baffling spells had almost driv’nl “Back from their course the Swords of Heav’n, “This night, with all his band, shall know, “How deep an Arab’s steel can go, “When God and Vengeance speed the blow. “And-Prophet! by that holy wreath “Thou wor’st on OIIOD’s field of death,t “I swear, for ev’ry sob that parts “In anguish from these heathen hearts, “A gem from PEnsIA’S plunder’d mines “Shall glitter on thy Shrine of Shrines. “But, ha!-she siilks-that look so wild”Those vivid lips-my child, my child, “This life of blood befits not thee, “And thou mniust back to ARABY. ”

Ne’er had I risk’d thy timid sex “In scenes that man himself might dread, “Had I not hoped our ev’ry tread ” Would be on prostrate Persian necks”Curst race, they offer swords instead! Ah! not the Love, that should have bless’d So young, so innocent a breast; Not the pure, open, prosp’rous Love, That, pledged on earth and seal’d above, Grows in the world’s approving eyes, In friendship’s smile and home’s caress, Collecting all the hear’s sweet ties Into one knot of happiness! NO, HINDA, no-thy fatal flame Is nursed in silence, sorrow, shame; , “Early in the morning they (the Parseas or Ghebers at Oulam) o in efowds to pay their devotions to the Son, to whom upon all the altars there are spheres consecrated, made by magic, resembling the circles of the sun, and when the sun rises, these orbs seem to be inflamed, and to turn round with a great noise. They have every one a censer in their handis. and offer incense to the sun.”-Rabb i B e iamin N’ul d’entre eux oseroit se p arjurer. quand ifa pris’~ t6moin cet 616meat terrible et vengeur.”-FEnc, clp. Flramoise. fte”;‘A vivid verdure succeeds the autumnal rains, and the ploughed lds are covered with a Persian lily, of a resplenldent yellow colour.“Ru se’* Alepph * ” It is observed, with respect to tl e Sea of lterke,,d, that,hen it is tossed by tempestuous winds it sparkles like fire.”-Travels of 7wo JMohammedans. t,A kind of trumpet;it “was that used by Tamedlane, the sound of which is described as uncommonlly dreadful, and so loud as to be heard at the distance o f several miles”:l irch’ar-esn’

:” Mohamnmed bad two le ls,, i.tmior and extcrir on)e- the lat ter of which, called Ai Mawasha],, the filtet, A l r wrettled ga land, he wore at the battle ofOh.].” UrTi”t.,’$ s torv. — i I 1112 A passion, without hope or pleasure, In thy soul’s darkness buried deep, It lies like some ill-gotten treasure.Some idol, without shrine or name, O’er which its pale-eyed votaries keep UDIIOIY watch. while.otherssleep.

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LALLA ROOKH. 133 to isle, when she saw a small gilded bark approaching her. It was like one of those boats which the Maldivian islanders send adrift, at the mercy of winds and waves, loaded with perfumes, flowers, and odoriferous wood, as an offering to the Spirit whom they call King of the Sea. At first, this little bark appeared to be empty, but, on coming nearer She had proceeded thus far in relating the dream to her Ladies, when FERA.MOtz appeared at the door of the pavilion. In his presence, of course, every thing else was forgotten, and the continuance of the story was instantly requested by all. Fresh wood of aloes was set to burn in the cassolets;-thie violet sherbets* were hastily handed round, and after a short prelude on his lute, in the pathetic measure of Nava,t which is always used to express the lamentations of absent lovers, the Poet thus continued:  Thi s bloody boast wa s all too true; There lurk’d one wretch among the few Whom HAFLID’s eagle eye could count Around him on that F iery Mount,One miscreant, who for gold betray’d T he pathway h through t e valley’s shade To those highrk tow’r s, where Free dom stood In her last hold of flamee and blood. Left onh ig the field that dreadful night, When, sallyini,r froim their Sacred height, The Ghebers forght hope’s farewell fight, He lay-but di ed not with the brave; That sun, which should have gilt his grave, Saw him a traitor and a slave;And, while the few, who thence return’d To their high rocky fortress, mourn’d For him among the matchless dead They left belind on glory’s bed, He lived, and, in the face of morn, Laugh’d them and Faith and Heav’n to scorn. THEI day is low’.

rig-stilly black Sleeps the grim wave, while heav’n’s rack, Dispersed and wild,‘twixt earth and sky Hangs like a shatter’d canopy. There’s not a cloud in that blue plain But tells of storm to come or past;Here, flying loosely as the mane Of a young war-horse in the blast;There, roll’d in mass es dark and swelling, As proud to be the thunder’s dwelling! While sonie, already burst and riv’n, Seem melting dowvin the verge of heav’n; As though the infant storm had rent The mighty womb that gave him birth, And, having swept the firmame nt, Was now in fierce career for earth. Oh for a tongue to curse the slave, Whose treason, like a deadly blight, C(omes o’er the councils of the brave, And blast’s them in their hour of might! May Life’s unblessed cup for him Be drugg’d with treach’ries to the brim,With hopes that but allure to fly, W’ith joys, that vanish while he sips, Like Dead Sea fruits that tempt the eye, But turn to ashes on the lips!* His country’s curse, his children’s shame, Outcast of virtue, peace, and fame, ,May he, at last, with lips of flame On the parch’d desert thirstinig die,While lalies, that shone in mockery nigh,+ Are fading or. untouch’d, untasted, like the once glorious hopes he blasted!

And, when from earth his spirit flies, Just Prophet, let the damn’d-one dwell Full in the sight of Paradise, B holding lieav’n, and feeling hell!

On earth’twas yet all calm around, A pulseless silence, dread, profound, More awful than the tempest’s sound. The diver steer’d for O.Mus’ bowers, And moor’d his skiff till calmer hours; The sea-birds, with portentous screech, Flew fast to land;-upon the beach The pilot oft had paused, with glance Turn’d upward to that wild expanse;And all was boding, drear, and dark As her own soul, when HINDA’s bark Went slowly from the Persian shore.No music timed her parting oar,e Nor friends upon the less’ninig strand Linger’d, to wave the unseen hand, Or speak the farewell, heard no more’But lone, unheeded, from the bay The vessel takes its mournful way, Like some ill-destined bark that steers In silence through the Gate of Tears.~ LALL.A ROOKH had, the night before, been visited by a dream which, in spite of the impending fate of poor HAFrs, made her heart more than usually cheerful during the moriliig, anid gave her cheeks all the freshened animation of a flower that the Bid-murLsk has just passed over.t She lancied that she was sailing on that Eastern Ocean, where the sea-gipsies, who live forever on the water,~ enjoy a perpetual summer in wandering from isle original possessors of the island of Borneo. Tie other is a specie of sea-gipsies or itinerant fishermen, who live in small covered boats and en.oy a perpetual summer on tihe eastern ocean, shitiing to leeward from island to island, with tihe variations of the monsoon. In some oftheir customs this singular race resemile the natives of thie Mallivia islands Tire Maldivians annually launch a snall bark, loaded with perfumes gums, flowers, and odoriferous wood, and turn it adrift at the mercy oft wind and waves, as an offbring to the Spirit of the Winds; and some times similar offerings are made to thie spirit whom they term the King of the Sea. In like manner the Biiajas perform their offering to the god of evil. launching a small bark loaded with all tihe sins -and misfortuntes of th e ation, which are inagined to tall on tihe unhappy crew that may be o unlucky as first to meet with it.” Dr. Leyden ot the Language and Literature of the lndo-Chinese Nations. * ” The sweet-scented violet is one of the plants most esteemed, par ticularly for its great use in Sorbet which they make of violet sugar.” Itasselquist. “The Sherbet they most esteem and whichi is drunk by the Graod Signor himself is made of violets and sugar.”-Tavernier. t ” Last of all shie took a guitar, and sung a pathetic air in the mew ure called Nava, which is always used to express the lamentations olf absent lovers.”-Persian 7kles. i ” The Easterrs used to set out on their longer voyages with music.” Harmer. ~.l ” pTie Gate of Tetirs, the straits or passage into the Red Sea, con po nly called Bahehrnandel. It received this n, aie front the old Ara bians, on account rf tlre danrger ht’ the tlavigntiot, and the number of s lripsvrecks by which it as dislaguishe;l: *,ich induced then to con sieder;as dead, and to wear mot’ig fir all w*r had the irldness X a, hazard tire passage through it into the Ethiopic occae.”-Aichardspr *

“Thley say that there are apple-trees upon the sides of this sea, which bear very love,} fruit, but within are all thil of ashes.”- Thevenot. rh e same is asserted of the wora,nges tigere, vide fitman’s Travels in A.i’,tic’I’urkey. “The Asplhalt L[ake, known, by the name of the Dead Sea, is very remarkable on account or’ the considerable proportion of salt which it con tins. In thisrespect it surpass es every other kno wn water on the surfie of tile earth. Teivs great proportion of bitter tasted salts is the reaso n,vi:y l;eit];er a.,imal For plant call live in this; water.”-K’aproth’s Chemical Anlivsii al the Water of the Dead Sea, Annals of Philosophy, Ja,n,uary, 181:3. tasxelquist, however, do,utst. the truth of this last ausertionv, as there,,re s}eii-fish to be found in the Ilke.

Lord By,ron has a similar allusion to the fruits of the Dlead Sea, in that wonde rful display of genius, his third Canto of Childe Harold-magnifice,ut b, yo.“d any thing. perhaps, that even he has ever written. I”The Su.1r,.b or W~Vater of the Desert is said to be caused by the raretfctionl of the atmosphere fro,. extreme ]eat; and, which augments thle delsio n. it is most rctquent in ltlows, where water might be expected to lodg,e. I have seen bushes and trees reflected in it with as hmch accuracy as though it haed been the face of a clear and still lake.”

-Pottinger. *As t thre unbelievers, their works are like a vapour in a plain, whfic,-h the Ihirsty traveller tlhinketh to be water, until when he cometIt he:e, aidhle findtqlLALLA ROOKff. 133 11 But chcer thee, maid,-the wind that now 11 Is blowing o’er thy feverish brow, 11 To-day shall waft thee from the shore; 11 Aiid eler a drop of this night’s gore 11 Have time to cliill in yonder tow’rs, 11

Thou’lt see tlly own sweet Arab bowlrs.” And where was stern AL HASSAN then? Could not that saintly scourge of men

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T4tllil MIRROR LIBRARY. From bloodshed and devotion spare One minute for a farewell there? No-close within, in changeful fits Of cursing and of pray’r, he sits In savage loneliness to brood Upon the corning night of blood, With that keen, second-scenit of death, By which the vulture snuffs his food In the still warm and living breath! While o’er the wave his weeping daughter Is wafted from these scenes of slaughter,-. As a young bird of BABYLON,T Let loose to tell of vict’ry won, Flies home, with wing, ah! not unstain’d By the red hands that held her chain’d. The rising storm-the wave that cast A moment’s midnight, as it pass’d Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread Of gath’ring tumult o’er her headClash’d swords and tongues that seem’d to vie With the rude riot of the sky. But, hark!

that war-whoop on the deck’I’hat crash, as if each engine there, Mast, sails, and all, were gone to wreck, ‘Mid yells and stainpings of despair!

Merciful Heaven! what can it be? ‘Tis not the storm, though fearfully The ship has shudder’d as she rode O’er mountain-waves-” Forgive me, God.

Forgive me”-shriek’d the maid, and knelt Trembling all over-for she felt As if her judgment-hour was near; While crouching round, half dead with fear, Her hIandmaids clunig, nor breathed, nor stirr’d. When, hark!-a second crash-a third And now, as if a bolt of thunder Had riven the labourlng planks asunder, The deck falls in-what horrors then! Blood, waves, and tackle, swords and men Come mix’d together through the chasm, Some wretches in their dying spasm Still fighting on-and some that call For GOD and IRAN!” as they fall! And does the long-left home she seeks Light up no gladness on her cheeks? The flow’rs she nursed-the well-known groves, Where oft ill dreams her spirit roves Once more to see her dear gazelles Come bounding with their silver bells; Her birds’ new plumage to behold, And the gay, gleaming fishes count, She left, all filleted with gold, Shooting around their jasper fount;: Her little garden mosque to see, And once again, at evening hour, To tell her ruby rosarye In her own sweet acacia bow’r. Can these delights, that wait her no,w,T Call up no sunshine on her brow? No,-silent, from her train apart, As even now she felt at heart The chill of her approaching doomni, She sits, all lovely in her gloom As a pale Angel of the Grave; And o’er the wide, tempestuous wave, Looks, with a shudder, to those tow’rs, Where. in a few short awful hours, Blood, blood, in streaming tides shall run, Foul incense for to-morrow’s sun! ‘ Where at thou, glorious stranger! thou, ” So loved, so lost, where art thou now? Foe-Gheber-infidel-whate’er “Th’ unhallow’d llame thou’rt doom’d to bear, Still glorious-still to this fond heart “Dear as its blood, whate’er thou art! Yes-ALLA, dreadful ALLA! yeTo If there be wrong, be crime in this, Let the black waves that round us roll, “Whelnm me this instant, ere my soul, Forgetting faith-home-father-all “Before its earthly idol fall, “Nor worship ev’n Thyself above him “For, oh, so wildly do I love him, “Thy Paradise itself were dinim “And joyless, if not shared with him!” Her hands were clasp’d-her eyes upturn’d, Dropping their tears like moonlight rain; And, though her lip, fond raver!

burn’d With words of passion, bold, profane, Yet was there light around her brow, A holiness in those dark eyes, Which show’d-though wand’ring ear’hward now Her spirit’s home was in the skies. Yes-for a spirit pure as hers Ts always pure, ey’n while it errs; As sunshine, broken in the rill, Though turn’d astray, is sunshine stiIl! So wholly had her mind forgot All thoughts but one, she heeded not ‘ I have been told that whensoever an animal falls down dead, one or more vultures, unseen before, instantly appear.”-Pennant. t “They fitsten some writing to the wings of a Bagdat or Babylonian pigeon.,”-Travels oj’certain Englishmen. +” “he Empress of Jehran-Gulre used to divert herself with feeding tame fist in her crnals, sore of which were many years afterwards known by fillets of gold, which she caused to be put aroundl them.“i~arris. S “Le Tespils, qui est un chapelet, compose6 de 99 petites botles d’,gatbe, de jspe, d’easmre, de corail, ou d’autre matire precieuse. J’[e ai VU un supertbe iu reigneur Jerpos* il etoit de belles et grosses ~i.les partaitcs et egales, estime trente mille piasters.”-‘Todaerii. I I I 134 Whose was the hand that turn’d aw,-iy The perils of th’infuriate fray, And snatcli’d her breathless from beneath This wilderment of wreck and death? She knew not-for a faintness came Chill o’er her, and her rinkiiig frame Amid the ruins of that hour .,Lay, like a pale and scorched flow’r Beneath the red volcano’s show’r. But, oh! the sights and sounds of dread That shock’d her ere her senses fled! The yawning deck-the crowd that strove Upon the tott’ring planks above The sail, whose fragments, shivering o’er The strugglei-s’ heads, all dash’d with gore. Flutter’d like bloody flags-the clash Of sabres, and the lightiiitig’s flasli Upon their blades, high toss’d about Like meteor brands*-as if throughout The elements one fury ran, One genlral rage, that left a doubt Which was the fiercer, Heaven or man Once too-but no-it could not be’Twas fancy all-yet once she thought, lvbilc yet her fading eyes could see, High on the ruin’d deck she caught A glimpse of that unearthly form, That glory of her soul,-even then, Amid the whirl of wreck and storm, Shining above his fellow-men, As, on some black and troublous night, The Star of EGYPT,T whose proud light Never hatli beam’d on those who rest In-the White Islands of tire We-st,t Burns through the storm with looks of flame That put Heaven’s cloudier eyes to shame. But no-‘twas but the minute’s dreamA fantasy-and ere the scrcam Had hall’-way pass’aher pallid lips, .A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse Of soul and sense it-s darkness spread Around her, and she sunk, as dead How calm, how beautiful comes on The stilly hour, when storing are gone; When warring winds have died away, And cloud.,, beneath the glanc,‘ng ray, Melt off, and leave the land and sea I T i,, tl,:,t, l’i”,y ” t “l’b C,,,pu,, i.. F,’,.,op,a. -Ii-ate..”Btvw I S” iv,il-.,d,, I,.,.n,d E,,y.,i th S.cr,d 1,le. in ti,e WeaL

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LALI,AA OOKI. 1:o Se n And fling, as o’er our earth he trod, His shadow betwixt man and God! And she is now his captive,-thrown hi IInl his fierce hanlds, alive, alone !d’ His th’ infuriate band she sees, All infidels-all enemies! What was the daring hope that then Cross’d her like lightning, as again, With boldness that despair had lent, She darted through that armed crowd A look so searching, so intent, That even the sternest warrior bow’d Abash’d, when he her glances caught, As if he guess’d whose form they sought. But no-sIshe sees him not-‘tis gone, The vision that before her shone Through all the maze of teood and storm, Is fled-‘twas but a phantom form One ofthose passing, rainbow dreams, Half light, half shade, which Fancy’s beams Paint on the fleeting mists that roll In trance or slumber round the soul. Sleeping in bright tranquillity,Fresh as if Day again were born, Again upon the lap of Morn!When the light blossoms, rudely torn, And scatter’d at the whirlwind’s will, Hang floating ik the pure air still, Filloig it all with precious balm, In gratitude for this sweet calm;And every drop the thunder-show’rs Have left upon the grass and flow’rs Sparkles, as’twere that lightninig-gem* Whose liquid flame is born of them! When,‘stead of one unchanging breeze, There blow a thousand gentle airs, And each a diff’rent perfume bears,As if the loveliest plants and trees Had vassal breezes of their own To watch and wait on them alone, And waft no other breath than theirs: When the blue waters rise and fall, In sleepy sunshine mantling all; And ev’n that swell the tempest leaves Is like the full and silent heaves Of lovers’ hearts, when newly blest, Too newly to be quite at rest. But now the bark, with livelier bound, Scales the blue wave-the crew’s in motion, The oars are out, and with light sound Break the bright mirror of the ocean, Scatt’ring its brilliant fragments round. And now she sees-with horror sees, Their course is tow’rd that mountain-hold,Those tow’rs that make her life-blood freeze, Where MECCA’S go d less enemies Lie, like beleaguered scorpion’s, roll’d In their last deadly, venomous fold! Amid th’ illumiined land and flood Sunless that mighty mountain stood; Save where, above its awful head, There shone a flaming cloud, blood-red, As’twere the flag of destiny Hung out to mark where death would be!. Such was the golden hour that broke Upon the world, when HINDA woke From her long trance, and heard around No motion but the water’s sound Rippling against the vessel’s side, As slow it mounted o’er the tide.But where is site?-her eyes are dark, Are wilder’d still-is this the bark, The sanme, that from IIARrOZIA’S bay Bore her at morn-whose bloody way The sea-dog track’d?-no-strange and new Is all that meets her wond’rinig view. Upon a galliot’s deck she lies, Beneath no rich pavilion’s shade,No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes, Nor jasmine on her pillow laid, But the rude litter, roughly spread With war-cloaks, is her homely bed, And shawl and sash, on javelins hung, For awning o’er her head are flung. Shudd’ring she look’d around-there lay A group of warriors in the sun, Resting their limtbs, as for that day Their miniistry of death were done. Somne gazing on the drowsy sea, Lost in unconscious revery; And some, who seemn’d but ill to brook That slug,gish calm, with many a look To the slack sail impatient east, As loose it flagg’d around the mast. Had her bewilder’d mind the pow’r Of thought in this terrific hour, She well m ight marvel w here or how Main’s foot could scale that mountain’s brew Since ne’er had Arab heard or known Of path but through the glen alone.But every thought was lost in fear, When, as their bounding bark drew near The craggy base, she felt the waves Hurry them tow’rd those dismal caves, That from the Deep in windings pass Beneath that Mount’s volcanic mass;And loud a voice on deck commands To low’r the mast and light the brands!Instantly o’er the dashing tide Within a cavern’s mouth they glide, Gloomy as that eternal Porch Through which departed spirits go:Not ev’n the flare of brand and torch Its flick’ring light could further throw Than the thick flood that boil’d below. Silent thev floated-as if each Sat breathless, and too awed for speech In that dark chasm, where even sound Seem’d dark,-so sullenly around The goblin echoes of the cave Mutter’d it o’er the long black wave As’twere some secret of the grave! Blest ALLA! who shall save her now? There’s not in all that warrior band One Arab sword, one turban’d brow From her own faithful Moslem land. Their garb-the leathern beltt that wraps Each yellow vestt-that rebel hue- IThe T‘‘artar fleece upon their caps-~ Yes-yes-her fears are all too true, And Heav’n hath, ill this dreadful hour, Abandon’d her to HAFEO’s power; HAtFED, the Ghleber!-at the thought Her very heart’s blood chills within; lie, whom her soul was hourly taught To loathe, as some foul fiend of sin, Some minister, whom Hell had sent, To spread its blast, where’er he went, But soft-they pause-the current turns Beneath them from its onward track;Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns The vexed tide, all foaming, back, And scarce the oars’ redoubled force Can stem the eddy’s whirling force; When, hark!-some desp’rate foot has spryL Among the rocks-the chain is flungThe oars are up-the grapple clings, And the toss’d bark iD moorings swings * A precious stone of the Indies called by the ancients Ceraunium, mtnuse it Xwas supposed to be foulnd in places where thunder had fallen. i’, tllian says it has a littering appearance as if there had been fire : it: all the author ofthe Dissertation in Harris’s Voyages, supposes i’ to lhe opal. .

)‘tHrbelot, art. Agduani. l”Tie Guebres are i,own by a dark yellow colour, which the men t.i;.ct i! tl}eir ie; hes.”-Thevrcsot. ‘“I’.e Kol,, or car, worn by the Pesians, is made of the skin ;:’;‘e s-cp o’ f Ta’tary.’ — f’t a ria. 11 I

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Ir’if;i itR IO tR LIBRARY. Just then, a day-beatn through the shade Broke tremnulouls-but, ere the maid ~an see from whence the brightness steals, Upon her brow she shudd’ring feels A viewless hand, that promptly ties A bandage roufnd he r burning eyes; While the rude litter where she lies, Uplifted by the warrior throng, O’er the steep rocks is borne along. Whose bloody banner’s dire success Hath left their altars cold and dim, And their fair land a wilderness! And, worse than all, that night of blood Which comnes so fast-Oh! who shall stay The sword that once hath tasted food Of Persian hearts, or turn its way? What arm shall then the victim cover, Or from her father shield her lover? Blest power of sunshine!genial Day, What balm, what life is in thy ray! To feel thee is such real bliss, That had the world no joy but this, To sit in Sunshine caln and sweet,It were a world too exquisite For man to leave it for the gloom, The deep, cold shadow of the tomb. Ev’n HIND.A, though she saw not where Or whiither wound the perilous road, Yet knew by that awak’ning air, Which suddenly around her glow’d, That they had ris’n from darkness then, Arid breathed the sunny world again! But soon this balmy freshness fledFor now the steepy labyrinth led Through damp and gloom‘mid crash of boughs, And fall of loosen’d crags that rouse The leopard from his hungry sleep, Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey, And long is heard, from steep to steep, Chasing them down their thund’ring way! The jackal’s cry-the distant moan Of the hyena, fierce and loneAnd that eternal sadd’ning sound Of torrents in. the glen beneath, As’twere the ever-dark Profound That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death! All, all is fearful-ev’n to see, To gaze on those terrific things She now but blindly hears, would be Relief to her imaginings Since never yet was shape so dread, But Fancy, thus in darkness thrown, And by such sounds of horror fed, Could framne more dreadful of her own. TIIE next evening LALLA ROOKIi was entreated by tet Ladies to continue the relation of her wonderful dream; but the fearful interest that hung round the fate of HINDA and her lover had completely removed every trace of it from her mind; much to the disappointment of a fair seer or two in her train, who prided themselves on their skill in interpreting visions, a,id who had already remarked, as an unlucky omen, that the Princess, on the very mornoing after the dream, had worn a silk dyed with the blo,ssoms of tlhe sorrowful tree, Nilica.* FADLADEEN, whose indignation had more than once broken out during the recital of some parts of this heterodox poem, seemed at length to have made up his mind to the infliction; and took his seat this evening with all the patience of a martyr, while the Poet resumed his pro fane and seditious story as follows: ]But does she dream? has Fear again Perplex’d the workings of her brain, Or did a voice, a ll music, then Come from the gloom, low whisp’ring nearTremble hot, love, thy Gheber’s here?” She does not dream-all sense, all ear, She drinks the words, ” Thy Gheber’s here.”

‘Twas his own voice-she could not err Thiroughout the breathing world’s extent There was but one such voice for her, So kind, so soft, so eloquent:! Oh, sooner shall the rose of May Mistake her own sweet nightingale, And to some meaner minstrel’s lay Open her bosom’s glowing veil,* Than Love shall ever doubt a tone, A breath of the beloved one!

Though blest,‘mid all her ills, to think She has that one beloved near, Whose smile, though met on ruin’s brink, Hath power to make even ruin dear,-H. Yet soon this gleam of rapture, cross’d By fears for him, is chill’d and lost. How sitall the ruthless HAFED brook That one of Gheber blood should look, With aught but curses in his eye, On her, a maid of ARABvA Moslem maid-the child of him, To tearless eyes and hearts at ease The leafy shores and suni-bright seas, That lay beneath that mountains height, Had been a fair enchanting sight. ‘Twas one of those ambrosial eves A day of storm so often leaves At its’calm setting when the West Opens her golden bowers of rest, And a moist radiance from the skies Shoots trembling down, as fro.n the eyes * “Blossom? of the sorrowful Nyctanthes give a durable colour to asilk.”-Remarks on the Husbandry of engal, p. X0. Nilica is one of the Indian names of this fiower.-Sir If..,ones. Tile Persians call t Gul.-Carrerm. A fequent image among the riental poets. “The nightinga le s wa r e’bl their enchanting notes, and rent the thin veils of the rose:ud and g,e rome.”-Jami. I 13b Save him, my God!” she iiily criesSave him this niglit-and if thine eyes 11 Have ever welcomed with delight The siniier’s tears, the sacrifice 11 Of sinners’

licarts guard him this night, And here, before thy throne, I swear From my licart’s inmost core to tear ” Love, hope, remembrance, though they be Link’d with each qulv’ring life-string there, 11 And give it bleeding all to Thee! Let him but live,-the burning tear, The sighs, so sinful, yet so dear, -%Vliich have been all too much his own, Shall from this hour be Heaven’s alone. Youth pass’d in penitence, and age In long and painful pilgrimage, Shall leave no ti-aces of the flame ‘I’liat wastes me iiow-nor shall his name E’er bless xliy lips, but when I pray For his dear spirit, that away Casting from its angelic ray ‘I’h’ eclipse ofeartli, he, too, may shine Redeein’d, all glorious and all Thine! Thilik-thiDk what victory to w’ in One radiant soul like his from sin,One wand’ring “tar of virtue back ‘I’o its own native, heaven-ward track! Let him but live, and botli are Thine, 11 Together thine-for, bless’d or cross’d, Living or dead, his doom is mine, ” And, if he perish, both are lost-!

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LALLA ROOH. 137 Of some meek penitent, whose Jast, Bright hours atone for dark ones past And whose sweet tears, o’er wrong forgiv’n, Shine, as they fall, with light from heav’n! And glorious as when first he smiled In her lone tow’r, and left such beams Of his pure eye to light her dreams, That she believed her bower had giv’n Rest to some wanderer from heav’n! ‘Twas stillness all-tithe winds that late Had rushli’d through KEItMAN’S almond groves, And shaken from htier bow’rs of date That cooling feast the traveller loves,* Now, lull’d to languor, scarcely curl The Green Sea wave, whose waters gleam Limpid, as if her minies of pearl Were mnelted all to form the stream: And her fair islets, small and bright, With their green shores reflected there, Look like those PERI isles of light, That hang by spell-work in the air. Ev’n he, this youth-though dimm’d and gone Each star of Hope that cheer’d him o nHis g lories lost- his cause betray’dIRAN, his deatr-loved country, made A land of carcasses and slaves, One dreary waste of chains and graves!Himself but ling’ring, dead at heart, To see the last, long struggling breath Of Liberty’s great soul depart, Then lay him down and share her deathEv’In le, so sunk in wretchedness, With doomii still darker gath’ring o’er him, Yet, in this moment’s pure caress, In the mild eyes that shone before him, Beaming that bless’d assurance, worth All other transports known on earth, That he was loved-well, warmly lovedOh! in this precious hour he proved How deep, how thorough-felt the glow Of rapture, kindling out of wo;How exquisite one single drop Of bliss, thus sparkling to the top Of mis’ry’s cup-how keenly quaffd, Though death must follow on the draught But vainly did those glories burst On HINDA’S dazzled eyes, when first The bandage from her brow was taken, And, pale and awed as those who waken In their dark tombs-when, scowling near, The Searchers of the Gravet appear, She shudd’ring turii’d to read her fate In the fierce eyes that flash’d around And saw those towers all desolate That o’er her head terrific frown’d, As if defying ev’n the smile Of that soft heav’n to gild their pile. In vain with mingled hope and fear, She looks for him whose voice so dear Hadl come, like music, to her earStrange, mocking dream! again’tis fled And oh, the shoots, the pangs of dread [hat through her inmost bosom run, When voices from without proclaim “HAFED, the Chlief”-and, one by one, The warriors shout that fearful name! He conies-the rock resounds his treadHow shall she dare to lift her head, Or meet those eyes whose scorching glare Not YE.!EN’S boldest sons can bear? In whose red beam, the Moslem tells, Such rank and deadly lustre dwells, As in those hellish fires that light The mandrake’s charnel leaves at night.t How shall she bear that voice’s tone, At whiose loud battle-cry alone Whole squadrons oft in panic ran, Scatter’d like some vast caravan, When, stretch’d at evening round the well, They hear the thirsting tiger’s yell. She, too, while gazing on those eyes That sink into her soul so deep, Forgets all fears, all miseries, Or feels them like the wretch in sleep, Whom fancy cheats into a smile, Who dreams of joy, and sobs the while. The mighty Ruins where they stood, Upon the mount’s high, rocky verge Lay open tow’rds the ocean flood, Where lightly o’er the illumined surge Many a fair bark that, all the day, Had I!irk’d in sheltering creek or bay, Now bounded on, and gave their sails, Yet dripping, to the ev’nitig gales; Like eagrles, when the storm is done, Spreading their wet wings in the sun. The beauteous clouds, though daylight Star Had sunk behind the hills of LAR, Were still with ling’ring glori(cs bright.As if, to grace the gorgeous West, The Spirit of departinig Light That eve had left his sunny vest Behind him, ere he wing’d his flight. Never was scene so formii’d for love! Beneath thein waves of crystal move In silent swell-Heav’n glows above, And their pure hearts, to transport giv’n, Swell like the wave, and glow like Heav’li Breathless she stands, with eyes cast down, Shrinking beneath the fiery frown, Which, faincy tells her, from that brow Is flashing o’er her fiercely now: And shudd’ring as she hears the tread Of his retiring warrior band.N ever was pause so full of dread; Till HAFED with a trembling hand Took hers, and, leaning o’er her, said, “HINDA;”-that word was all he spoke, And’twas enough-the shriek that broke From her full bosom, told the rest.Panting with terro., ioy, surprise, The mnaid but lifts hei wond’ring eyes, To hide them on her Gheber’s breast! ‘Tis lie,‘tis he the man of blood, The fellest of the Fire-fiend’s brood, –

HAFED, the demon of the fight, Whose voice unnerves, whose glances blight,Is her own loved Gheber, mild But ah! too soon that dream is past Again, ag,ain her fear returns;Night, dreadful night, is gath’ring fast.

More faintly the horizon burrs, And every rosy tint that lay On the smooth sea hath died-away. Hastily to the dark’nin, skies A glance she casts-then wildly cries, At night, he said-and, look,‘tis near” Fly, fly-if yet thou lov’st me, fly * “In parts of Kerrnan, whatever dates are shaken from the trees by ; X ind they do lent touc.I, but leave them for those who have not any, (v for travellers.”Ebn Hastkal. t “T’e two terribe anc!s’’, Monkir anu.‘akir who are called’tihe .,:reh,rs,f th,e Grave,’ in the’

Creed of the orthodox Malornet an’s, l, O bIy OckloY, v. ii. t” T:e Arai) as i ci!l.e iandrake’ the Devil’s candle,’ on account of IS shlilnitng anjpparaic,e in the nighlt.“‘I ichardson. I I LALLA ROOKH. 137 Moments there are, and this was one Snatch’d like a minute’s 91,Sam of sun Amid the black Simoom’s eclipse – Or, like those verdant spots that bloom Around the crater’s burning lips, Sweet’iiiiig the very edge of doom! The past-the future-au that Fate Can bring of dark or despcrate Around such hours, but makes them cast Intenser radiance while they last

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13 TH MIRRL1R-Y “Soon will his murd’rous band be here, “And I shall see thee bleed and die.Hush! heard’st thou not the tramp of men “Sounding from yonder fearful glen? Perhaps ev’ii now they climb the wood “Fly, fly-though still the West is bright, “He’ll come-oh! yes-he wants thy blood  “I know him-he’ll nor wait for night!” Never, in moment most elate, Did that high spirit loftier rise;While bright, serene, determinate, His looks are lifted to the skies, As if the signal lights of Fate Were shining in those awful eyes! ‘Tis come-his hour of martyrdom In IRAN’s sacred cause is come; And, though his life hath pass’d away, Like lightning on a stormy day, Yet shall his death-hour leave a track Of glory, permanent and bright, To which the brave of after-times, The suff’ring brave, shall long look back With proud regret, and by its light Watch through the hours of slav’ry’s night For vengeance on th’

oppressor’s crimes. This rock, his monument aloft, Shall speak the tale to many an age; And hither bards and heroes oft Shall come in secret pilgrimage, And bring their warrior sons, and tell The wond’ring boys where HAFED fell; And swear them on those lone remains Of their lost country’s ancient fanes, Never-while breath of life shall live Within them-never to forgive Th’ accursed race, whose ruthless chain Hath left oil IRAN’s neck a stain Blood, blood alone ca&1 cleanse again. In terrors ev’n to agony She clings around the wond’ring Chief; Alas, poor wilder’d maid! to me “Thou ow’st this raving trance of grief. Lost as I am, naught ever grew Beneath my shade but perish’d too  A”y doon is like the Dead Sea air, And nothing lives that enters there! Why were our barks together driv’n Beneath this morning’s furious heav’n? Why, when I saw the prize that chance “Had thrown into my desp’rate arms,When, casting but a single glance “Upon thy pale and prostrate charms, I vow’d (though watching viewless o’er “Thy safety through that hour’s alarms) To meet th’

unmanning sight no more Why have I broke that heart-wrung vow? Why weakly, madly nmet thee now?Start not-that noise is but the shock * Of torrents tlihrough you valley hurl’dDread nothing here-upon this rock “We stand above the jarring world, Alike beyond its hope-its dreadIn gloonmy safety, like the Dead! Or, could ev’n earth and hell unite In league to storm this Sacred Height, Fear nothing thou-myself, to-night, And each o’erlooking star that dwells Near God will be thy sentinels;“Arid, ere to-morrow’s dawn shall glow,. Back to thy sire ” Such are the swelling thoughts that now Enthrone themiselves on HAFED’s brow; And ne’er did Saint of ISSAD gaze On the red wreath, for martyrs twined More proudly than the youth surveys That pile, which through the gloom behind Half lighted by the altar’s fire, Glimnmners-his destined funeral.pyre? Heap’d by his own, his comrades’ hands, Of ev’ry wood of odorous breath, There, by the Fire-God’s shrine i’ stands, Ready to fold in radiant death The few still left of those who swore To perish there, when hope was o’erThe few, to whom that couch of flame, Which rescues them from bonds and sham*, Is sweet and welcome as the bed For their own infant Prophet spread, When pitying Heav’n to roses turn’d The death-flamnes that beneath him burn’d’i ”

To-morrow!no ” The maiden scream’d” thou’lt never see “To-morrow’s sun-death, death will be “The nlight-cry through each reeking tower, Unless we fly, ay, fly this hour! Thou art betray’d-some wretch who knew That dreadful glen’s mysterious clewNay, doubt not-by you stars,‘tis trueHath sold thee to my vengeful sire; This riornirig, with that smile so dire He wears in joy, he told me all, And stamp’d ii triurmph through our hall, As tlhouLgh thy heart already beat Its last life-ttl:ob beneath his feelt Good fleav’n, how little dream’d ) then “His victim was riy own loved youth! Fly-scud-let some one watch the glen “By all my hopes of lieav’ii’tis truth!” With watchfulness the maid attends His rapid glance, where’er it bends Why shoot his eyes such awful beams? What plans he now?

what thinks or dream, Alas! why stands he musing here, When ev’ry moment teems with fear? HAFED, my own beloved Lord,” She kneeling cries-,” first, last adored’ “If in that soul tlhou’st ever felt ” Half what thy lips impassion’d swore, “Here, on my knees that never knelt “To any but their God before, “I pray thee, as thou lov’st me, fly”Now, now-ere yet their blades are nigh. “Oh haste the bark that bore me hither ” Can waft us o’er yoni dark’ning sea, East-west-alas, I care not whither, “So thou art safe, and I with thee! Go where we will, this hand in tlhine, Oh! colder than the wind that freezes Founts, that hut now in sunshine play’d, Is that congealing pang whicil seizes The trusting bosomi, when betray’d. He felt it-deeply felt-and stood, As if the tale had froz’n his blood, So mazed and motionless was he;Like one whom sudden spells enchant, Or some mute, marble habitant Of the still Halls of ISHmONIIE!* But soon the painful chill was o’er, And his great soul, herself once more, Look’d from his brow in all the rays Of her best, happiest, grandest days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~___ For a- a ccount of tIshonie, the petrified city in Upper Egypt, where it is sai d tdher re armay stttes of e ne l. women, &c., to be seen to this day. see Perry’s Viwl of the Lexvavt. * Jesus. t The Ghebers say that when tbratlam, their great Proplhtt. wu thrown into the fire by order of Ninmrrot, the flirie turned inslaitly ipto “a bed of roses. where the cih. l sw eetly repo,ed.”-Taternier Of their othe’rrophet, Zoroaster, tlere is a story told in Dien Pra szu,s Orat. 36, that tile lo;ve o wis do m ild v irtue leading him to a soli tary life upon a Imoiitlit, he foundl it one dly:il in i fltiae, shining with r anacu f h p, celestial ire, out of wli,‘h ho (‘ le itout itl lirill, tt tI instittited ecertain sacrifice.s to God, tlio, ie declIred1, thelnl alpt1rer tt ti i. Vkt Patrickc on Exodlus. iii. ” 138 THE IIRROR LIBR-RY.

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LALLA ROOKH. “Those eyes before me smiling thus, “Through good and ill, through storm and shine, “The world’s a world of love for us! On some calmn, blessed shore we’ll dwell, ” Where’tis no crime to love too well;“Where thus to worship tenderly ” An erring child of light like thee Will not be sill-or, if it be, “Where we may weep our faults away, “Together kneeling, night and day, “Thou, for any sake, at ALLA’S shrine, “Ann I-at ally God’s, for thine!” And, as their coursers charged the wind, And the white ox-tails stream’d behind,* Looking, as if the steeds they rode, Were wing’d, and every Chief a God! How fall’n, how alter’d now! how wan Each scarr’d and faded visage shone As round the burning shrine they came; How deadly was the glare it cast, As mute they paused before the flame To light their torches as they pass’d! ‘Twas silence all-the youth hath plann’d The duties of his soldier-banid; And each determined brow declares His faithful Chieftains well know theirs. Wildly these passionate words she spoke Then hung her head, and wept for shame; Sobbing, as if a heart-string broke With every deep-heaved sob that came. While he, young, warm-oh! wonder not If, for a moment, pride and fame, His oath-his catise-that shrine of flame, And Ia1AN’s self are all forgot For her whom at his feet he sees Kneelin, in speechless agonies. No, blat te him not, if Hope awhile Dawn’d in his soul, and threw her smile O’er hot rs to conme-o’er days and nights, Wing’d “vith those precious, pure delights Which sAie, who bends all beauteous there, Was bor, i to kindle and to share. A tear o two, which, as he bow’d To rai:e the suppliant, trembling stole, First was n’d him of this dang’rous cloud Of sof, ness passing o’er his soul. Starting, he brushli’d the drops away, Unworth. o’er that cheek to stray; Like one who, on thie morn of fight, Shakes f) )m his sword the dews of night, That had but dimmn’d, not stain’d its light, Yet, though subdued th’ unnerving thrill, Its warmth, its weakness linger’d still, So touchinig in its look and tone, That the fond, fearing, hoping maid Half counted on the flight she pray’d, Half thought the hero’s soul was grown As soft, as yielding as her own, And smiled and bless’d him, while he said,“Yes-if there be some happier sphere, “Where fadeless truth like ours is dear,“If there be any land of rest “For those who love and ne’er forget, Oh! comfort thee-for safe and bless’d “We’ll meet in that calm region yet! Haste, haste!” she cried, “the clouds grow dark, But still, ere night, we’ll rea ch the bark; And by to-aiaomrow’s dawn-oh bliss! “Wil th (o thee upon the sun-bright deep, Far off, I’ll but rememlber this, ”

As some dark vanish’d dream of sleep; And thou-” but ah!-he answers not –

Good Heav’n!- and does she go alon e? She now has reach’d tha t dismal spot, Where, some hours since, his voice’s tone Had come to sooth her fears and ills, Sweet as the angel ISRAFIL’s,t When every leaf on Edeni’s tree Is trembling to his minstrelsy Yet now-oh, now, he is not nigh. ”

HAED! mI1y IIAFED!-if it be Thy will, thy (loom this night to die, ” Let me but stay to die with thee, And I will bless thy loved name Till the last life-breath leaves this frame Oh! let our lips, our cheeks be laid But near each other while they fade; Let us but mix our parting breaths, And I can die ten thousand deaths! You too, who hurry me away So cruelly, one moment stay ” Oh! stay-one moment is not muchlie yet may come-for hlim I prayHAI,-ED! dear IIA,::)!”-all the way In wild lamentinlgs that would touch A heart of stonie, she shriek’d his name To the dark woods-no HAFED came:No-hatp less pair-you’ve look’d your last: Your hearts should both have broken then The dream is o’er-your doom is cast You’ll never meet on earth again! Scarce had she time to ask her heart If good or ill these words impart, When the roused youth impatient flew To the tow’r-wall, where, high in view, A pond’rous sea-horii* hung, and blew A signal, deep and dread as those The storm-fiend at his rising blows.Full well his Chieftains, sworn and true Through life and death, that signal knew; For’twas th’ appointed warning blast, T’h’ alarmrn, to tell when hope was past, And the tremendous death-die cast! And there, upon the mould’ring tower, liath hung this sea-horn many an hour, Ready to sound o’er land and sea That dirge-note of the brave aihd free. They came-his Chieftains at the call Came slowly round, and with them allAlas, how few!-the worn remains Of those who late o’er KERMAN’s plains Went gaily prancing to the clash Of Moorish zel anid tymbalon, Catching n ew hop e from every flash Of their loner lances in the sun, klas for him, who hears her cries!, Still half-way down the steep he stands, Watching with fix’d and feverish eyes Tile glimmer of those burning brands, +’ Tie fintest or me for the horses is made of six large flying tu sels of log whlite lhair, t.kcni oni oithe tails of wild oxen, that are to be fournd il sound Iplafes of’ the lIndis ti ,tielt o’t. t “Tim an~el lrafil. X h as the mrl t felodi uus voles of all God’* creature. ” ;a/ * “‘‘e sheli called Siiatkos, comimon to India, Africa. and the Mediterranea.i anid – till.ied isl aly part s as a ti ulo pet for blowing ala.rms or givjnr signals: it se tds Iorth a deep ald hollow stmn “-Pennant. 139 But minutes speed-iiight gems the skie And oh, how sbon, ye blessed eyes That look from heaven, ye may behold Sights that will turn your star-fires cold Breathless with awe, impatience, hope, The maiden sees the veteran group Her litter silently prepare, And lay it at her trembling feet And now the youth,,witli gentle care, Hath placed her in the shelter’d seat, And press’d her hand-that ling’ring press Of hands, that for the last time sever Of hearts, whose pulse of happiness, When that hold breaks, is dead forever And yet to her this sad cares,3

Gives I)ope-so fondly hope can err! ‘Twas joy, she thought, joy’s inute excess Their happy fliglit’s dear harbinger; “I’was warintli-assurance-tenderness’Twas any thing but leaving her.

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=( TH MIRO LIBRARY That down the rocks, with mournful ray, Light all he loves on earth away! Hopeless as they who, far at sea, By the cold moon have just consign’d The corse of one, loved tenderly, To the bleak flood they leave behind; And on the deck still’ing’ring stay, And long look back w:.th sad delay, To watch the moonl];ht on the wave, That ripples o’er that cheerless grave. The torrents from that morning’s sky IHad fill’d the narrow chasm breast-high, And, on each side, aloft and wild, Huge cliffs and toppling crags were piled,The guards with which young Freedom lines The pathway, to her mountaii-slrines. Here, at this pass, the scanty band Of IRAN’S last avengers stand; Here wait, in silence like the dead, And listen for the Moslem’s tread So anxiously, the carrion-bird Above them flaps his wing unheard! But see-he st-.rt what heard he then? ‘‘That dreadful P’ioot’-across the glen From the }an’-I d( it comes, and loud Rings tlro,gh, tLe chasm; as if the crowd Of fearfou tkings that haunt that dell, Its Ghlr;ep a:-d Dives and shapes of hell, Hed atll ii one dread howl broke out, So’lo,d, so terrible that shout! “T;iy omrne-the Moslems come!”-he cries, tf’s proud soul mounting to his eyes,“Ne,w.

Spirits of the Brave, who roam Elnfranchised through y-on starry dome, Rejoice-for soul’s of kindred fire Are on the wing to join your choir!” He said-and, ligiht as bridegrooms bound To their young loves, reclimb’d the steep And gain’d the Shrine-his Chiefs stood round Their swords, as with instinctive leap, Together, at that cry accursed, Had from their sheaths like sunbeams burst. And hark!-again-again it rings Near and iimore near its echoings Peal through the chasm-oh! who that then Had seen those list’ning warrior-men, With their swords grasp’d, their eyes of flame Tiirn’d on their Chief-could doubt the shame, Th’ in.dignaut shamne with which they thrill To hear those shouts, and yet stand still; All up the dreary, long ravine, By the red, murky glimmer seen Of half-quench’d brands, that o’er the flood Lie scatter’d round and burn in blood, What ruin glares! what carnage swims! Heads, blazing turbans, quiv’ring limbs, Lost swords that, dropp’d from many a hand, In that thick pool of slaughter stand Wretches who wading, half on fire From the toss’d brands that round them fly, ‘Twixt flood and flame in shrieks expire; And some who, grasp’d by those that die, Sink woundless with them, smother’d o’er In their dead brethren’s gushing gore! He read their thoughts-they were his own ” Whlat! while our arms can wield these blades, .Shall we die tamely? die alone? Without one victim to our shades, One Moslemn heart, where, buried deep, “The sabre from its toil may sleep? No-God If IRAN’s burniing skies! “Thou scornest thi’ ill,lorious sacrifice. No-tloughi of all earth’s hope bereft, “ILife, sw ords, and vengeance still are left.

“\eVll nake yo3 valley’ reeking caves Live in the awse-struck minds of men, “Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves “Tell of the Ghieber’s bloody glen. Follow, brave hearts!-this pile remains Our refiuge still from life and. chains; “But his the best, the holiest bedT, “Who sinks entomb’d in Moslem dead!” But vainly hundreds, thousands bleed, Still hundreds, thous ands more succeed; Countless as tow’rds some flame at night The North’s dark insects wing their flight, And quench or perish in its light, To this terrific spot they pourTill, bridged with Moslem bodies o’er, It bears aloft their slipp’ry tread, And o’er the dying and the dead, Tremendous causeway! on they pass. Then, hapless Ghebers, then, alas! What hope was left for you? for you, Whose yet warm pile of sacrifice Is smoking in their vengeful eyes;Whose swords how keen, how fierce they knewo And burn with shame to find how few? Down the precipitous rocks they sprung, While vigour, more than human, strung Each arm and heart.-Th’ exulting foe Still through the dark defiles below, Track’d by his torches’ lurid fire, Wound slow, as through GOLCONDA’S vale* The mighty serpent, in his ire, Glides on with glitt’ring, deadly trail. No torch the Ghebers need-so well They know each myst’ry of the dell, So oft have, in their wanderings, Cross’d the wild race that round them dwell, The very tigers from their delves Look out, and let them pass, as things Untamed and fearless like themselves! Crush’d down by that vast multitude, Some found their graves where first they stood; While some with hardier struggle died, And still fought on by HAFEI)‘S side, Who, fronting to the foe, trod back Tow’rds the high towers his gory track; And, as a liois swept away By sudden swell of JORDAN’S pride From the wild covert where he lay,* Long battles with th’ o’erwhelming tide, So fought he back with fierce delay, And kept both foes and fate at bay. There was a deep ravine, that lay Yet darkling in the Moslem’s way; Fi t spo t to’re ie invaders rle Tile bi3. t15′ I]’ before the fevw. *See Itjule upon th,e Storv of Sinbad * “In this thicket aon the snlts of the J.orna, several sorts,f dr beasts are,o,t to harbour t!;ernselves, wiose being washed out of the covert by thle overflowis gs o’ the river,.-.ave. o!Ta”” c to thit allusiorn of  Jeremiah. he shall cme up like a, li, m, f’ the sw,tisg of,Jrdan.”.Maundrell’s elep;o. i I 14(, THE MIRROR LIBRARY. They come-that plunge into the water Gives signal for the work of slaughter. Now, Ghebers, now-if e’er your blades Had point or prowess, prove them now Wo to the file that foremost wades! I They come-a falciiioii greets each brow, And, as they tunable, trunk on trunk, Beneath the gory waters sunk, Still o’er their drowning bodies press New victims quick and numberless; Till scarce an arm in HAFED’s band, So fierce their toil, hath power to stir, But listless from each crimson hand The sword hangs, clogg’d with inassacre Never was horde of tyrants met With bloodier welcome-never yet To patriot vengeance hath the sword More terrible libations pour’d!

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.L -R But whithei now? their track is lost, Their prey escaped-guide, torches gone By torrent beds and labyrinths cross’d, The scatter’d crowd rush blindly onCurse on those tardy lights that wind,” They panting cry, “so far behind; Oh for a bloodhound’s precious scent, To track the way the Gheber went!” Vain wish-confusedly along They rush, more desp’rate as more wrong; Till, wilder’d by the far-off lights, Yet glitt’ring up those gloomy heights, Their footing, mazed and lost, they miss, And down the darkling precipice Are dash’d into the deep abyss; Or midway hang, impaled on rocks, A banquet, yet alive, for flocks Of rav’ning vultures,-while the dell Re-echoes with each horrible yell. Of the fall’n Chief, and tow’rds the flame Bears him alolls;-with death-damp hand The corpse upon the pyre he lays, Then lights the consecrated )rand, And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze Like lightning bursts o’er 0O5AN’S Sea.Now, Freedom’s God! I come to Thee,” The youth exclaims, and with a smile Of triumph vaulting on the pile, In that last effort, ere the fires Have harm’d one glorious limb, expires! What shriek was that on O.IAN’s tide? It came from yonder drifting bark, That just hath caught upon her side The death-liglit-and again is dark. It is the boat-ah, why delay’d?That bears the wretched Moslem maid, Confided to the watchful care Of a small veteran and, with whom Their gen’rous Chieftain would not share The secret of his final doom, But hoped when ItNI)A, safe and free. Was render’d to her fatlher’s eyes, Their pardon, fu!l aTod prompt, would be The railsou.- of so dear a prize.Unconscious, thus, of HAFED’S fate, And proud to guard their leauiteous freight, Scarce had they clear’d. sirfy waves That foam around those frightful caves, When the cursed war-whooi)s, known so well Caine echoing from the distant dellSudden each oar, uplheld and still, Hung dripping o’cr the vessel’s side. And, driving at the current’s will, They rock’d along the whisp’ring tide; While every eye, in mute dismay, Was tow’rd that fatal mountain turn’d, Where the dim altar’s quiv’ring ray As yet all loine and tranquil burn’d. Those sounds-the last, to vengeance dear, That e’er shall ring in HAFED’s ear, Now reach’d him, as ai:., alone, Upon the steep way bre,thness thrown, He lay beside his reeking blade, Resign’d, as if life’s task were o’er, Its last blood-offering amnply paid, And IRAN’s self could claim no more. One only thought, one ling’ring beam Now broke across his dizzy dream Of pain and wcariness-‘twas she, IHis heart’s pure planet, shining yet Above the waste of nmeminory, When all life’s other lights were set. Alid never to his mind before Her image such enchantment wore. It seem’d as if each thought that stain’d, Each fear that chill’d their loves was past, And not one cloud of earth rcrnain’d Between him and her radiance cast; As if to charms before so bright, New grace from other worlds was given, And his soul saw her by the light Now breaking o’er itself fron heav’n! A voice spoke near him-‘twas the tone Of a loved friend, the only one Of all his warriors, left with life From that short night’s tremendous strife. “And imust we then, my Chief, die here? Foes round us, and the Shrine so near?”

These words have roused the last remains Of life within him-” What! not yet Beyond the reach of Moslem chains!” The thought could make ev’n Death forget His icy bondage-with a bound Hie springs, all bleeding, from the ground, And grasps his comrade’s arm, now grown Ev’n feebler, heavier than his own, And up the painful pathway leads, Death gaining on each step he treads. Speed them, thou God, who heard’st their vow N They mount-they bleed-oh save them now The crags are red they’ve clamber’d o’er, The rock-weed’s dripping with their gore; Thy blade too, HAFED, false at length, Now breaks beneath thy tott’ring strength! Haste, haste-the voices of the Foe Conme near and nearer from below One effort more-thank Heav’n!‘tis past, They’ve gain’d the topmost steep at last. And now they touch the temple’s walls, Now HAFED sees the Fire divine When, lo!nis weak, worn comrade falls Dead onl the tlhreshold of the shrine. I Alas, brave soul, too quickly fled! “And must I leave thee with’ring here, “The sport of every ruffian’s tread, “The mark for every coward’s spear? “No, by yon altar’s sacred beams!” He cries, and, with a strength that see.nas Not of this world, uplifts the frame LALLA ROOKTT. 141 Oh!‘tis not, HINDA, in the pow’r Of Fancy’s most terrific touch To paint thy pangs iii that dread hour Tliy silent agoriy‘twas such As those who feel could paint too well, But none e’er felt and I’ve(] to tell ‘Twas not alone the dreary state Of a lorn spirit, erlisli’d by fate, When, though no more remains to dread, The panic chill will Dot depart;When, though the ilin,.ate liol)o be dead, Her ghost still haunts the inotildlring hear No-l)lcasures, hopes, aflctioiis, gone, The wretcli may bear, and yet live on, Like things, within the cold rock found Alive, when all’s coiigcal’d arolldd.

But there’s a blai-ik repose in this, A calm stagnation, that were bliss To the keeii, bui-iiiii,, harrowing pain, Now felt tlirou,-Ii zlit tliy breast and brain That spasm of terror, mute, i-itense, That breathless, agonized suspense’ From whose hot throb, whose deadly acliitjg. The heart hatli no relief but breaking! Calm is the wave-licav’n’s brilliant lights Reflected dance beneath the prow;Time was when, on sucii lovely nights, She who is there, so desolate now, Could sit all cheerful, though alone, And ask no happier joy than seeing That star-light o’er the waters thrownNo joy but that, to make her blest, And the fresh, buoyant sense of Being, Which bounds in youth’s yet careless breast.Itself a star, not borrowing light, But in its own glad essence bright. How different now!-btit, liark, again The yell of liavoc rii-irs I)rave men! In vain, with beating licarts, ye stand

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. On the bark’s edge in vain each hand Ralf draws the falchion from its sheath; All’s o’er-in rust your blades may lie:He, at whose word they’ye scatter’d death,. Ev’n now, this night, himself must die! Well may ye look to yon dim tower, And ask, and wond’ring guess what means Tile battle-cry at this dead hour  Ah! she could tell you-she, who leans Unheeded there, pale, sunk, aghast, With brow against the dew-cold mast; Too well she kniows-lher more than life, H-er st ul’s fi-st idtl and its latt, Lies bleed ng in that l lurd’r )us st rife. Farewell-be it ours to embellish thy pi’low With ev’ry thing beauteous that grows in the deep; Each flow’r of the rock and each gemn of the billow Shall sweeten thy bed and illumine thy sleep. Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber That ever the sorrowing sea.bird has wept;* With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreath’d chamber We, Peris of Ocean, by moonlight have slept. We’ll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head; We’,l seek where, the s tnds t f the Caspiaunt anr sparkling, Ai d gat ler th ir goi i to s rew ~ ser th T bed Farewell-farewell-until Pity’s sweet fountain Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, They’ll weep for the Chieftain who died on that mour..

tain, They’ll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this wave But see-what moves upon the height? Some signal!-‘tis a torch’s light. What bodes its solitary glare? In gasping silence tow’rd the Shrine All eyes are turn’d-thine, HINDA, thine Fix their last fading life-beams there. ‘Twas but a moment-fierce and high The death-pile blazed into the sky, And far away, o’er rock and flood Its melancholy radiance sent; While!IAFED, like a vision stood Reveal’d before the burning pyre, Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fire Shrined in its own grand element! “‘Tis he!”-the shudd’ring maid exclaims, But, while she speaks, he’s seen no more; Hligh burst in air the funeral flames, And IRA.‘s hopes and hers are o’er! THE singular placidity with which FADLAD.EEN lha listened, during the latter part of this obnoxious story surprised the Princess and FERAMORZ exceedingly; and even inclined towards him the hearts of these unsuspicious young persons, who little knew the source of a complacency so marvellous. The truth was, he had been organizing, for the last few days, a most notable plan of persecution against the poet, in consequence of some passages that had fallen from him on the second evening of recital,which appeared to this worthy Chamberlain to contain language and principles, for which nothing short of the summary criticism of the Chabukt would be advisable. It was his intention, therefore, immediately on their arrival at Cashmere, to give information to the King of Bucharia of the very dangerous sentiments of his minstrel; and if, unfortunately, that monarch did not act with suitable vigour on the occasion, (that is, if he did not give the Chabuk to FERAMORZ, and a place to FADLADEEN,) there would be an end, he feared, of all legitimate government in Bucharia. fie could not help, however, auguring better both for himself and the cause of potentates in general; and it was the pleasure arising from these mingled anticipations that diffused such unu. sual satisfaction through his features, and made his eye* shine out like poppies of the desert, over the wide and lifeless wilderness of that countenance. Having decided upon the Poet’s chastisement in this manier, he thought it but humanity to spare him the minor tortures of criticism. Accordingly, when they assembled the following evening inll the pavilion, and LALLA ROOKII was expecting to see all the beauties of her bard melt away, one by one, in the acidity of criticism, like pearls in the cup of the Egyptian queen,-lie agreeably disappointed her, by merely saying, with an ironical smile, that t he merits of such a poem deserved to be tried at a much higher tribunal: and tLc suddenly passed off into a panegyric, upon all Mussulmana sovereigns, more particularly his august and Imlperia’ master, Aurungzebe,the wisest and best of the descendants of Timur who, among other great thuings he lihad drie for mankind, had given to hi,n, FADLADI.EN, the very profitable posts of Betel-carrier, and Taster of Sherbets to the Emperor, Chief Holder of the Girdle of Beautiful Forms,~ and Grand Nazir, or Chamberlain of the Harem. They were niow not far from that Forbidden River,l! beyond which no pure Hindoo can pass; and were re FAREW eSI L-far ewell to thee, ARABY’S d aughter, TI’hus warbled a PERI beneath the dark sea,) So pearl ever lay, under OMA.X’S green water, Moepure in its shiell than thiy Spirit in thlee. The young v illa ge-ma id, when with flow’rs she dresc Hter dark flowing hair for some festival day, Will think of thy fate till, neglecting her tresses, She mournfully turns from the mirror away. Nor shall IRAN, beloved of her Hero! forget thee T h ough tyrants watch ov er her tears as they start, Close, close by the side of that Hero she’ll set thee, Embalm’d in the innermost shrine of her heart. * Some naturalists have imagined that amber is a concretion of the tears of birds.-See Trevoux, C’hambers. t ” The bay Kieselarke, w hich is otherwise called the Golden Bay th1e sand whereof sines as fire.” Stru. 1 “The applica0tion of wvIips or rods. S-Dubais. Keinpt~r melntions such al officer alonlg the attendants of the King of Persia, a calls him “br orpois estimator.” is business was, at statedl periods, to measure the laies o t hee otarem by a sort of regu leation-irdle, wbet Ie limitits it was not thoughlt graceful to exceed. If any of them otigrew this standard of slape tlhey were reuaced by absti henee till they came within proper bounds. [1 Thle Attock. ” Akbar on hlis way ordered a fort to be built upon the Nilab, whict Ihe cailled Attock, which means in the Itdlian’lnguage Forbidden; for, b y tlhe, superstition of the Hindoos, it was hi I unlawful to cross that river.”Dowo’s Ilinidostan. * “Thllis ws ind (tle Saoor) so sottens the strings of lutes, that they call never ibe tuned. while it lasts.”‘Stephe’s Persia. t “On)1le of tlhe greatest curiosities tfuled in the Persian Gnxif is a fishl wlich t’;e Egisa c,all Star-fish. It is circulttr, and at night very liuminou.% resembli ng1 t!e lull mioon surrounded by rays.”-7.‘irzza.bh Ta’eb. + For a des fris,;o ef the merrimen st of the date t ime, of their work ,l~;r dtn,‘es, anl their returno f rom thle pahn-grove. at the end of ~,itumn wit]. the ruits,. see Kcmp, er, Jlmaenitat. Efeot. i I’ll – 7 ()ne wild, heart-broken shriek she gave; Then spi-un , as if to reach that blaze, 11 Where still she fix’d her dying gaze, And, gazing, sunk into the wave, Deep, deep,-where never care or pain ,liall reach her innocent heart again! t)fi! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, 11,v li,,Iit was thy heart till l,ovcls witchery came, the wirid of the south,* o’er a summer lute blowing, IL-,id I]LISII’D all its iiiusic, and wither’d its frarne! l,lut loii(,, upon ARABY’S reen sunny hi,lilands, 11 iiialds and their lovers renictriber the doom ()f her’, who 1’es steepen,,, a-,Yioiig the Pearl Islands, Nk’itli naught but the,iea-start to light up her tonib. Atid still, when the merry date-seasoii is birning,t Aiid calls to the palm-groves, the 3-oung and the old, ‘J’Ile. lappiest there, from their pastirne returnin,, At sunset, will weep when tily story is told.

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-tx-a -‘ tlst2 ri sUSIC o wpray’r IriOI} a m]iliirt’t swells, Here thec Malgianl his urn, fulll of pe-rfumre, is swninging, Anld h~ere, at the altalr, a1 zonc o)f swveet b~ells m R,)u,,d t’,e watist of seine fair Ilrdian] d~ancer is rirnging.:~ Or to soc it by5 r~qootllight, vchexl mrellowly shines lThe licrht o’er its p::laces, gardl^(en1:-. andi shrlines; Whenl the w~ater-falls gleaml, lik.;t q,,ick fall of stars, And the nlightingvale’s hymn fi’oml:he I~.le of Chlenars Is broken by laulghls and light eellees of feet From thae cool, shinling walks wh-ere the young people mclet.- Or att mlorn, whcln thc mn lgic of d’l>l: -l;.4t awakes A nlew wonlder ealch minllte, aws s!,,w Iy it breaks, tills, culpolas, foultdai:Is, call’ k1 frth cvery7 one Out of darkness, as if just bo.n of tlle Skun. When the Spirit of Fra;t~rance is up w ith the day, From his ttalre:n or nlight-fl,w’rs stealing awvay; And thc wind(, fulll of wtalltonmrlss wzoos like a lover The youlng aspenz.trees,~ till thleyT tremnble all over. When thle East is as w.;IrIJ as tilc ligrllt cf first hopes, Anld Day, with hlis bannerf of radianlce urnlfrei’d, Shines in throulgh the,m-su,,.tainlous portal[] that ope;, Sublime, from thtwt V.tllcy of’ hliss to thle world! a… vs,.........,.o UZt~tl [n rlnce~s, WllO were here allowed a much freer range than they could safely be indulged with ill a less sequestered place, ran wild among the gardens and bounded through the meadows lightly as younu roes over the aromatic plains of Tibet. While FADLAFEE-N, in addition to the spiritual comfort derived by him from a pilgrimage to the tomb of the saint from whom the valley is named, had also opportunities of inidulging, in a small way, his taste for victims, by put ting to death some hundreds of those unfortunate little lizards,/ which all pious Mussulmans make it a point to kill;-taking for granted, that the manner in which the creature hangs its head is meaut as a mimicry of the at titude in whlicii the Faithful say their prayers.

About two miles from Htissuii Abdaul were those Royal (“aidcis.~ which had grown beautiful under the care of so many lovely eyes, and were beautiful still, though those eyes could see them no longer. This place, with its flowers and its holy silence, interrupted only by the dipping of the wings of birds in its marble basitis filled with the pure water of those hills, was to LALLA ROOKH all that her heart could fancy of fragrance, coolness, sid almost heavenly tranquillity. As the Prophet said of Damascus, “it was too delicious;“11 and here, in listcning to the sweet voice of FERAMOaZ, or reading in his eyes what yet he never dared to tell her, the most exquisite momeints of her whole life were passed. One evening, when they had been talking of the Sultana Nourinahal, the Light of the Harem,~ who had so often A wandered amoug these flowers, and fed with her own hands, in those marble basins, the small shining fishes of which she was so fond.** the youth in order to delay the But never joye t, I)( l;’.il;t scr d say’, In dew of sp~ri,,~ or sullltp. ersr raiy, Did the sw5ee’t Valor!

s’!’,ijf’ so, fay As now it shsines all levi- a i~l liE’ha, Visions bv dlay;’~d fi~asts tv\ ili A happier sintiet illumells c;tcil tImow, With quicker spread: each, Lleart uzelose.s, And all is ecstaisy, f,r noew Thc Valley hlo its Fealst of1 Roses;,* The joyouls Tlime(, wh,n?,)le~tsurcs iour Profusely rolun, and(. inl th(.ir showser, Hearts open, like thle S;easohs R~se, Trhe F’lowv’ret of. hlunder d lcaw s,**‘s E~xpanding while the dlecw-f:}11 ftowNs, And every l,af its ba.lml receivsc.i; * “T 1he in!,abitants of this country (Zinge) are iiever afflicted with eadness or omelaiscioly; oln this subject the Sheikh /bu-a-.~he;‘r-/lzari ihas the fol sowing distich. ”’ Who is t he man vithout care or sorrow, (tell) that I i,iy rub my hand to him. “‘lBeholl) the Zingians, without care or sorrow, frolicksome with tipsiness and mirth.’ “The phi oaopihers have discovered tha t the cause of this cheerfulness proceeds eroc the ilfluence of the star Sobeil, or Caisoptis, which rises over them every iit.it – Extract fromn a Geosraphieal Persian.Ianuscript ca/ltd Heft Mirln or the Se ne n Climates, translated by W. Ouselet,, F S q. ; Ttle star S~oheil. or Canppus. 4+ “Th 1’!eiz:~rd S~tellio. Trhe Arabs call it H~atdun. The Turks kill *t, for t!;ey imragie that by deelnsing the head it mimics them wl he n teeey say thteii pri y,‘rs.”-Hassedquist. ~ l:or thle e particuslars respecting tlussuln Abdlaul I nm indebted to te vury inteiresting, introductiou of Mr.

Elpinstone’s wori upon Cauh~u!. I1”A.v do poer et that Bazar, *i thout the gate of Damascus, you .-ee ihe Greeil otqne so called because it hathl a steeple faced with greeiu igled britcks. which render it very resplendent; it is covered at top with} a pavilionr ol’ the same stuff. Thle‘1 urks s~ay thi9 mosque was miade in that plai e, becai] e Mahomet bein come so far, Iould not enter the town, sa5 ing it s too delicious.”-Thevenot. Tlis reminds one of tie follovicg pretty pass;age in Isaac Walton. ” lken I sat laxt on this primro.-e balnk, ~d looked downi the sge eadowsI I thought of them as ChIarl e th e Emp eror ilid of the city of Florence, that they were too pleas~ant to b~e lookefd on. buit only oin ho~lidays.’” ~

Nourmahal sianifie4 Light o the Harecm. She was afterwards call~d eourjehan, or the 51g t of tse Woasrld. ‘ See thue third nlote onl p.

3&. * ” Haroun A1 Ralsehid,:*iuiq,idnmir K9’nlife dles Abaslfsishes, s’ettlt zuu jour broutiile, avec urie (h se.. mal ire,.q n,,f l,:nle Mlartdabl, au’il aietaoi cepeutsant jusqu’kl’cxcds. tt cclte n, siiit-lligence ay;aiit dej. dutrle quelque tem., corlnment ~ /~’,n,y~v(r.

G;‘t/“tr B’trm’tki,on tihvori, quti s’en ap~perc~ut, commalleidal t Abbs b. In Ahna~f, excellenlt po/ete de ce teheslba, d cl tmposer qTe qTerks kiul it, ue:ujct d~: tti iie bro 0 llerie. C e poete Fxocuta F’ordlre tce Grspecinthe. fi ti t cm indebted r es ve i ts p(ar Moussali en presenice du Khalitc, et ce priuce falt te-llenlvnt tou(q,6 dle latenedresse dles vcrs du po ete, et de in douceur dle ila voix dut mu.-siicie,, quv’il ala auissio tIt trouver Mtddao m et fit sa paix:tcre el e.” ’ Herbelot. J’

“Th’}e rose of Ka~shmiere tor its brillimticy andi delicacy ofrodour has lonig beenp roverbiail in the Eaust.” bbstr.t O *T’liedar mud iier oaiq tic z(lrae tfhi osellws, tleat soundeud witil ravishing melod~l.” Son~ osf.la~uad(eva. ~‘‘Thle little isles inl the l~ake ot- Cm-hXemnsre are set wvith arb~ours anld largeleavedl aspen-trees, slenlder amll,a~ll.”

lief,Jer. I[11″ The Tluckt Su~limanl, thle niamie bestow ed bsy time Mahomn-letans on Ithlis lhill. torms one sidle of u granid port, l to the l’ke.” Fbrster. pl” Te Feast ofn Rose contin ues te wIole tiT’e of their rei sining in ebdoom.“ae e Pietr e dc oa falle. * * ” Gul sad berk, thle Rose ofra hlund(red leaves. I belie;ve a p~articular s pecies. “-Ouselel;.

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14 TH IRRLBAY But the gentlest of all are those sounds, full of feeling, That soft from the lute of some lover are stealing,Some lover, who knows all the heart-touching power Of a lute and a sigh in this magical hour.

Oh! best of delights as it ev’ry where is To be near the loved One,-what a rapture is his Who in moonlight and music thus sweetly may glide O’er the Lake of CASIMERE, with that One by his side! If woman can make the worst wilderness dear, Think, think what a Heav’n she must make of CASHMERE’

Twas when the hour of evening came Upon the Lake, serene and cool, ffhen Day had hid his sultry flame Behind the palms of BARAMOULE,* Nhen maids began to lift their heads, ,efresh’l from their embroidered beds, Where they had slept the sun away, 4,nd waked to moonlight and to play. All were abroad-the busiest hive ,)n BEL.A’St hills is less alive, When saffron beds are full in flow’r, Than look’d the Valley in that hour. A thousand restless torches play’d lhrough every grove and island shade; A thousand sparkling lamps were set On everv dome and minaret; And fields and pathways, far and near, Were lighted bv a blaze so clear, That you could see, in wanid’ring round, The smallest rose-leaf on the ground. Yet did the maids and matrons leave Their veils at home that brilliant eve; And there were -lancinig eyes about, And cheeks that would not dare shine out In open day, but thought they might Look lovely then, because’twas night.

And all were free and wandering, Aind all exclaim’d to all they met, That never did the summer bring So gay a Feast of Roses yet:The moon had never shed a light So c-lear as that which bless’d them there; The roses ne’er shone half so bright, Nor they themselves look’d half so fair. So felt the magnificent Son of ACBAR,* When from pow’r and pomp and the trophies of war He flew to that Valley, forgetting them all With the light of the HAREM, his young NOURMAHAL When free and uncrown’d as the Conqueror roved By the banks of that lake, with his only beloved, He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully snatch From the hedges, a glory his crown could not match, And preferr’d in his heart the least ringlet that curl’d Down her exquisite neck to the throne of the world. There’s a beauty, forever unchangingly bright, Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer-day’s light, Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender, Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splendour. This was not the beauty-oh, nothing like this, That to young NOUIRMIATAL gave such magic of bliss! But that loveliness, ever il motion, which plays Like the light uponi autumn’s soft shadowy days, Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies From the lip to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes; Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams, Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heav’n in his dreams When pensive, it seem’d as if that very grace, That charm of all others, was born with her face! And when angry,-for ev’n iii the tranquillest climes Light breezes will ruffle the blossoms sometimesThe short, passing anger but seem’d to awaken New beauty, like flow’rs that are sweetest when shaken. If tenderness totich’d her, the dark of her eye At once took a darker, a heav’nlier dye, From the depth of whose shadow, like holy revealings From innermost shrines, came the light of her feelings. Then her mirth-oh!‘twas sportive as ever took wing From the heart with a burst, like the wild-bird in spring; Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages, Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages.t While her laugh, full of life, without any control But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul; And where it most sparkled no glance could discover, In lip, cheek, or eyes, for she b.-righten’d all over,Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, When it breaks into dimples and laughs il the suln Such, such were the peerless eniich-ntinents, that gave NOURMAHAL the proud Lord of the East for her slave: And though bright was his Harenm,-a living parterre Of the flow’rs., of this planet-though treasures were there, For which SOLIMAN’S self might liavO giv’n all the store That the navy from OPIIIR e’er win g’d to his shore, Yet dim before her were the smiles of thie m all, And the Light of his lIaremn was young NOURMAHAL! And what a wilderness of flow’rs! It seem’d as though from all the bow’rs And fairest fields of all the year, The mningled spoil were scatter’d here. The ILake> too, like a garden breathes, With the rich buds that o’er it lie, As if a shower of fairy wreaths Ha,] fawlln upon it from the sky! And then the sounds of joy,-the beat O)J tabors and of dancing feet; The miiiaret-crier’s chant of glee Suniri from his lighted gallery,t Alid answered by a ziraleet From ncighbouring Harem, wild and sweet;- The merry laug’hIter, echoingfl From ~ardens, where the silken swing{ WVafts sormie delighted girl above ‘Flie top leavees of the orange-grove; ()r from those infant groups at play .Amonig the tentsh] that line the way, Flingnt,r,l, Ainiawed by slave or mother, Han,dffuls of roses at each other. i, the souindls fiown the Lake,-the low whisp’ring in boats, .\k t’ l’? shoot through the moonlight; the dipping of O:Frs, Ail thlie wild, airy warbling that ev’ry where.“hrats, T,hrough the groves, round the islands, as i’ ail the shores. Like tiose of KATIIA.Y, utter’d music, and gave A!

answer in song to the kiss of each wave.~ _ one But where is she now, this night of joy, When bliss is every heart’s employ?When all around her is so bright, So like the visionis of a trance, That one might think, who came by chanse Into the vale this happy night, He saw that City of Delight~ In Fairy-land, whose streets and tow’rs Are made of gemns and light and flow’rs! + A place mentioned in the Toozek Jehangeery, or Memoirs of Jehanlire, ere t here i s a n account of the beds of saffron-flowers about Cashmcere. + “it is thie custom among the women to employ the Maazeen to eiant, from tle gallery of the nearest minaret, which ons that occasion i illuminated and the wo men assembled at the thouse respond at intervals Eith a ziraleet or joyous chorus.” Russd. ‘“T,e swing id a favourit p me pa stim e i n the East, as promoting a circulai i of air. extremely refreshing in those sultr cl imates.”-ihardson. The sin, are adornedwi i th festoons. f This pas time is accompaied1 wqtn muse of voices and of instruments, hired by the masters of the lW.gY.”  Th,ven ft. ii’ At the keeping of tl e Feast of Roses we beheld an infinite number of tents pithed, wit such rof if me, ih omen, boys, and girls, with music dances,”

&c. &c. Herbert. ~“‘An cold ommentator of tiWe C(hoql-Kin,- say.y, the ancients having reiiiarked that a current of water n-tde sooe of tie stones near its bn atnks send fortht a soitil t;,ey’ltacid some of tlcn, alind brin charned with the detigitful souindl tlhey emitted, ccnsrtictt’l King or musical instrutce its of them.” prosier. ni o a f. 5is miraculotus qsality l.a- been attrihlltte: aso’ to t;fe store of Attica. ”

Ho jus littus, ait Capella, concenturnm musicum illisis terra undis red dere, qutd p rop ter tn tit iois vim puto dictum.”-Ludov. iPve, in J-nglsti,,. de Civit.t. Dei. lit,. xviii. c. 8. Je!,a -Guire wras tl,e “soI of tIhe Great. Acbar. IA the wars ofi t h Di ves witi, tie Peris, wiheever the former took the latter orisoners.i ” taffy shut. te lip il iron cages and hung them oI the hicige’t trees. II, re they…... vidte. d by th eir companions, who Ibrmollttt tiemel th~e c’:mc~s.t ~d3’m:rs’”

IlIichardson’ I] the Al~‘al Islalu:ge thbe sa ~ s *o~rd signifies Yeomen and flowenr ~ Tile cupitil ofShadukiam. S,:e th!e first note on D.o 2 141

THE MIRROR LIBRARY.

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LALLA ROOK[1. 14. Where is the loved Sultana? where, When mirth brings out the young and fair, Does shle, the fairest hide her brow, In melancholy stillness now? Hence is it, too, that NOaURMAHAL, Amid the luxuries o f th is hour Far from the joyous festival, Sits in her own sequester’d bow’r, With no one near to sooth or aid, But that inspired and wondrous maid, NAMOUNA, thle Enchantress;-one, O’er whom his race the golden sun For unremember’d years has run, Yet never saw her blooming brow Younger or fairer than’tis now. Nay, rather,s-as the west wind’s sigh Freshens the flow’r it passes by,  Time’s wing but seem’d, in stealing o’er, To leave her lovelier than before. Yet on her smiles a sadness hung, And when, as oft she spoke or sung Of other worlds, there came a light From her dark eyes so strangely bright, That all believed nor man nor earth Were conscious of NAMOUNA’S birth! Alas!-how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried, And sorrow but more closely tied; That stood the storm when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea, Wiie,. sea v’;,t, ail,n! Fortnetnr’ A somnething, light as air-a look, A word unkind or wrongly taken(-)h! love, that tempests never shook, A breath, a touch like this hath shaken. And ruder words will soon rush in To spread the breach that words begin; And eyes forget the gentle ray They wore in courtship’s smiling day; And voices lose the tone that shed A tenderness round all they said; Till fast declining, one by one, The sweetnesses of love are gone, And hearts so lately mingled, seem Like broken clouds,-or like the stream, That smiling left the mountain’s brow As though its waters ne’er could sever, Yet ere it reach the plain below, Breaks into floods that part forever. All spells anrd talismans she knew, Fronm the great Mantra,* which around The Air’s sublimer Spirits drew, To the gold gemst of AFRIC, bound Upon the wand’ring Arab’s arm, To keep him from tile Siltim’st harm. And she hiad pledged her powerful art,Pledged it with all the zeal and heart Of one who knew, though high her sphere, What’twas to lose a love so dear,To find some spell that should recall Hler Selitri’s smile to NOURIAIIAL! Oh, you, that have the charge of Love, Keep him in rosy bondage bound, As in the Fields of Bliss above He sits with flow’rets fetter’d round;* Loose not a tie that round him clings, Nor ever let him use Ihis wings; For ev’n an hour, a mninute’s flight Will rob the plumes of half their light. Like that celestial bird,-whose nest Is found beneath far Eastern skies,Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, Lose all their glory when he flies!t ‘Twas midnight-through the lattice, wreathed With woodbine, many a perfume breathed From plants that wake when others sleep, From timid Jasmiine buds, that keep Their cdour to themselves all day, But, when the sunlight dies away, Let the delicious secret out To every breeze that roams about;When thus NAMOUNA:-“‘Tis the hour That scatters spells on herb an d flow’r, And garlands might be gather’d now, That, twined around the sleeper’s brow, Would make, him dream of such delights, “Such miracles and dazzling sights, As Genii of the Sun behold, At evening from their tents of Gold Upon th’ horizon-where they play Till twilight comas, and, ray by ray, Their sunny mansions melt away. Now, too, a chiplct might be wreath’d Of buds o’er which the mriooni has breathed, Which worn by her, whose love has stray’d, ” Might bring some Peri from the skies, Some sprite, whose very soul is made ” Of flow’rets’ breaths and lovers’ sighs, And who might tell ” Some diff’rence of this dang’rous kind,By which, though light, the links that bind The fondest hearts may soon be riv’n; Some shadow in Love’s summer heav’n, Which, though a fleecy speck at first, May yet in awful thunder burst;Such cloud it is that now hangs over The heart of the Imperial Lover, And far hath banish’d from his siglht His NOURMAHIAL, his Harem’s Light! Hence is it, on this happy night, When pleasure through the fields and groves Has let loose all her world of loves, And every heart has found its own, He wander s j oyl ess and alone, And weary as that bird of Theace, Whose pillion knows no resting-place.l In vain the loveliest cheeks and eyes This Eden of the Earth supplies Come crowding round-the cheeks are pale, riThe eyes are dim:-though rich the spl)ot With ev’rv flow’r this earth has got, WYhat is it to the nightingale, If there his darling rose is not?~ In vain the Valley’s smiling throng Wership him as ie moves along; lIe heeds them not-one smile of hers ” For me, for me,” Cried NOURMAIIAL impat iently,” Oh! twine that wreath for me to-night.” Then, rapidly, with foot as light As the young musk-roe’s, out she flew, To cull each shining leaf that grew Beneath the moonlight’s hallowing beams, For this enchanted Wreath of Dreams. See the representation of the Eastern Cupid,pinioned closely round ath wreaths ot flowers, in Picart’s Ceremonies RIeligieuses.

t’ Among the birds of Tonquin is a species of Goldfinch, which sings so m,elotdiously that it is called the Celestial Bird. Its wings, when it is percied, appear variegated with beautiful colours, but when it flies theyi lobe all their rplcndour.” Grosier. btlese tb”ds on the Bo phloru,s arenever known to rest, they are ealled by the rench’ les a.men damn6es..’

“Dolloay. a’ e i “You maiy place a hun,,dr,ed handfuls of fagra,,t herbs an~l flowers before the nightingale, et lee wishes not, in his constant heart, for mniore thauthe ewyer+ hrbe h his beloved roine.” .ami i * ” He is said to h,ave fo,und the great.Mantra, speil or talisman, through which he ruled owtr the elemenits anI spirits of all de,omiaations.”‘-Fil ford.

t “A Th e go i d jwels of’Jiniic, which are cilledl by the Arabs El Herez, froI the l, sup posed cho a they con,tain.”-Jackshon. “A de’I,on, supposed to haunt’woods, &c. ill a human shape.“Ribchitrdoln. cS 1The;}::me of’Jehtkn-Gulire beiore his accession to the throne.. ~ ~ LALLA ROOKH.

14-.!i Is worth a world of worshippers. They but the Star’s adorers are, She is ihe Heav’ri that lights the Star I

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14 TH IRRLBAY Anemones and Seas of Gold,* And new-blown lilies of the river, And those sweet flow’rets, that unfold Their buds on CAMADEVA’S quiver;tThe tube-rose, with her silv’ry light, That in the Gardens of Malay Is call’d the Mistress of the Night,t So like a bride, scented and bright, She comes out when the sun’s away;  Amaranths, such as crown the maids That wander through ZAMARA’s shades;~ And the white moon-flow’r, as it shows, On SERENDIB’s high crags, to those Who near the isle at evening sail, Scenting her clove-trees in the gale; In short, all flow’rets and all plants, From the divine Amrita tree,dl That blesses heaven’s inhabitants With fruits of immortality, Down to the basil tuft,~ that waves Its fragrant blossom over graves, And to the humble rosemary, Whose sweets so thanklessly are shied To scent the desert** and the dead:All in that garden bloom, and all Are gather’d by young NOURMAIHAL, Who heaps her baskets with the flow’rs And leaves, till they can hold no more; Then to NAMOUNA flies, and show’rs Upon her lap the shining store. Springs out of the silv’ry almond-flow’r, That blooms on a leafless bough.* Then hasten we, maid, To twine our braid, ‘IT,-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade The visions, ta o that oft to wor ldly eyes The glitter of mines unfold, Inhabit the mountain-herb,t that dyes The tooth of the fawn like gold. The phantom shapes-oh touch not them – That appal the muird’rer’s sight, Lurk in the fleshly inandrake’s stem, That shrieks, when pluck’d at night! Then hasten we, maid, To twine our braid, To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fads, The dream of the injured, patient mind. That smiles with the wrongs of men, Is found in the bruised and wounded rind Of the cinnamon, sweetest then. Then hasten we, maid, To twine our braid, To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fads No sooner was the flow’ry crown Placed on her head, than sleep came down, Gently as nights of summer fall, Upon the lids of NOURMAIIAL;And, suddenlv, a tuneful breeze, As full of small, rich harmonies As ever wind, that o’er the tents Of AZABT blew, was full of scents, Steals on her ear, and floats and swells, Like the first air of morning creeping Into those wreathy, Red Sea shells, Where Love himself, of old, lay sleeping;~ And now a Spirit, form’d,‘twould seem, Of music and of light,-so fair, So brilliantly his features beam, And such a sound is in the air Of sweetness when he waves his wings,  Hovers around her, and thus sings: With what delight th’ Enchantress views So many buds, bathed with the dews And beams of that bless’d hour!-her glance Spoke something, past all mortal pleasur es, As, in a kind of holy trance, She hung above those fragrant treasures, Bending to drink their balmy airs, As if she mix’d her soul with theirs. And’twas, indeed, the perfume shed From flow’rs and scented flame, that fed Her charmed l fe-for none had e’er Beheld her taste of mortal fare, Nor ever in aught earthly dip, But the morn’s dew, her roseate lip. Fill’d with the cool, inspiring smell, Th’

Enchantress now begins her spell, Fhius singing as she winds and weaves In mystic formi the glittering leaves: From CIIINDARA’Sll warbling fount I come, Call’d by that moonlight garland’s spell; From CIIINDARA’S fount, my fairy home, Where in music, morn and night, I dwell. Where lutes in the air are heard about, And voices are sitigiing the whole day long And every sigh the heart breathes out Is turn’d, as it leaves the lips, to song!

Hither I come From my fairy home, And if there’s a magic in Music’s strain, I swear by the breath Of that moonlight wreath, Thy Lover shall sigh at thy feet again. I know where the winged visions dwell That around the night-bed play; I know each herb and flow’ret’s bell, Where they hide their wings by day Then hasten we, mr,Fro, To twine our braid, To-morrow the dreams and flowers will fade. The image of love, that nightly flies To visit the bashful maid, Steals from the jasmine flower, that sighs Its soul, like her, in the shade. The dream of a future, happier hour, That alights on misery’s brow, For mine is the lay that-lightly floats, And mine are the inurm’ring, dying notes, That fall as soft as snow on the sea, And melt in the heart as instantly: T* “The almond-tree with white flowers, blossoms on the bar# ~ranches. “-Hassclq~uist. t A, herb on Mloult libaius, which is said to communicate a yellow golden hue to the teetih o’ thlet goats and other animals that graze upon it. .Niekuhr thin,k.s this ma,.y be tie herb which the Eastern alchymista ,look to as t teabs of making gold. “Mo st of those alchymical enthu6iasts think themselvea s sure of success, if they could but find out the herb, whichi gilds the teeth and gives a yellow colour to the flesh of the sheep thlat ea t it. Even the oil of this plant must be of a golden colour. it is called Hasckischat ed dab.” Father Jerome Da.ndin,i, however, asserts that the teeth of the goats at Mount Libanmst are of a silver colour; and adds, “this conifirms to me that which I oboservd iln Candia: to wit that the animals that live on Mount Ida eat a certi herb,m which renders their teeth of a golden colour; which according to my judgment cannot otherwise proceed than from the mines which a re und er ground.”-D)andini, Voyage to Mlount Lilbanuls. t The myrrh country. t “This idea (of deities li ing in shells) was not unknown to the Greeks, who represent the young Nertes, one of the Cupids, as tiving in shells on the shor es of the Red Sea.”-Tfilford. 11 “A fabulous f()untam, where instruments are Ir,id to be conv’-ntir playiug.”-s-Richards on ‘ Hemasagara, or the Sea of Gold, with flowers of the brightest gold ~o.eur.”-Sir If. Jones. t ” This’ tree (the Nagacesara) is one of the most delightul on earth, o the _del iciou s odour of its blossoms justly gives them a pface in the quiver of Camadeva, or the God of Love.” Sir W. Jones. qivr”The Malayan. s t”e tse tuberose (Poliathes tuberosa) Sandal Mslam, or the Mistress of the Night.”

Pennant. ~ The people of the Batta country in Sumatra, (of which Zamara is one of the ancient names,) ” when not engaged in war, lead an idle, intetive life, passing the day in playing on a kind of flute, crowned with garlands of flower, among,whch the globe-amaran thus, a native of the ntrz, mostly prevails.” -.Marsden. Ai” the lar gest and richest sort (of the Jambu, or rose-apple) is called Amyits or immortal, and the mythologists of Tibet apply the same word to a celestial tree, bearing ambrosial fruit.” Sir W. Jones.. ~F Sweet bazil, called Rayhan in Persia.

and generally found in churchrards ne women in Egypt go at least two days in the week, o rrayand weep at the sepulci.res of the dead * and the custom then is to throw upon the tom.bs a sort of herb whic,the Arabs call roan, and which is our sweet basil.”J.Millet, Lett. 10. is* ” the Great Des ert are fund many stalks of lavender and rose rmary.” qsiat. ]Iet e, oe THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 146

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LALLA R. 14 And the passionate strain that, deeply going, Refines the bosom it trembles through, As the musk-wind, over the water blowing, Ruffles the wave, but sweetens it too. Mine is the charm, whose mystic sway The Spirits of past Delight obey;Let but the tuneful talisman sound, And they come, like Genii, hov’ring round. And mine s the gentle song that bears From soul to soul, the wishes of love, As a bird, that wafts through genial airs The cinnanoni-seed from grove to grove.* ‘Tris I that mingle in one sweet measure The past, the present, and future of pleasure;G WVhen Memory links the tone that is gone With the blissful tone that’s still in the ear; And Hope from a heavenly note flies on To a note more heavenly still that is near. That evening, (truing ng that his soul Might be from haunting love released By mirth, by music, and the bowl,) Th’ imperial SELIM held a feast In his magnificent Shalimar: * In whose Saloons, when the first star Of evening o’er the water s trembled, The Valley’s loveliest all assembled; All the bright creatures that, like dreams, Glide through its foliage, and drink beams Of beauty from its founts and streams;t And all those wand’ring nminstrel-maids, Who leave-how can they leave?-the shades Of that dear Valley, and are found Singing in gardens of the Soijtht Those songs, that ne’er so sweetly sound As from a young Cashmerian’s mouth. The warrior’s heart, when touch’d by me, Can as downy soft and as yielding be As his own white plume, that high amid death Through the field has shone-yet moves with breath! And, oh, how the eyes of Beauty glisten, When Music has reach’d her inward soul, Like the sileit stars, that wink and listen While Heaven’s eternal melodies roll. So hither I come From my fairy home, And if there’s a magic in MIusic’s strain, I swear by the breath Of that moonlight wreath, Thy lover shall sigh at thy feet again. There, too, the Harem’s inmates smile; Maids from the West, with sutn-bright hair And from the Garden of tile NILE, Delicate as the roses there;-~ Daughters of Love from CYPRUs’ rocks, With Paphiian diamonds il their locks;-II Light PEatI forms, such as they are On the gold meads of CANDAIJAR-1; And they, before whose sleepy eyes, In their own bright Kathaian bow’rs, Sparkle such. rainbow butterflies, I’hat they might fancy the rich flow’rs, That round them in the sun lay sighing, Had been by magic all set flying.** ‘Tis dawn-at least that earlier dawn, Whose glimpses are again withdrawn,; As if the morn had waked, and then Shut close her lids of light again. And NOITR.MAIIAL is up, and trying The wonders of her lute, whose stringsOh, bliss!-now murmur like the sighing From that ambrosial Spirit’s wings. And then, her voice,‘tis more than human Never, till now, had it been given To lips of any mortal woman To uitter notes so fresh from heaven; Sweet as the breath of angel sighs, When angel sighs are most divine.‘Oh! let it last till night,” she cries, “And he is more than ever mine.” .nd hourly she renews the lay, So fearful lest its heav’nly sweetness Should, ere the evening, fade away, For things so heav’nly have su-h fleetness! But, far from fading, it but grow Richer, divincr as it flows; Eve ry thing youn g, e very thing fair From East and West is blushing ther e, Except-except oh, NOURMAuIAL! Thou loveliest, dearest of them all, The one, whose smile shone out alone, Amidst a world the only one; Whose light, among so many lights, Was like that star on starry nights, The seaman singles from the sky, To steer his bark forever by! Thou wert not there-so SELIM thought, And every thing seem’d drear without thee, But, ah! thou wert, thou wert,-and brought Thy charm of song all fresh about thee. Mingling unnoticed with a band Of lutanists from many a land, * “In the centre of the plain, as it approaches the Lake, one of the Delhi Emperors, I believe Shal Jehan. constructed a spacious garden called the Sbalimar, which is abundantly stored with fruit-trees and flowering shrubs. Some f t he rivulets wich intersect the plai. are led into a,canal at the b;ck of the garden, and flowing through its cntre or occasionrlly tiron into t variety of water-works, compose the chi,i beauty of the Shalimar. l’o decrate this spot the Mog l Pri nces of India have di,played an equal agificence nd taste; especially Jehan Gheer, who, with the enchanting Noor Mahi, made Kahmire h usua l r esidence duri ng t he s mer o iths. On arches thrown over the canial are rected, at equal distances, four r tfive s aits of apar tments, each consisting of a saloon. with four rooms at t he angles, wherer the te llowers of the court attend, o hanp tsn gr prepare sherbetso coffee, and the hookah. The frame of th e doors of til principal s aoon is compose d f m iec aes or of a stone of a black colour, streaked wi th yello w lines. and of a loser grain and higher poish than porphyry. They were taken. i t is said fom t Hindoo temple, bay one o f the Mogul princes, and are etstee med of tgr ea t valse.”-or ster. t “Thle waters of Cachemnir are the more renowned from its being supposed th ththe Cachmirians are ind ebted for their beauty to them., -.rtli Yezdi. t ” From him I received the following little Gazzel, or Love Song, the, notes of which he committed to pa,per from the voice of one of those singing girls of Cashmere, who wander from that delightful valley over the various parts of lndia.”’-Persian.Misce.llanies. ~ “T,e roses of the Jinan Nile, or Garden of the Nile, (attached to the Emperor of Morocco’s palace,) are unequIalled, aid mnttresses are made of their leaves for the men of rank to recline up(n.” .Jackson. 11 “On the side of a mountain. near Paphos there is a cavern which produces the most beautiful rock-crystal. On account of its brilliancy it has been called the Paphian diamo.ndl.”.fariti. hi “There ia part of Candlahar, called Peris. o, Fairy Land.“Therenot. In #me of those countries to the north of India, vegetable gold is supposedi to be produced. $* “These are tlhe.tterfiies;vhich are ca le,d n thie Cinee ln guige-FlyinglIeaves.

Some of them }ave sI,., shining colours, Ned are so variegated, that they tony he c,aI,lled Hylg fh!wers: nail il.d:,d they are always produ,ced in til,e finest qowvr ‘,tcs.”-[),, * “The Pompadour pigeon is the species, which, by carrying the irait of the cinnamon to different places, is a great disseoiniator ot this valuable tree.”-See Brown’s Illustr., Tab. 1.

t “VYhenever our pleasure arises from a succession of sound, it is a ;,erception of a complicated nature, made ip of a sensation of the pr|e .ent sun or note, and an idea or remembrance of the foregoi ng, w h le their mixtture and concurrence produce such a mysterious delght, as e ither could have produced alone. And it is often heightened by an a;ticipation of the succeeding notes. Tihuis Sense, Memory, and Ima gintion are conjunctively employed.”Gerrard on Taste. This Is *xactly tthe Epicurean theory of Pleasure. a,s explained by ‘icero:“.uocirca corpus gaudere tamdiu, du, praesentem sentiret I-oi,lpttem; anita ur et prwesentem percipere pariter cam corpore et pr.spi-ere venientem, nee prteteritam preeterfluere sinere.” Miadamede Stael accounts upon the same principle for thegratifieatiaon e’ve derive from rhyme:-” EIl e est l’image de l’espranc e et dvra ptvenir. I i son noTs fait dasirer celui qui doit lui r6pondre, et quand le second etentit il aolsc rapp elle celui qui vient de nou ns 6ehapper. . “she Persians hav,e to morings, w the Sonobhi Kazim and the Soiobi.i Sadig, t fca n te o tecont o the false and the real day-break. They count for this phenomenon, in a io.st whimsical manner. They say that as the sun ri,es from behind the Kohi Qaf (Mount Caucasus) it passes a hole perforated through that mountain., and that darting its rays through it, it is thle cause of the Soobhi Kazim, or this te.mporary appearance of daybreak. As it ascends, the earth is again veiled in arkness. until the sun rises above the mountain, and brings with it the Snobhi Sadig, or rea .orning.” Sott Waing. He thinks Milton may allude to this, AIhen., FWr – I ILALLA ROOKH. 147 Till rapt she dwells on every string, And pours again each sound along, Like Echo, lost and languishing, In love with her own wondrous song. a ” Ere the blabbing Eat,,. scout, Ti., nice..rn n the Indian te’p rrom her,cabin’d loop-hole wep.,

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4 TH MIRO LIR And veil’d by such a mask as shades The features of young Arab maids,-* A mask that leaves but one eye free, To do its best in witchery,She roved, with beating heart, around, And waited, trembling, for the minute, When she might try if still the sound Of her loved lute had magic in it. Of her own country maidens’ looks, WTu warm they rise from TEFLIS’ brooks * And With an eye, whose restless ray, Full, floating, dark-oh, he, who knows His heart is weak, of Heav’n should pray To guard him from such eyes as those’ With a voluptuous wildness fings Her snowy hand across the strings Of asyriiida,t and thus sings: The board was spread with fruits and wine; With grapes of gold, like those that shine On CASrIN’s hills;t-pomegranates full Of melting sweetness, and the pears, And sunniest applest that CAUBUL In all its thousand gardens bears;Plantains, the golden and the green, MALAYA’s nectar’d mangusteen;lI Prunes of BOKIIARA, and sweet nuts From the far groves of SAMARCAND, And BASReA dat es, and apricots, Seed of the sun,~ from IRAN’S land;Wi th rich conserve of Visna cherries,* O f orange flowers, and of those berries That, wild and fresh, the young gazelles Feed on in EgAc’s rocky dells.tt All these in richest vases smile, In baskets of pure santal-wood, And urns of porcelain from that islett SOferk underneath the Indian flood, W hence of t the lucky diver brings Vases to grace the halls of kings. Wines, too, of ever) clime and hue, Around their liquid lustre threw; Amber Rosolli,~~-the bright dew From vineyards of the Green-Sea gushing Jill And SHIRAZ wine, that richly ran As if that jewel, large and rare, The ruby for which KUBLAI-KHAN Offier’d a city’s wealth,~ I was blushing, Melted within the goblets there! Come hither, come hither-by night and by day, We linger in pleasures that never are gone: Like the waves of the summer, as one dies away. Another as sweet and as shining comes on. And the love that is o’er, in expiring, gives birth To a new one as warmn, as unequalI’d in bliss And, oh! if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this.t Here maidens are sighing, and fragrant their sigh As the flow’r of the Amrra just oped by a bee;~ And precious their tears as thatt rain froni the sky,I Which turns into pearls as it falls in the sea. Oh! think what the kiss and the smile must be worthl When the sigh and the tear are so perfect in bliss. And own if there be an Elysium on earth, It i1i tills, it is this. Here sparkles the nectar, that, liallow’d by love, Could draw down those angels of old from their sphere, Who for wine of this earth~ left the fountains abovea, Andu forgot heav’ii’s stars for. the eyes we have h’re And, bless’d with the odour our goblet gives forth, What Spirit the sweets of his Eden would miss? For, oh! if there be an ElysiuLm on earth, It is this, it is this. The Georgian’s song was scarcely mute, When the same measure, sound for sound, Was caught up by another lute, And so divinely breathed around, That all stood hOshed and wondering, And turn’d and look’d into the air, As if they thought to see the wing Of ISPAFIL,** the Ange], there;So pow’rfully on ev’ry soul That new, enchanted measure stole. While now a voice, sweet as the note Of the clarm’d lute, was heard to float Along its chords, and so entwine Its sounds with theirs, that none knew whethe) ‘I’he voice or lute was most divine, So wondrously they went together: And amply SELIM quaffs of each, And seems resolved the flood shall reach His inward heart,-shedding around A genial deluge, as they runl, That soon shall leave no spot undrown’d, For Love to rest his wings upon. He little knew how well the boy, Can float upon a goblet’s streams, lighting them with his smile of joy; As bards have seen him in their dreams, Down the blue GANGES laughing glide Upon a rosy lotus wreath,*** Catching new lustre from the tide That with his image shone beneath. There’s a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, When two, that are link’(1 in one heav’nly tie, With heart never changing, and brow never cold, Love on through all ills, and love on till they die! One hour of a passion so sacred is worth Whole ages of heartless and waniid’ring bliss; And, oh! if there be an Elysium oni earth, It is this, it is this.

,But what are cups, w ithout the aid Of song to speed them as they flow?

And see-a lovely Georgian mnaid, With all the bloom, the freshen’d glow *

The Arabian women wear black masks with little clasps prettily orbad.”-Carreri. Niebuhr mentions their showing but one eye in conversation. t” The golden grapes of Casbin.”-Description of Persia.

t”The fruits exported from Cabul are apples, pears, pomegranates,”

&at.-Elphkisstose. “We sat down under a tree, I istened to the birds, and talked with the son of our Mehmaundar about our country and Caubul, of which lie la.ve an enchanting account: that city and its 100,000 gardens,”

&c. 1l ” Th e manusteen, the ost delicate fruit in the world; the pride ofthe Malay is. ands.”-Jlarsden. 11 “A delicious kind of apricot, called by the Persians tokmek-shems, signifying sun’s seed.”-Description of Persia. ‘ Sweetmeats, i a crystal cup, c onsisting of rose-leaves inconserve, with lemon of Visna cherry, orange flowers,” &c.-Russel. tt ”

Antelopes cropping the fresh berries of Erac.”-The.4loallakat, Poem of Tarhao. ::” Mauri-ga-ima, an island near Formosa, suppo-ed to have been unkc in the sea folthe crimes of its inhlabitantts. The vessels which the [hermen andl divers bring up from it are sold at an immense price in hina and Japan.”-See Kempfc,. 6 Persian Tales. nH The white,ine of Kishma.

“The king of Zeilt;n is said to have the very finest ruy that aas over seen. Kubla-i-Klhan sent and offbred the value of a city fbr it, hilt ie King answered oe vould not give it tor the treaure of tIle world.” .Mad’co Polo. ** Ti,e Indians feigs that Cupid wtas first seen f tig w th e ;,agles Fin the Nrnp’:tea Nelan.bha.-ite Pest.Te e o c ‘Twas not the air,‘twas not the words, But that deep magic iii the chords And in the lips, that gave such pow’r As Music knew not till that hour. At once a hundred voices said, “It is the miiask’d Arabian maid!” While SELIM, who had felt the strain Deepest of any, and had lain I Teflis is celebrated for its natural warm bathls.See Ebn tfankal t’ e Indian Syrinda, or guitar.” Symez. t ” Aroundl the exterior of the Dewa: Kheatb (a building of’ S.‘ali Al lum’s) in the cornice are tl,e tfollowing lines in letters of gold tpol”. grouinil of white marble‘ If there be a paradise up/n earth, it is this, is this.’ “-Frasck/in. ~ ” )egligtful are the flowers of the Amra trees on the onltain. – tops. while the mvrmariig bees pursue their volupluous to il.“So 54 o,of Jayadeva. 11’lT,.e Nisan, or drops of spring rain, which they ]r,it’ve to produc,,C pearls if thely t.11 into shells.”-Ricbardi on. I For tl accoun t ofti le shale wliich wine lind In tbt t;.d l of the a1) gel% see.4ariti. ** The Ange! of Music. Sec note t.

43. I I is THE MIRROR LIBRARY.

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4, LALLA ROOKH.~-es The mask is off-the charm is wrought  And SELIM to his heart has caught, In blushes, more than ever bright, His NOURMAIIAL, his Harem’s Light.! And well do vanish’d frowns enhance The charm of every brighten’d glance; And dearer seems each dawning smile For having lost its light awhile: And, happier now for all her sighs, As on his arm her head reposes, She whispers him, with laughting eyes, ” Remember, love, the Feast of Roses!” Some minutes rapt, as in a trance, After the fairy sounds were o’er, Too inly touch’d for utterance, Now motion’d with his hand for more: Fly to the desert, fly with me, Our Arab tents are rude for thee; But, oh! the choice what heart can doubt, Of tents with love, or thrones without? Our rocks are rough, but smiling there Th’ acacia waves her yellow hair, Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less For flow’ring in a wilderness. FADLADEEN, at the conclusion of this light rliapsouy, took occasion to sum up his opinion of the young Cashmerian’s poetry,of which, he trusted, they had that evening heard the last. Having recapitulated the epithets, ” frivolous”’” inkarmonious”” nonsensical,” he proceedied to say tlt, viewing it in the most favourable light, it resembled one of those Maldivian boats, to which the Princess had alluded in the relation of her dream,*a slight, gilded thing, sent adrift without rudder or ballast, and with nothing but vapid sweets and faded flowers on board. The )rofusion, indeed, of flowers and birds, which this poet had ready on all occasions,-not to mention dews, gems, &c.-was a most oppressive kind of opulence to his hearers; and had the unlucky effect of giving to his style all the glitter of the flower-garden without its method, and all the flutter of the aviary without its song. In addition to this, he chose his subjects badly, and was always most inspired by the worst parts of them.

The charms of paganism, the merits of rebellion,these were the themes honoutred with his particular enthusiasm; and, in the poemii just recited, one of his most palatable passages was in praise of that beverage of the Unfaithful, wine;” being, perhaps,” said he, relaxing into a smile, as cinsciotis of his own character in the Harem on this point, ” one of those Ija;rds, whlose fancy owes all its ill uiiinatioii to the grap)e, like that painted porcelain,t so curious and so rare, s hose imiages are only visible when liquor is poured into it.” Upon the whole, it was his opinion, from the specinmeis which they had heard, and which, he begged to sly, were tile mtost tiresome part of the journrv, thliat wihatever other merits this well-dressed young geutlerman ight possess-pcetry was by 1no means his pfliper avocation; “and indeed,” concluded the critic, ” from his fondness for flowers and for birds, I would venture to suggest that a florist or a bird-catcher is a much more suitable calling for him titan a poet.” They had now begunii to ascend those barren mioutitains, which separate Cashmere from the rest of India, and, as the heats were intolerable, and the timre of their encampments limited to the few hours necessary for refreshmenit and repose, there was an end to all their delightful evenings, and LALLA ROOKII saw no more of FERAMORZ. She now felt that her short dream of happiness was over, and that she had nothing but the recollection of its few blissful hours, like the one draught of sweet water thlat serves the camel across the wilderness, to bta her heart’s refreshment during the dreary waste of life that was before her.

Tile blight that had fallen upon her spirits soon found its way to her cheek, and her ladies saw with regret-though not without some suspicion of the cause-that the beauty of their mistress, of whicb they were almost as proud as of their own, was fast vanishing away at the very moment of all when she had most need of it. What must the King of Bucharia feel when, instead of the lively and beautiful LALLA ROOKIf, whom the poets of Delhiii had described as more perfect than the divinest images in the house of Azor,t he should But if for me thiou dost fors ake Some other maid, and rudely break Her worshipp’d innate fromn its base, To give to me the ruin’d place; There was a pathos ill this lay, That, ev’n without enichantment’s art, Would instantly have found its way Deep into SELim’s burtning heart; But, breathing, as it did, a tone To earthly luttes and lips unknown; With every chord fresh from the touch Of Music’s Spirit,-‘twas too much! Startinig, he dash’d away the cap, Which, all the time of this sweet air, His hand had held, untasted, up, As if’twere fix’d by mag,ic there,And naming her, so long unnamed, So long unseen, wildly exclaim’d, “Oh NOUIMAHHAL! oh NOURMAHAL! ” Hadst thou but suing this witching strain, I could forget-forgive thee all, *And never leave those eyes again.” * Jh ~d~ll rL;:~ft.-spoe ohv h oe fds * See p. 37. t “The (Chinese had formerly the art of painting on the sides of pet celain vessels fishl and other animals which were, only perceptible when Iathe vessel was full of some liquor. Tley call this species Kla-tsin. tl.a Aiis, azureip is pt i press, ol account of the manner in which the aoure is laid os.”-” They are every now and tilet trying to recover the art of this mitagical psilisig, but to no) ptsrptse.”-I)ti.s’ : An etni,tetit carver of isols, s-id i the iKorst to be.fanther to-.Abre ham. ” t.sie sich a lovly idol,i1 is not to be imet with in thie hote of Azor.” lfiz.

Iv Tyh water un L’ ppsd to have the power -of dis40v~,‘ig w~t,tr t-iider’.r’ u z:d.! LALLA ROOKH. 149 Our sands are bare, but down their slope The silvlry-footed antelope As gracefully and gaily springs As o’er the marble courts of kings. ‘t’hei: come-thy Arab maid will be The oved and lone acacia-tree, The antelope, whose feet shall bless With their light sound thy loneliness. Oh! there are looks and tones that dart An instant sunshine through the heart,As if the soul th,-it minute caught .Some treasure it through life had sought; As if the very lips and eyes, Predestined to have all our sighs, And never be forgot again, Sparkled and’spoke before us theii! So came thy ev’ry glance and tone When first on ine they breathed and slione; New, as if brought from other spheres, Yet welcome as if loved for years. Th”n flv with me-if thou hast known No other flame, nor falsely thrown A gem awa)-, that thou liadst sworn Should ever in thy heart be worn. Come, if the love thou hast fr me, Is pure and fi-esfi as mine for thee,Fresh as the fountain uiider ground, When first Itis by tire lupwing found. Then, fare thee well-I’d rather make My bower upon some icy lake When thawing suns begin to shine, Than trust to love so false as thine!

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TFIE MIRROR LIBRARY. called the Shalimar. Though never be)re had a night of more wakeful anti anxious thought been passed in thi Happy Valley, yet, when she rose in the morning, ano her Ladies came around her, to assist in the adjustinen of the bridal ornaments, they thought they had never seen her look half so beautiful. What she had lost of the bloom and radiancy of her charms was more than made up by that inte.‘ectial expression, that soul beaming forth from the eyes, which is worth all the rest of loveli ness. When they had tinged her fingers with the Henna oleaf, and placed upon her brow a small coronet of jewels, of the shape worn by the ancient Queens of Bucharia, i they flung over her head the rose-coloured bridal veil, t and she proceeded to the barge that was to convey her ti a cross the lake;-first kissing, with a mourniful look, the hs little amulet of carnclian, which her father at parting had hungii about her nieck. d The moiorning was as fresh and fair as the maid on t h r from se nuptials it rose, and the shining lake all covered w with boats, the minstrels playing upon the stiores of the a ndltiis, and the crowded summer-houses on the green TIly s around, with shawls and banners waving from their e c,)ota,a presented such a picture of animated rejoicitig, as wi the r l g dwho was the object of it all, did not feel with t t a g a y twtrt. To LALLA ROOKIT alone it was a melanclioly we tei,a,ftt; nor could she have even borne to look up,on the mile,t a e r, were it not for a hope that, among the crowds i g,ft ind, she might once more perhaps catch a glimpse of wu’htr u o taxtoRZ. So much was her imagination haunted by af)i.,i thought, that there was scarcely an islet or boat she o e ptoe semd on the way, at which her heart did not flutter fo ith the momentary fancy that he was there.

Happl~y, fir tier eyes, the humblest slave upon whom the lIght of tiis dear looks fell!-In the barge immediately after the princess sat FADLADI’:N, with his silken curtains thrown widely apart, that all might have the benefit of his august p resence, and with his head uill of the speech lie was to del iver to the King, “concerninig FERAAIORZ, and liters ture, and the, Chiabuk, as connected therewith.” They now had entered the canal which leads from the Lake to the splendid dom-ies and saloons of the Shialimar, and went glidinig on through the gardens thiat ascended from each bank, full of flowering shrubs that made the air all perfume; while from the middle of the cana rose jets of water, smooth and unbroken, to such a dazzling height, that they stood like tall pillars of diamnond in the sunshine. After sailing under the arches of various sa loons, they at length arrived at the last and most inagni ficent, where the monarch awaited the coming of his bride;and such was the agitation of her heart and firame, that it was with difficulty she could walk up the marble steps, which were covered with cloth of gold for her ascent from the barge. At the end of the hall stood two throues, as precious as the Certlean iThroiie of Ci)ul burga*, on one of which sat ALtIts, the youthful King of Bucharia, and on the other was, in a few minutes, to be placed the most beautiful Princess in the world. Im mediately upon the entrance of LALLA RooKII into the sa loon, the monarch descended from his throne to meet her; but scarcely had he time to take her hand in his, when she screamed with surprise, and fainted at Iris feet. It was FERAMOItZ himself that stood before her!FFRAMORZ errcaledrinah, tichwas. himself, the Sovereigii of Bisehania, who in this dispignifi a nttae had ortitery beenguise had accompanied Ihis young bride firom Delhi, and. rui ~~s ro tte ityotCa~tmee it laviug won her love as an humble minstrel, now ampli inter pe~~esered to nj o itunesga King. of Csii~ts b Abu Fazl th an The consternation of FADLADEEN at this discovery was, the ytn- sys sjs Renet ppers othitat?effor the moment, almost pitiable. But change of opinion eang it sot of tim ~~~~~~is a resource too convenient in courts for this experienced receive v i pale an d inatdimate victim, upon whose cuheek ne i ther heal th nor pleasure bloomed, and from whose eyes Love had fled, to hide hireself hi her heart? I f a ny thing could Te c hade rmed away the celan cholp of her spwrts, it would have been the fresh airs and enclhanting scenery of that Vz21ey,- which the Persians so juistly called the Unequalled.* But neither thie cool ness of its atmosphere, so luxurious after toiling, up) those bare and burning mountains,‘neither the sp’lendour of the minarets and pagodas, that shoge out from the denpth of its woods, Dno th e grottoes, hermitages, and miraculous founitain-s,t which make every spot of that region holy grouijd,-ineithier the countless waterfall,,, that rush into the Valley from-r all those high and rorii.ttic mountain.s that en-circle it, nor the t’air city on thet, Lake, whose houses, roofed with flowers,t appeared at a distance like one vast and variegated parterre; not all these wonder,, and glories of the most lovely country under the sun coal], steal her heart for a minute from those sad thoughits which but darkened, and grew bitterer every stetl’,shc advanced. The gay pomips and processions that met her nipolli hl,-r entrance latet the Valley, and tile magnificence w it~, which the roads all along were decorated, did hionoulr the taste and gallanitry of tile young King. It was n~~ when they approached the city, and, for the last to mniles, they had passed under arches, thrown fromrhd,, to hedge, festooned with only’ those rarest roses tfr(,i~ which the Attar Gul, more precious than gold, is distilledt and illuminated in rich and fanciful forms with lanitern:.of the triple-coloured tortoise-shelleof Pegui.~ Sometiinc,, from a dark wood by the side of the road, a display )~ fire-works would break out, so sudden and go brilliant, that a Bratiniin might fancy he beheld that grove, in whose purple shia-de the God of Battles w,,-.R born, bursting i.‘ito a flame at the moment of his birth;-while, at other’

times, a qu,ick and playful irradiation continued to brighten all the fields and gardens by which they passed, forminig a line of dancing lights along the horizon; like the meteors of the north as they are seen by those hunters,lf who pursue the whlite and blue foxes on the confines of the Icy Sea. These archies and fire-works delighted the Ladies of the Prince,-s exceedingl,y; and with their usual good logicr, they deduced fromy his taste for illuminations, that the King,, of Bachariia would make the most exemplary ].asbaild imaginable. Nor, indeed, could LALLA, ROOKH ]erself help feellag the kindness and s,plendotir with which he young, bridegroom welcomed her;-but she also felt how painful is the gratitude, which kindtress from those we cai-mot love excites; and that th-eir best blandishmrents come over the heart with all that chilling and deadly swveetness, whiich we can fan-cy in the cold, odoriferous, wlind,IT that is to blow over this earth in the last days. Theli marriage was fixed for the morning after her arrival, whoa she was, tb.,r the first tine, to be presented to the monarch in that Imperial Palace beyond the lake, * Ka,.Sm ~ ~ ~ ilettie otmNat’er.tibrntnier.ohi ~’tis ot par be ot wors’itpoaoi’

the requested inhabitants has mu]tipllie,d ti,e! pase’w,sd o r’ ah eoof Beschani, and of Brama. All “I o,et i, h~ ly t.intaioos abound.”.oorj leha Guie metion “a itanainin Csmr called Tirnagh, whiche hogmies a snake pr obably plake had been sheen thef bu id g fomy they I went tywie to tis fouatain, whi col i about tweny tetp from the city o t Capiashtmer.vnstens o whoih i p a nd san ctity a re t o be trexdtil wita nhut i ben tesiot igt vheo red iant recpF td eag es, cilh tt irozein it. eeigh B is,thmccont of b tinere by Abut-Fazil, the author of the Ayin-Acba,roc,’’ wh.,” says.Mj r tlenel, “appears to hav,e cuht som,e (,f the, en~thusiasmi or th~e-vally, by h~is descripti~on of the hni deyLsc p elIacedia iin it. wa ~I ” On a standi.ng rofofe wood is, laid a co~vering of fie~ earth, wh,ichi shelters th e building fr.. the grea t quantity of -notw thiatey in the winter,sea,on., This. fence, comm.unicates an equal warmth, in w ipter, .

refreshieg coolnss i n by asothe grave s alt oay whel to Gopd oy the houis1e, whichP ar e pllmnt ad yith a variety of flnmers. exhbt it a distahoe tlhe spaiou ew of a beautifully-ch~eq,uere-d parterre,.”-Forster.

~ ” Two hnred slaves, there are, who ha.ve no other office, th~an to hunt the woods, and marshes for triple,-coloured tortoise. fo~r the King’s Vi,,ary. Of the shell,; of these. also lanterns are made.”-Vl.‘icent le ,i F.,;, des,cription of the Aurora Borealis. a., it appears, to thes.e huntel~,videEnycoad. ~ Tiffs wind,.Iwhich is to blow frmSyria Daacn,is, according to tha. Maho mtas oneo the signs of the, l,ast Da,y’s; approach.. Anoter o ila sigs is “Grat dsrs in the, worhlI, so that a man wi~n h a’a’ban the,r’s grave shalIl sa~y, Would( to God I were in hb p,’..!”-aesPe imina.ry Discourse. * ‘ On Mahommed hau’d retuan to Keneburos’ te capi tal on Dekk an ) hF o m dade t goeat. sti ni, a sn itd morpa te tothen much pon.p an,d m g i iec,cligit Firozehor Crla., I hav,e hea.rd se,hos t ow tfro n,eia Firozeh in the rein of Sult an 0i t – mAtoo B hate ce,o d e s ci gn it. T hey, say that it wa s ic le d i o e gth n in e fhe nt, artl the nbrea.dth; mdof ebony, c o e e )ihpae f. pure- gold, and set with preciou s stns fimesvaue Every prnc f’ the, hou,se of Bhmeee wo posse.thstrn, made a oit of ad,inig to it some ri~ch stones; s tha.t w he, inth reig~ or Sula 1aIt.o, it was taken. to pie!ces, to r o v soeof t!,e jeesto I., set in, vae,nd ‘ups, thejwe.r v le it a t onecorre o f’os,mryfrmlin sterlin,g.) I learnedl also that it was calle!d Firozeh i’o be-‘ng partly enmle f a k-h om, w~e as i.u time” torail~ co- cc.led blr thao number of jew,:lsI..” Ft,risb.t. I i op 150

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0 SONGS WRITTEN IN AMERICA. courtier not to have learned te avail himself of it. His criticisms were all, of course, recanted instantly: he was seized with an admiration of the King’s verses, as unbounded as, he begged him to believe, it was disinterested; and the following week saw him in possession Gf all additional place, swearing by all the Saints of Islarm that never had there existed so great a poet as the Monarch ALIRIS, and, moreover, ready to prescribe his favour SONGS WRITTEN IN AMERICA IN

1806-7. And they told him, with flattery welcome and dear, That they found in his heart something better than fame. I KNEW BY THE SMOKE. I KNEW by the smoke, that so gracefully curl’d Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, And I said, “If there’s peace to be found in the world, A heart that was humble might hope for it here!” Nor did woman – oh wom an! whos e fo rm and whose soul Are the spell and the light of each path we pursue; Whether sunn’d in the tropics or chill’d at the pole, If woman be there, there is happiness too: it was noon, and on flowers that languish’d around In silence reposed the voluptuous bee; Every leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound Bus the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech-tree. Ard -‘ Here in this lone little wood,” I exclaim’d, “With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye, ‘ Who would blush when I praised her, and weep if I blamed, “How blest could I live, and how calm could I die! ‘By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips “In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, And to know that I sigh’d upon innocent lips, ‘ Which had never been sigh’d on by any but mine!” CANADIAN BOAT SONG. FEAINTLY as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We’ll sing at St. Ann’s our parting hymn.

Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight’s past. The stranger is gone but he will not forget, When at home he shall talk of the toils he has known, To tell, with a sigh, what endearments he met, As he stray’d by the wave of the Schuylkill alone THE

LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. “They tell of a young man. who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, waseever Raft1erwards heard of. As he had frequently said, in his ravings, that the girl was not deadl, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses.”-a.non. “La Po6sie a ses inonstres comme la niature.”-D’ALKB=tiRT. “THEY made her a grave, too cold and damp ” For a soul so warm and true; And she’s gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, “Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp, ”

She paddles her white canoe. “And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see, ”

And her paddle I soon shall hear; “Long and loving our life shall be, “And I’ll hide the maid in a cypress-tree, “When the footstep of death is near.” Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds His path was rugged and sore, Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, And man never trod before. Why should we yet our sail unfurl? There is not a breath the blue wave to curl; Butt, when the wind blows off the shore, Oh! sweetly we’ll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight’s past.

Utawas’ tide! this trembling moon Shall see us float over thy surges soon.

Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers, Oh, grant us cool heavens and favouring airs. Blow, breezes, blowv, the stream rins fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight’s past. ALONE BY’HE SCHUYLKILL. ALONE by the Schuylkill a wanderer roved, And bright -t%ere its flowery banks to his eye; But far, very fd were the friends that he loved, And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh. Oh Nature, though blessed and bright are thy rays, O’er the brow of creation enchantingly thrown, Yet faint are they all to the lustre that plays In a smile from the heart that is fondly our own. And, when on t he eart h h e sun k to sleep, If slumber his eyelids knew, He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep Its venomous tear and nightly steep The flesh with blistering dew! And near him the she-wolf stirr’d the brake, And the copper-siiake breathed in his ear, Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, “Oh! when shall I see the dusky Lake, ” And the white canoe of my dear?” Nor long did the soul of the stranger remain Unblest by the smile he had languish’d to meet; Though scarce did he hope it would sooth him again, Till the threshold of home had been press’d by his f e et. He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright Quick over its surface play’d” Welcome,” he said, ” my dear one’s light.’ And the dim shore echoed, for many a night, The name of the death-cold maid.

But the lays )f his boyhood had stol’n to their ear, And they’oved what they knew of so humble a iLame I, 151 ite regimen of the Chabuk for every man, woman, and child that dared to think otherwise. Of the happiness of the King and Queen of Bacharia, after such a beginning, there can be but little doubt’,’ and, among the lesser symptoms, it is recorded of LALLA ROOKII, that, to the day of her death, in memory of their delightful journey, she never called the King by any other name than FERAMORZ. Nor did she her enamoring magic deny, That magic his heart had relinquished so long,Like. eyes he had loved was her eloquent eye, Like tiem did it soften and weep at his song. Oh, blest be the tear, and in i-neinory oft May its sparkle be shed oer the wand,rer’s dream, Thrice blest be that eye, and may passion as soft, As free from a pang, ever mellow its beam!

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Till he hollow’d a boat of the birchen bark, Which carried him off from shore; Far, far he follow’d the meteor spark, The wind was high and the clouds were dark, And the boat return’d no more.

When calms delay, or breezes blow Right from the point we wish tO steer; When by the wind close-haul’d wg, And strive in vain the port to near; I think’tis thus the fates defer My bliss with one that’s far away, And while remembrance springs to her, I watch the sails and sighing say, Thus, my boy! tlhus Bat oft, from the Indian hunter’s camp, This lover and mraid so true Are seen at the hour of midnight damp To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamnp, And paddle their white canoe! But see, the wind draws kindly aft, All hands are up the yards to square, And now the floating stu’n-sails waft Our stately ship through waves and air. Oh! then I think that yet for me Some breeze of fortune thus may spring, Some breeze to waft me,le, love, to thee And in that hope I smiling sing, Steady, boy!

so. No,..‘er did the wave ill its elements steep An island of lovelier charms; It blooms in the giant embrace of the deep, Like Hebe in fler-cules’ arms. The blush of your bowers is light to the eye, And their melody balm to the ear; But the fiery planet of day is too nigh, And the Snow Spirit never comes here. A BEAM OF TRANQUILLITY SMILED IN THE WEST.

The down from his winig is as white as the pearl That shines through thy lips when they part, And it falls on the green earth as melting, my girl, As a murmur of thine on the heart. Oh! fly to the clime, where lie pillows the death, As he cradles the birth of the year; Bright are your bowers and balmy their breath, But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. A BEAM of tranquillity smniled in the west, The storms of the morning pursued us no more, And tile wave, while it welcomed the moment of rest, Still heaved, as remenmbering ills that were o’er. Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour, Its passions were sleeping, were mnute as the dead(; And the spirit becalmn’d but rememnber’d their power, As the billow the force of the gale that was fled. How sweet to behold him, when borne on the gale, And brightening the bosom of morn, He flings, like the priest of Diana, a veil O’er the brow of each virginal thorn. Yet think not the veil he so chillingly casts Is the veil of a vital severe; No, no, thou wilt see, what a moment it lasts, Should the Snow Spirit ever come here. But fly to his region-lay open thy zone, And he’ll m weep all his brilliancy dim, To think that a bosom, as white as his own, Should not melt in the daybeam like him. Oh! lovely the print of those delicate feet O’er his luminous path will appearFly, fly, my beloved! this island is sweet, But the Snow Spirit cannot come here. I reflected, how soon i n i the cup of lnayie The pearl of the soul may })c ielted away; How quickly, alas, the p)ure sparlkle of fire We inherit from heav’n, may be quench’d in the clay And I pray’d of that Spirit who lighted the flame, That Pleasure no msore unight its purity dirnm; So that, sullied but little, or brightly the same, I might give back the boon I had borrow’d from hillit How blest was the thought! it appear’d as if Heav’lii Had already an opening to Paradise shown; As if, passion all chliasten’d anal error forgiven. My heart then began to be purely its own I look’d to the west, and the beautiful sky, Which morning had clouded, was clouded no more. “Oh! thus,” I exclaim’d, “may a heavenly eye “Shed light on the soul that was darken’d before.1″

But when the skies have lost their hue, And sunny lights no longer play, Oh then we see and bless thee too For sparkling o’er the dreary way.

WELL-PEACE TO THY HEART. WELL-peace to thy heart, though anothers it be, And health to that cheek, though it bloom not for me’ To-morrow I sail for those cinnamon groves, Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves, And, far from the light of those eyes, I may yet Their allurements forgive and their splendour forget Farewell to Bermuda, and long may the bloom Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume; May spring to eternity hallow the shade, Where Ariel has warbled and Waller has stray’d. And thou-whlen, at dawn, thou shalt happen to roam Through the lime-cover’d alley that leads to thy home, Where oft, when the dance and the revel were (lone, And the stars Were beginning to fade in the sun, I have led thee along, and have told by the way What my heart all the night had( been burninig to sayOh!

think of the past-give a sigh lo those times, And a blessing for me to that alley) of liines. 41. i 52 THE SNOW SPIRIT. I thought of those days, when to Pleasure alone My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh; When the saddest emotioii my bosom had knonvii, Was pity for those who were wiser than 1.. THE FIRE-FLY. AT morning, when the earth and sky Are glowing with the light of spring, We see tliee. not, thou humble fly! Nor think upon thy gleaming wing. Thus let me hope, when lost to me The lights that now my life illume, Some milder joys may come, like thee, To’cheer, if not to warm, the gloom! -THE STEERSMANIS SONG. WiiF,,v freshly blows the northern gale, And under courses snug we fly; Or when light breezes swell the sail, And royals proudly sweep the sky; ‘Longside the wheel, unwearied still I stand, and, as my watchful eye I)oth inark the needle’s faithful thrill, I think of her I love, and cry, Port, my boy, port!

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THE CULPRIT FAY, JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE. “My visual orbs are purged from film, and, lo! . Instead of Anster’s turnip-bearing vales I see old fairy land’s miraculous show! Her trees of tinsel kissed by freakish gales, Her Ouphs that, cloaked in leaf-gold, skim the breeze, And fairies, swarming II TENNANT’s ANSTER FAIR. (‘Twas made of the white snail’s pearly shell;) “Midnight comes, and all is well! Hither, hither, wing your way! ‘Tis the dawn of the fairy-day.” ‘Tis the middle watch of a summer’s nightThe earth is dark, but the heavens are bright; Naught is seen in the vault on high But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, And the flood which rolls its milky hue, A river of light on the welkin blue. The moon looks down on old Cronest, She mellows the shades, on his shaggy breast, And seems his huge gray form to throw In a silver cone on the wave below; His sides are broken by spots of shade, By the walnut bough and the cedar made, And through their clustering branches dark Glimmers and dies the fire-fly’s sparkLike starry twinkles that momently break Through the rifts of the gathering tempest’s rack. They come from beds of lichen green, They creep from the mullen’s velvet screen; Some o n the backs of b eetles fly From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks nigh, And rocked about in the evening breeze; Some f rom the hum-bird’s downy nestThey had driven hin. out by elfin power, And, pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast, Had slumbered there till the charmed hour; Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, With glittering ising-stars inlaid; And some had opened the four-o’clock, And stole within its purple shade. And now they throng the moonlight glade, Above-below-on every side, Their little minim forms arrayed In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride I The stars are on the moving stream, And fling, as its ripples gently flow, A burnished length of wavy beam In an eel-like, spiral line below; The winds are whist, and the owl is still, The bat in the shelvy rock is hid. And naught is heard on the lonely hill But the cricket’s chirp, and the answer shrill Of the gauze-winged katy-did; And the plaint of the wailing whip-poor-will, Who moans unseen, and ceaseless sings, Ever a note of wail and wo, Till morning spreads her rosy wings, And earth and sky in her glances glow. They come not now to print the lea, In freak and dance around the tree, Or at the mushroom board to sup, And drink the dew from the buttercup;A seene of sorrow waits them now, For an Ouphe has broken his vestal vow; He has loved an earthly maid, And left for her his woodland shade; He has lain upon her lip of dew, And sunned him in her eye of blue, Fanned her cheek with his wing of air, Played in the ringlets of her hair, And, nestling on her snowy breast, Forgot the lily-king’s behest. For this the shadowy tribes of air To the elfin co:ulrt must haste a,way:And now they stand expectant there, To hear the doom of-the culprit Fay. ‘Tis the hour of fairy ban and spell; the wood-tick has kept the minutes well; He has counted them all with click and stroke Deep in the heart of the mountain-oak, And he has awakened the sentry elve Who sleeps with hil in the haunted tree, To bit him rin the houlr of twelve, Anll call tlhe fays to their revelry; rwelve small strokes on his Akling bell 0

BY 1. IV. II. V. Ill.

Page 154 view page image t54 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. vi _ _ The throne was reared upon the grass, Of spice-wood and of sassafras; On pillars of mottled tortoise-slhell Hung the burnished caiopA  And over it gorgeous cumtainis fell Of the tulip’s crimuso,’ ral)ery. The inonarch sat on his jutl,gment-seat, On his brow tile ciowii imilperial shone, The prisoner Fasy was at iis ofet, And his Ipeecrs were -ragel around the throne. He waved Iis sceptre ia thie air, He looked aroundl and calmly sp)oke; his brow was crave and lhis eye severe, But his voice in a softened accent broke: The goblin marked his monarch well; He spake not, but he bowed him low, Then plucked a crimson colen-bell, And turned him round in act to go. The way is long, he can not fly, His soiled wing has lost its pow er, And he winds adown the mountain high, For many a sore and weary hour. Through dreary beds of tangled fern, Through groves of nightshade dark and dern, Over the grass and through the brake, Where toils the ant and sleeps the sn ake; Now over the violets azure flush He skips along in lightsome mood; And now he thrids the bramble-bush, Till its points are dyed in fairy blood. He has leaped the bog, he has pierced the brier, He has swum the brook, and waded the mire, Till his spirits sank, and his limbs grew weak, And the red waxed fainter in his cheek. He had fallen to the ground outright, For rugged and dim was his onward track, But there came a spotted toad in sight, And he laughed as he jumped upon her back. He bridled her mouth with a silkweed twist, He lashed her sides with an osier thong; And now, throughxl evening’s dewy mist, With leap and spring they bound along, Till the mountain’s magic verge is past, And the beach of sand is reached at last. “Fairy! Fai-y!

list and mark: Thou hast brvlke thine elfin chain; Thy flame-woodl lamp is quenched and dark, An(‘l thy wings are died with a deadly stainThou hast ulied thine tlfirn puliri ty In the glance of a mortal oiai(len’s eye, Thou hast scorned our dread decree, And thou sliouldst pay the forfeit high, But well I Gloow her siiilesq mind Is pure as the angel tlbins above, Gentle and meek, and chaste and kind, Such as a spirit well might love; Fairy! had sile spot or taint, Bitter had been thy punishment. XI.

Tied to the hornet’s shardy wings; Tossed on the pricks of nettles’

stings; Or seven long ages doomed to dwell With the lazy worm in the walnut-shell; Or every night to writhe and bleed Beneath the tread of the centipede; Or bound in a cobweb dungeon dim, Your jailer a spider huge and grim, Amid the carrion bodies to lie, Of the worm, and the bug, and the murdered fly These it had been your lot to bear, Had a stain been found on the earthly fair. Now list, and mark our mild decreeFairy, this your doom must be: XII. The elfin cast a glance around, – As he lighted down from his courser toad, Then round his breast his wings he wound, And close to the river’s brink he strode; He sprang on a rock, he breathed a prayer, Above his head his arms he threw, Then tossed a tiny curve in air, And headlong plunged in the waters blue. ‘ Thou shalt seek the beach of sand Where the water bounds the elfin land; Thou shalt watch the oozy brine Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine, Then dart the glistening arch below, And catch a drop from his silver bow. The water-sprites will wield their arms And dash around, with roar and rave, And vain are the woodland spirits’ charms, They are the imps that rule the wave. Yet trust thee in thy single might: If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, Thou shalt win the warlock fight. Up sprung the spirits of the waves, From the sea-silk beds in their coral caves, With snail-plate armor snatched in haste, They speed their way through the liquid waste’ Some are rapidly borne along ,)n the mailed shrimp or the prickly prong, Some on th e blood-red le eche s glide, Some on the stony star-fish ride, Some on the back of the lancing squab, Some on the sideling soldier-crab; And some on the jellied quarl, that flings At once a thousand streamy stings; They cut the wave with the living oar, And hurry on to the moonlight shore, To guard their realms and chase away The footsteps of the invading Fay. “If the spray-bead gem be won, The stain of thy wing is washed away: But another errand must be done Ere thy crime be lost for aye; Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, Thou must reillume its spark. Mount thy steed and spur him high To the heaven’s blue canopy; And when thou seest a shooting star, Follow it fast, and follow it farThe last faint spark of i!s burning train Shall light the elfin lamp) again. Thou hast heard our sentence, Fay; Hence! to the water-sidle, away!” VI. X. I Vil. Soft and pale is the moony beam, Moveless still the glassy stream; The wave is clear, the beach is bright With snowy shells and sparkling stones; The shore-surge comes in ripples light, In murmurings faint and distant moans; And ever afar in the silence deep Is heard the splash of the sturgeon’s leap, And the bend of his graceful bow is seenA glittering arch of silver sheen, Spanning the wave of burnished blue, And dripping with gems of the river-dew. Vill. Xill. IX. XIV. Fearlessly lie skims ,ilon,,, – His liope is higb, -ind his limbs are strong.

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THE CULPRIT FAY. He spreads his arms like the swallow’s wing, And throws his feet with a frog-like fling; is locks of gold on the waters shine, At his breast the tiny foam-bees rise, His back gleams bright above the brine, And the wake-line foam behind him lies. But the water-sprites are gathering near To check his course along the tide; Their warriors come in swift career And hem him round on every side; On his thigh the leech has fixed his hold, the quarl’s long arms are round him rolled, The prickly prong has pierced his skin, And the squab has thrown his javelin, The gritty star has rubbed him raw, And the crab has struck with his giant claw; He howls with rage, and he shrieks with pain, He strikes around, but his blows are vain; Hopeless is the unequal fight, Fairy! naught is left but flight. She wa.Q as lovely a pleasure-boat As ever fairy had paddled in, For she glowed with purple paint without, And shone with silvery pearl within; A sculler’s notch in the stern he made, An oar he shaped of the bootle blade; Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap, And launched afar on the calm, blue deep. The imps of the river yell and rav e; They had no power above the wave, But they hleaved the billow before the prow, And they dashed the surge against her side, And they struck her k eel with jerk and blow, Till the gunwale bent to the rocking tide. She wimpled about to the pa le moonbeam, Like a feather that floats on a wind-tossed streamI And momently athwart her track The quart upreared his island back, And the fluttering scallop behind would float, And patter the water about the boat; But he bailed her out with his colen-bell, And he kept her trimmed with a wary tread, While on every side like lightning fell The heavy strokes of his bootle-blade. He turned him round, and fled amain With hurry and dash to the beach again, lie twisted over from side to side, And laid his cheek to the cleaving tide; The strokes of his plunging arms are fleet, And with all his might he flings his feet, But the water-sprites are round him still, To cross his path and work him ill.

They bade the wave before him rise; They flung the sea-fire in his eyes, And they stunned his ears with the scallop-stroke, With the porpoise heave and the drum-fish croak. Oh! but a weary wight was he When he reached the foot of the dogwvood-tree. -ashed and wounded, and stiff and sore, He laid him down on the sandy shore; He blessed the force of the charmed line, And he banned the water-goblin’s spite, For he saw around in the sweet moonshine Their little wee faces above the brine, Giggling and laughing with all their might At the piteous hap of the Fairy wight. With sweeping tail and quivering fin, Through the wave the sturgeon flew, And, like the heaven-shot javelin, He sprung above the waters blue. Instant as the star-fall light He plunged him in the deep again, But left an arch ot’

silver bright, The rainbow of the moony main. It was a strange and lovely sight To see the puny goblin there; He seemed an angel form of light, With azure wing and sunny hair, Throned on a cloud of purple fair, Circled with blue and edged with white, And sitting at the fall of even Beneath the bow of summer heaven. Soon he gathered the balsam dew From the sorrel-leaf and the hlienbane bud; Over each wound the balm he drew, And with cobweb lint he stanched the blood. The mild west wind was soft and low, It cooled the heat of his burning brow, And he felt new life in his sinews shoot, As he drank the juice of the calamus root; And now he treads the fatal shore, As fresh and vigorous as before. xviI. XXII. Wrapped in musing stands the sprite: ‘Tis the middle wane of night; His task is hard, his way is far, But he must do his errand right Ere dawning mounts her beamy car, And rolls her chariot wheels of light; And vain are the spells of fairy-land; He niust work with a human hand. A moment, and its lustTre fell; But ere it met the billow blue. He caught within his crimson bell A droplet of its sparkling dewJoy to thee, Fay! thy task is done, Thy wings are pure, for the gem is wonCheerly ply thy dripping oar, And haste away to the elfin shore. XVIII. ‘Ie cast a saddened look around, But he felt new joy his bosom swell, When, glittering on the shadowed ground, He saw a purple mussel-shell; Thither he ran, and he bent him low, He heaved at the stern and he heaved at the bow, And he pushed] her over the yielding sand, ‘Pill hf eqf to the verge of the hauntecl land. 155 XIX. XV. XX. Onward still he held his way, T’ll he came where the column of moonshine lay, An,l saw beneath the surface dim The brown-,acked sturgeon slowly swim; Around him were the goblin train But he sculled with all his might and main, And followed wherever the sturgeon led, Till he saw him upward point his head; Then lie dropped his paddle,-blade, And held his colen-goblet up To catch the dro in its crimson cup., XXI. XVI. XXIII. He turns, and, lo! on either side The ripples on his path divide; And the track o’er which Ws boat must pan Is smooth as -t sli(,et (,f polished glass. Aroiintl, their lit-nbs the se-,t-ni-inl)lis lave, With siif)wy ai-i-Ds liall’swe’liti,,,,- out, IViiile on i,lie 7]css(ti -in(] W,-ITE TI,cir sc,. g,-ec:.i ringlets l c,.,ely float;

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TITHE MIRROR LIBRARY. They swim around with smile and song; They press the bark with pearly hand, And gently urge her course along, Toward the beach of speckled sand; And, as he lightly leaped to land, They bade adieu with nod and bow, Then gayly kissed each little hant, And dropped in the crystal deep below. Up to the vaulted firmament His path the fire-fly courser bent, And at every gallop on the wind, He flung a glittering spark behindHe flies like a feather in the blast Till the first light cloud in heaven is past. But the shapes of air have begun their work, And a drizzly mist is round him cast, He can not see through the mantle murk, He shivers with cold, but he urges fast; Through storm and darkness, slept and shade, He lashes his steed and s purs a main For shadowy hands have twitched the rein, And flame-shot tongues around him played, And near him many a fiendish eye Glared with a fell malignity, And yells of rage, and shrieks of fear, Came screaming on his startled ear. A moment stayed the fairyv there; He kissed the beach and breathed a prayer; Then spread his wings of gilded blue, And on to the elfin court he flew; As ever ye saw a bubble rise, And shine with a thousand changing dies, Till, lessening far, through ether driven, It mingles with the hues of heaven; As, at the glimpse of morning pale, The lance-fly spreads his silken sail, And gleams with blendings soft and bright, Till lost in the shades of fading night; So rose from earth the lovely FaySo vanished, far in heaven away! Up, Fairy! quit thy chick-weed bower, The cricket has called the second hour, Twice again, and the lark will rise To ki,s the streaking of the skiesUp!

thy charmed armor don, Tho l’lt need it ere the night be gone. His wings are wet around his breast, The plume hangs dripping from his crest, His eyes are blurred with the lightning’s glare, And his ears are stunned with the tlunder’s blart But he gave a shout, and his blade he drew, He thrust before and he struck behind, Till he pierced their cloudy bodies through, And gashed their shadowy limbs of wind; Howling the misty spectres flew, They rend the air with frightful cries, For he has gained the welkin blue, And the land of clouds beneath him i -es. – Re put his acorn helmet on; (t was plumed of the silk of the thistle-down; The corslet plate that guarded his breast Was once the wild bee’s golden vest; His cloak, of a thousand mingled dies, Was formed of the wings of butterflies; His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, Studs of gold on a ground of green; And the quivering lance which he brandished br.ght, Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed; He bared his blade of the bent grass blue; He drove his spurs of the cockle-seed, And away like a glance of thought he flew, To skim the heavens, and follow far The fiery trail of the rocket-star. Up to the cope careering swit, In breathless motion fast, Fleet as the swallow cuts the i, Or the sea-roc rides the blast, The sapphire sheet of eve is shot, The sphered moon is pas t, Th e ea rth but seems a tiny b l ot On a sheet of azure cast. O! it was sweet, in the clear moonlight, To tread the staoy plain of even, To meet the thousand eyes of night, And feel the cooling breath of heaven!

But the elfin made no stop or stay Till he came to the bank of the milky-way, Then he checked his courser’s foot, And watched for the glimpse of the planet-shoot. The moth-fly, as he shot in air, Crept under the leaf, and hid her there; The katy-did forgot its lay, The prowling gnat fled fast away, The fell mosqueto checked his drone, And folded his wings till the Fay was gone, And the wily beetle dropped his head, And fell on the ground as if he were dead; They crouched them close in thie darksome shade, They quaked all o’er with awe and fear, For they had felt the blue-bent blade, And writhed at the prick of the elfin spear; Many a time, on a summer’s night, When the sky was clear and the moon was bright, They had been roused from the haunted ground By the yelp and bay of the fairy hound; They had heard the tiny bugle-horn, They had heard the twang of the maize-silk string, When the vine-twig bows were tightly drawn, And the needle-shaft through air was borne, Feathered with down of the hum-bird’s wing. And now they deemed the courier ouphe, Some hunter-sprite of the elfin ground; And they watclhel till they saw him mount the Breof That canopies the wor1lt aroun’i; Then glad they left t..:ir covert lair, AndI1 fieaked about in th-e T Aft’is o,, I I i i I i I I I i l i I! if i I 156

XXVJI. XXXT. XXVIII. XXV. XXIX. XXVI. XXX. Sudden along the snowy tide That swelled to meet their footsteps’ faU, The sylphs of heaven were seen to glide, Attired in sunset’s crimson pall; Arouiid the Fay they weave the dance, They skip before him on the plain, And one has taken his wasp-sting lance, And one upholds his bridle-rein; – With warblings wild they lead him on To where, through clouds of amber seen, Studded with stars, resplendent shone The palace of the sylphid queen. Its spiral columns, gleaming bright, Were streamers ofthe northern light; Its curtain’s light and lovely flush Was ofthe morning’s rosy blush, And the ceiling fair that rose aboon The white and feathery fleece of noon. i xxxr. I! But, O! how fair the shape that lay Beneath a rainbow benlin!z bright; if Sne seemed to the entranced -Fay i I The loveliest ofthe forms of li,-ht.

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THE CULPRIT FA Y. Rer mantle was the purple rolled At twilight in the west afar; ‘Twas tied with threads of dawning glcid, And buttoned with a sparkling star. Her face was like the lily roon That veils the vestal planet’s hue; Her eyes, two beamlets from the moon, Set floating in the welkin blue. Her hair is like the sunny beam, And the diamond gems which round it gleam Are the pure drops of dewy even That ne’er have left their native heaven. Borne afar on the wings of the blast, Northward away, he speeds him fast, And his courser follows the cloudy wain Till the hoof-strokes fall like pattering rain. The clouds roll baclkward as he flies, Each flickering star behind him lies, And he has reached the northern plain, And backed his fire-fly steed again, Ready to follow in its flight The streaming of the rocket-liglht. She raised her eyes to the wondering sprite, And they leaped with smiles, for well I ween Never before in the bowers of light Had the form of an earthly Fay been seen.

Long she looked in his tiny face; Long with his butterfly cloak she played; She smoothed his wings of azure lace, And handled the tassel of his blade; And as he told in accen. low The story of his love and wo, She felt new pains in her bosom rise, And the tear-drop started in her eyes.

And “0, sweet spirit of earth,” she cried, “Return no more to your woodland height, But ever here with me abide In the land of everlasting light! Within the fleecy drift we’ll lie, We’ll hang upon the rainbow’s rim; .And all the jewels of the sky Around thy brow shall brightly beam!

And thou shalt bathe thee in the stream That rolls-its whitening foam aboon, And ride upon the lightning’s gleam, And dance upon the orbed moon!

We’ll sit within the Pleiad ring, We’ll rest on Orion’s starry belt, . td I will bid my sylphs to sing The song that makes the dew-mist melt; Their harps are of the umber shade, That hides the blush of waking day, And every gleamy string is made Of silvery moonshine’s lengthened ray; And thou shalt pillow on my breast, While heavenly breathing: float around, And, with the sylphs of ether blest, Forget the joys of fairy ground.” The star is yet in the vault of heaven, But it rocks in the summer gale; And now’tis fitful and uneven, And now’tis deadly pale; And now’tis wrapped in sulphur-smoke, And quenched is its rayless beam, And now with a rattling thunder-stroke It bursts in flash and flame. As swift as the glance of the arrowy l ance That the storm-spirit flings from high, The star-shot flew o’er the welkin blue, As it fell from the sheeted sky. As swift as the wind in its trail behind The elfin gallops along, The fiends of the clouds are bellowing loud, But the sylphid charm is strong; He gallops unhurt in the shower of fire, While the cloud-fiends fly from the blaze, He watches each flake till its sparks expire, And rides in the light of its rays. But he drove his steed to the lightning’s speed, And caught a glimmering spark; Then wheeled around to the fairy ground, And sped through the midnight dark. Ouphe and Goblin! Imp and Sprite! Elf of eve! and starry Fay! Ye that love the moon’s soft light, Hither, hither wend your way; Twine ye in a jocund ring, Sing and trip it merrily, Hand to hand, and wing to wing, Round the wild witch-hazel tree. She was lovely and fair to see, And the elfin’s heart beat fitfully; But lovelier far, and still more fair, The earthly form imprinted there; Naught he saw in the heavens above Was half so dear as his mortal love, ‘For he thought upon her looks so meek, And he thought of the light flush on her cheelk; Never again might lie bask and lie On that sweet cheek and moonlight eye, But in his dreams her form to see, ro clasp her in his revery, ro think upon his virgin bride, Was worth all heaven, and earth beside. Hail the wanderer again With dance and song and lute and lyre, Pure his wing and strong his chain, And doubly bright his fairy fire. Twine ye in an airy round, Brush the dew and print the lea; Skip and gambol, hop and bound, Round the wild witch-hazel tree. The beetle guards our holy ground, He flies about the haunted place, And if mortal there be found, HIe hums in his ears and flaps his face; The leaf-harp sounds our roundelay, The owlet’s eyes our lanterns be; Thus we sing, and dance, and play, Round the wild witch-hazel tree. But, hark! from tower on tree-top high, The sentry-elf his call has made: A streak is in the eastern sky, Shapes of moonlizht! flit and fade!

The hill-tops leatin in rnoininiz’s spring, The sky-larlk sha!;.s his waled wing, The day-lirnpse limmers on the lawn. ‘Tlue c..ck h:ats rowsd, in l the Fa.vs are gone. XXXIV. ” Lady,” he cried, “I have sworn to-night, On the word of a fairy-knight, To do my sentence-task aright; My honor scarce is free from stain, I may not soil its snows again; Betide me weal, betide me wo, Its mandate must be answered now.” Her bosom heaved with many a sigh, rihe tear was in her drooping eye; But shle led hiiil to the plalace-gate, And calle,l the syl,!is who hovered there, And bade themn fly and bring him straight Of cloudIs condensed a sable car. I I 157 -.-z With charin and spell she blessed it there, From all the fiendi of upper air; Then round him cast the shadowy shroud, And tied his steed behind the cloud; And pressed his hand as she bade him fly Far to the verge of the northern sky, For by its wane and wavering light There was a star would fall to-night. XXXV. XXXII. xxxvi. 0 0 XXXIII.

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L I L L I A , BY WILLIAM MACKWORTH PRAED. ADVERTISEMENT. THE reader is requested to believe that the following statement is literally true; because the writer is well  ware that the circumstances under which LILLIAN was composed are the only sources of its merits and the only apology for its faults. At a small party at Cambridge some malicious belles endeavored to confound their sonnetteering friends, by setting unintelligible and inexplicable subjects for the exercise of their poetic talents. Among many others the Thesis was given out which is the motto of LILLIAN: “A dragon’s tail is flayed to warm A headless maiden’s heart,”

and the following poem was an attempt to explain the riddle. The partiality with which it had been honored in manuscript, and the frequent application which have been made to the author for copies, must be his excuse for having a few impressions struck off for private circulation among his friends. It was written, however, with the sole view of amusing the ladies in whose circle the ide originated; and to them, with all due humility and devotion, it is inscribed. TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, October 26, 1822. ”’ A dragon’s tail is flayed to warm A headless maiden’s heart.”-Miss -. ” And he’s cleckit this great muckle bird out o’ this wee egg: he could wile the very flounders out o’ the Frith.” MR. SADDTITREE.

CANTO I. And that, alas! he had ruined it, When on new-year’s day, in a hungry fit, He swallowed a tough and a terrible bit Sir Lob in his brazen armor. Swift and light were his steps on the ground, Strong and smooth was his hide around, For the weapons which the peasants flung Ever unfelt or unheeded rung, Argow, and stone, and spear, As snow o’er Cynthia’s window flits, Or raillery of twenty wits On a fool’s unshrinking ear. THmERE was a dragon in Arthur’s time, Wrhen dragons and griffins were voted “prime,”

Of monstrous reputation: Up and down, and far and wide, He roamed about in his scaly pride; And ever at morn and even-tide, He made such rivers of blood to run As shocked the sight of the blushing sun, And deluged half the nation. It was a pretty monster, too, With a crimson head, and a body blue, And- wings of a warm and delicate hue, Like the glow of a deep carnation; And the terrible tail that lay behind, Reached out so far as it twisted and twined, That a couple of dwarfs, of wondrous strength, Bore, when he travelled, its horrible length, Like a duke’s at the coronation.

His mouth hal lost one ivory tooth, Or the dragon had b(‘en in very sooth, No insignificant charmer; I 1. II. In many a battle the beast had been, Many a blow he had felt and given. Sir Digore came with a menacing mein, But he sent Sir Digore straight to heaven – Stiff and stour were the arms he wore, Iuii,e the swor,,l he was wont to clasl), But thie sword was little, the armor brittle, L.ocke(d in the coil of the dragon’s grasp

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^~ ~~~~LLIN 15q. And fondly clasp to her heart’s embrace A living dragon’s tail.” The faery’s form from his shuddering sight Flowed away in a stream of light. He came on Sir Florice of Sesseny Land, Pretty Sir Florice from over the sea, And smashed him all as he stepped on the sand, Cracking his head like a nut from the tree. No one till now, had found, I trow, Anything good in the scented youth, Who had taken much pains to be rid of his brains, Before they were sought by the dragon’s tooth. Disconsolate that youth departed, Disconsolate and poor; And wended, chill and broken-hearted, To his cottage on the moor; Sadly and silently he knelt His lonely hearth beside; Alas! how desolat e he felt As he hid his face, and cried. The c radle where the babe was lai d Stood in its own dear nook, But long-how long!-he knelt, a nd prayed, And did not dare to lcok.

He looked at last; his joy was there, And slumbering with that placid air Which only babes and angels wear. Over the cradle he leaned his headl; The cheek was warm, and the ipb was red; And he felt, he felt, as he saw her lie, A hope-which was a mockery. Tlhe babe unclosed her eye’s pale lid; Why doth he start from the siglht it hid? He hath seen in the dim and fitful ray, That the light of the soul hath gone away,l Sigh nor prayer he uttered there, In mute and motionless despair, But he laid him down beside his child, And LILLIAN saw him die-and smiled. The mother! she had gone before; And in the cottage on the moor, With none to watch her, and caress, No arm to clasp, no voice to bless, The witless child grew up alone, And made all Nature’s book tcir own. He came on the sheriff of Hereford, As he sat him down to his Sunday dinner; And the sheriff’ he spoke but this brief word, “St. Francis be good to a corpulent sinner!”

Fat was he, as a sheriff might be, From the crown of his head to the tip of his toe; But the sheriff was small, or nothing at all, When put in the jaws of the dragon foe. He came on the Abbot of Arnondale, As he kneeled him down to his morning devotion; But the dragon he shuddered, and turned his tail About, “with a short uneasy motion.” Iron and steel, for an early meal, He stomached with ease, or the muse is a liar; But out of all question, he failed in digestion, If ever he ventured to swallow a friar!

Monstrous brute!-his dread renown Made whispers and terrors in country and town; Nothing was babbled by boor or knight But tales of his civic appetite. At last, as after dinner he lay, Hid from the heat of the solar ray By boughs that had woven an arbor shady, He chanced to fall in with the headless lady. Headless! alae!‘twas a piteous gibe; I’ll drink Aganippe, and then describe. If, in the warm and passionate hour, When Reason sleeps in Fancey’s bower, If thou hast ev er, esver fclt A dream of delicate beauty melt Into thine heart’s reces, Seen by the soul, and seen by the mind, But indistinct in its loveliness, Adored, and not dcfield; A bright creation, a shladoixy ray, Fading and flitting in mist away, Nothing to *‘tze on, and nothing to hear, But something to cheat the eAe and ear With a fond conception and joy of both, So that you might, that hour, be loath To change for some one’s sweetest kiss Thy vision of iinendiiring bliss, Or lose some one’s sweetest tone, The murmur thou di-inkest all aloneIf such a vision hath ever been thine, Thou hast a heart that may look on mine! Her father had been a stout yeoman, Fond of his jest, and fond of his can, But never over-wise; And once, when his cups had been many and deep, He met with a dragon fast asleep, ‘Twas a faery in disguise. In a dragon’s form she had ridden the storm, The realm of the sky invading; Sir Grahame’s ship was stout and fast, But the faery came on the rushing blast, And shivered the sails, and shivered the mast, And down went the gallant ship, at last, With all the crew and lading. And the fay laughed out, to see the rout, As the last dim hope was fading; And this she had done, in a love of fun, And a love of masquerading. She lay that night in a sunny vale, And the yeoman found her sleeping; Fiercely he smote her glittering tail, But oh! his courage began to fail, When the fairy rose all weeping. , Thou hast lopped,” she said, “beshrew thine hand The fairest foot in fairy-land! For, oh! the light of my sadaldenel theme ‘ras like to naught but a ldoet’s dream, Or the forms that come on the twilight’s wing, Shaped by the soul’s imr.aiginingz. Beautiful shade, with her tranquil air, And her thin white arm, and her flowing hair, And the light of her eye so coldly obscure, And the hble of her cheek so pale and pure! Reason and Thought she had never known, Her heart was as cold as a heart of stone; So you might guess from her eyes’ dim rays, And her idiot laugh, and her vacant gaze. She wandered about all lone on the heather, She and thie wild heath-birl(s together; For LILLtAN seleom spoke or s miled, But she sand as sweet as a little child. i’ Thou hast an infant in thine home! Never to her shall reason come For weeping or for wail, Till she shall ride with a fearless face On a liv:inz dra,on’s scale, 159

LILLIAN. Ill. ix. IV. V. VI. X. Vil. XT. Vill.

Page 160 view page image r)O THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Into her song her dreams would throng, Silly, and wild, and out of place; And yet that wild and roving song Entranced the soul in its desolate grace. And hence the story had ever run, That the fairest of dames was a headless one. He drew the flames of h,is nostrils in, He veiled his claws with their speckled skin, He curled his fangs in a hideous sm ile; And the song of the lady was sweet the while “Nonny Nonny!

who shall tell Where the summer breezes dwell? Lightly and brightly they breathe and blow But whence they come and whither they go, Nonny Nonny!

who rhall know? The pilgrim in his foreign weeds Would falter in his prayer; And the monk would pause with his half-told beads To breathe a blessing there; The knight would loose his vizor-clasp, And drop the rein from his nerveless grasp, And pass his hand across his brow With a sudden sigh, and a whispered vow, And marvel Flattery’s tale was told, From a lip so young, to an ear so cold. She had seen her sLxteenth winter out When she met with the beast I was singing about: The dragon, I told you, had dined that day; So he gazed upon her as he lay Earnestly looking, and looking long, With his appetite weak, and his wonder strong. Silent he lay in his motionless coil; And the song of the lady was sweet the while A moment! and the dragon came Crouching down to the peerless dame, With his fierce red eye so fondly shining, And his terrible tail so meekly twining, And the scales on his huge limbs gleaming o’er Gayer than e ver they gleamed before. She had won his heart, while she ch armed fls ear, And LILLIAN smiled, and knew no fear. And see, she mounts between his wings; (Never a queen had a gaudier throne,) And fairy-like she sits and sings, Guiding the steed with a touch and a tone. Aloft, aloft in the clear blue ether, The dame and the dragon they soared together; He bore her away on the breath of the galeThe two little dwarfs held fast by the tail. “Nonny Nonny! I hear it float, Innocent bird, thy tremulous note: It c o mes from thy home in the eglantine, And I stay this idle song of mine, Nonny Nonny!

to listen to thine! “Nonny Nonny! I LILLIAN sings The sweetest of all living things!’ So Sir Launcelot averred; But surely Sir Launcelot never heard Nonny Nonny! the natural bird!” Fanny! a pretty group for drawing; My dragon like a war-horse pawing, My dwarfs in a fright, and my girl in an attitude, Patting the beast in her soulless gratitude. There; you may try it, if you will, While I drink my coffee, and nib my quill. The dragon he lay in mute amaze, Till something of kindness crept into his gaze; LIL

LIAN. CANTO II. M!e that bould ieb tbe lobeliest ntaib, Atlust twon tde stoutest tnail, ffor toe rilber st!all neber be sound in the Deao e!ill tte rilb’en be mnaimnll in the tail. Re., Ditble nibble! tWe cat ann the ffibler! None but tDe tober can rea,m ue n! rtible: XIVI. TiE sun shone out on hill and grove; It was a glorious day, The lords and the ladies were making love, And the clowns were making hay; But the town of Brentford marlked with wonder A lightning in the sky, and thunder, And thinking (‘twas a thinking town) Some prodigy was coming down, A mighty mob to Merlin went To learn the cause of this portent; And he, a wizard sage but comical, Looked through his glasses astronomical, And puzzled every foolish sconce By this oracular response: XVIII. How kind art thou, and oh! how mighty, Cupid! thou son of Aphrodite! By thy sole aid, in old romance, Heroes and heroines sing and dance; Of cane and rod there’s little need; They never learn to write or read; Yet often, by thy sudden light, Enamored dames contrive to write; And often, in the hour of need, Enamored youths contrive to read. (I male a small digression here; I merely mean to make it clear That if Sir Eglamour had wit To real an, conAstrlte, bit by bit, All that the wizard had expressed, Anl start co)njetu res on the rest, XVII. “‘Nob the slaier both not alas, W akaf ss Flings ec fear abtar, i03ocr bear. tle Tf)brlT n, tfitn viac, tre itil.’:.; .are _ re lns? at e on e erare? Wfa1~~~‘I an tt,a. tF2-tB at THE MIRROR LIBRARY. ) I-)o in Xii. 11 Nonny Nonny! I hear vour tone, But I feel ye can not read mine own; And I lift my neck to your fond embraces, But who hath seen in your restingplaces. Nonny Nonny! your beautiful faces?” XIV. XV. Xiii.

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LILLIAN. 161 Cupid had sharpened his discerning, The little god of love and learning,) He revolved in his bed, what Merlin had said, Though Merlin had labored to scatter a veil on’t; And found out the sense of the tail and the head, Th ough none of his neighbors could made head or tail ou’t.

The dragon came down when the morn shone bright And slept in the beam of the sun; Fatigued, no doubt, with his airy flight, As I with my jingling one. With such a monstrous adversary Sir Eglamour was far too weary To think of bandying knocks; He came on his foe as still as death, Walking on tiptoe, and holding his breath, And instead of drawing his sword from his sheath, He drew a pepper-box I Sir Eglamour was one o’ the best Of Arthur’s table round; He never set his spear iii rest, But a dozen went to the ground. Clear and warm as the lightning flame, His valor from his father came, His cheek was like his mother’s; And his hazel eye more clearly shone Than any I ever have looked upon, Save Fanny’s and two others! With his spur so bright, and his rein so light, And his steed so swift and ready, And his skilful sword, to wound or ward, And his spear so sure and steady; He bore him like a British knight From London to Penzance, Avenged all weeping women’s slight, And made all giants dance.

And he had travelled far from home, Had worn a mask at Venice, Had kissed the bishop’s toe at Rome, And beat the French at tennis! Hence he had many a courtly play, And jeerings and gibes in plenty, And he wrote more rhymes in a single day That Byron or Bowles in twenty. Have you not seen a little kite Rushing awa y o n it s paper w ing, To mix with the wild wind’s quarrelling? Up it soars with an arrowy flight, Till, weak and unsteady, Torn by the eddy, It dashes to earth from its hideous height. Such was the rise of the beast in his pain, Such was his falling to earth again; Upward he shot, but he saw not his path, Blinded with pepper, and b linded with wr ath; One struggle-one vain one-of pain and emotion I And he shot back again, ” like a bird of the ocean 1I Long he lay, in a trance, that day, And alas! he did not wake before The cruel knight, with skill and might, ap Had lopped and flayed the tail he wore. He clasped to his side his sword of pride, His sword, whose native polish vied With maay a gory stain; Keen and bright as a meteor-light, But not so keen, and not so bright, As Moultrie’s* jesting vein. And his shield he bound his arm around, His shield, whose dark and dingyT round Naught human could get through; Heavy and thick as a wall of brick, But not so heavy and not so thick As Robert’s Review.t With a smile and a jest he set out on the quest, Clad in his stoutest mail, With his helm of the best, and his spear in the rest, To flay the dragon’s tail. Twelve hours by the chimc- t lay im his slime. More utterly blind, I trowa Than a polypheme in the oldta tme, Or a politician now. He sped, as soon as he could see, To the Paynim bowers of Rosalie; For there the dragon had hope to crr.N By the tinkling rivulets ever pure, By the glowing sun, and fragrant gale, His wounded honor, and wounded tail! He hied him away to the perfumed spot The little dwarfs clung-where the tail s V* I The warrior travelled wearily, Many a league and many a mile; And the dragon sailed in the clear blue sky; And the song of the lady was sweet the while”My steed and I, my stee and I, On in the path of the winds we fly, And I chase the planets that wander at even, And bathe my hair in the dews of heaven! Beautiful stars, so thin and bright, Exquisite visions of vapor and light, I love ye all with a sister’s love, And I rove with ye wherever ye rove, And I drink your changeless, endless song, The music ye make as ye wander along! Oh let me be, as one of ye, Floating for aye on your liquid sea; And I’ll feast with you on the purest rain, To cool my weak and wildered brain, XXVIrl. ‘The Rev. John Moultrie, who, in 1823 (when many manuscript epies of “Lillian”

were in circulation), wrote some beautiful anrd pthetic lyrics, some of which appeared in Knight’s Quarteri s Magazine. t My Grandmother’s Review the British.” Don Juan. Roberts was the editor. Vide Byron’s celebrated letter to him. ILILLIAN. 161 And I’ll give you the loveliest lock of my hair For a little spot in your realm of air I” XXII. XIX. XXIIL The pepper was as hot as flame, The box of wondrous size; He gazed one moment on the dame Then, with a sure and steady a’. Full in the dragon’s tntculent phiz He flung the scorching powder-whiz I And darkened both his eyes! .KXIV.

XX. XXV. XXI. xxvi. The damsel gazed on that young knight, With something of terror, but more of ddoti Much she admired the gauntlets he wore, Much the device that his buckler bore, Much the feathers that danced on his crest, But most the baldrick that shone on his brent. She thought the dragon’s pilfered scale Was fairer far than the warrior’s mail, And she lifted it up with her weak white Unconscious of its hidden charm, And round her throbbing bosom tied In mimickry of warlike pride. .Gope;  th.-, -,pell that bound her! The talisman bath touched her heart, And she leaps with a fearful and fawn-like As the -,hades of glamotiry depart

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16 H IRRLBAY Strange thoughts are glimmering rcrand her Deeper and deeper her cheek is glowing, Quicker and quicker her breath is flowing, And her eye gleams out tom its long dark lashes, Fast and full, unnatural flashes; For nu-riedly and wild Doth reason pour her hidden treasures, Of human griefs, and human pleasures. Upon her new-found child. And “Oh!” she saith, ” my spirit doth seem To have risen today from a pleasant dream; A long, long dream-but I feel it breaking! Painfully sweet is the throb of waking.” And then she laughed, and wept again: While, gazing on her heart’s first rain, Bound in his turn by a magic chain, The silent youth stood there: Never had either been so blest;You that are young may picture the rest, You that are young and fair. Never before, on this warm land, Came Love and Reason hand in hand. LIBRARY. And have you not lingered, lingered still, All unfettered in thought and will, A fair and cherished boy; Until you felt it pain to part From the wild creations of your art, Until your young and innocent heart Seemed bursting with its joy? And then, oh then, hath your waking eye Opened in all its ecstasy, And seen your mother leaning o’er you, The loved and loving one that bore you, Giving her own, her fond caress, And looking her eloquent tenderness? Was it not heaven to fly from the scene Where the heart in the vision of night had been, And drink, in one o’erflowing kiss, Your deep reality of bliss?

Such was LILLIAN’S passionate madness, Such the calm of her waking gladness. Enough! my tale is all too long: Fair children, if the trifling song, That flows for you to-night, Hath stolen from you one gay laugh, Or given your quiet hearts to quaff One cup of young delight, Pay ye the rhymer for his toils In the coinage of your golden smiles, And treasure up his idle verse With the stories ye loved from the lips of your nabw When you were blest, in childhood’s years, With the brightest hopes, and the lightest fears, Have you not wandered, in your dream, Where a greener glow was on the ground, And a clearer breath in the air around, And a purer life in the gay sunbeam, And a tremulous murmur in every tree, And a motionless sleep on the quiet sep * I 162 THE MIRROR XXIX. XXVIII. 4

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THE EVE OF ST. AGNES, BY JOHlN KEATS. by the season? We feel thf plump, feathery bird min his nook, shivering in spite of his n atural household warmth, and staring out at the strange weather. The hare limping through the chill grass is very piteous, and the I silent flock” very patient; and how quiet and gentle, as well as winterly, are all these circumstances, and fit to open a quiet and gentle poem! The breath of the pilgrim, likened to ” pious incense,” completes them, and is a simile in admirable -keeping,” as the painters call it; that is to say, is thoroughly harmonious in itself, and with all that is going on. The breath of the pilgrim is visible, so is that of a censer; his object is religious, and so is the use of the censer; the censer, after its fashion, may be said to pray, and its breath, like the pilgrim’s, ascends to heaven. Young students of poetry nmy, in this image alone, see what imagination is, under one of its most poetical forms, and how thoroughlyit “, tells.”

There is no part of it unfitting. It is not applicable in one point, and the re verse in another. THE reader should give us three pearls, instead of three half-pence,* for this number of our publication, for it presents him with the whole of Mr. Keats’s beautiful poem, entitled as above-to say nothing of our loving commentary. St. Agnes was a Roman virgin, who suffered martyrdoin in the reign of Diocletian. Her parents, a few days after her decease, are said to have had a vision of her, surrounded by angels, and attended by a white lamb, which afterward became sacred to her. In the Catholic church, formerly, the nuns used to bring a couple of lambs to her altar during mass. The superstition is (for we believe it is still to be found), that by taking certain measures of divination, damsels may get a sight of their future husbands in a dream. The ordinary process seemns to have been by fasting. Aubrey (as quoted in “Brand’s Popular Antiquities”) mentions another, which is, to take a row of pins, and pull them out one by one, saying a Pater-noster; after which, upon going to bed, the dream is sure to ensue. Brand quotes Ben Jonson: rI. ”’ And on sweet St. Agnes’ night, Please you with the promised sight Some of husbands, some of lovers, Which an empty dream discovers.” His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man. Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees. And back returneth, meager, barefoot, wan, Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees: The sculptured dead on each side seemed to freeze, Imprisoned in black purgatorial rails: Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat’ries, He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails. But another poet has now taken up the creed in good poetic earnest; and if the superstition should go out in every other respect, in his rich and loving pages it will live for ever. I. The genrme of this thought, or something like it, is m Dante, where he speaks of the figures that perform the part of sustaining colunins in architecture. Keats had read Dante in Mr. Cary’s translation, for which he had a.great respect. He began to read him afterward in Italian, which language he was mastering with surprising quiLtness. A friend of ours has a copy of Ariosto, containing admiring marks of his pen. But the same thought may have originally struck one poe. as well as another. Perhaps there are few that have not felt something like it, in seeing the figures upon tombs. Here, however, for the first time, we believe, in English poetry, is it expressed, and with what feeling and elegance! Most wintry as well as penitential is the word ” aching” in “icy hoods and mails,” and imost felicitous the introduction of the Catholic idea in the wvord “purgatorial.” The very color of the rail.q is made to assline a meaning, and to shadow forth e gloon! of t0le p)inishincnt “frnpi-ison’ed ir.

tlack, purgatooral rails” ST. AGNES’ EvE-Ah! b itter chill i t was; The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold: The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold; Numb were the beadsman’s fingers while he told His rosary, and while his frosted breath, Like pious incense,from a censer old, Seemed taking flight for heaven without a death, Past the sweet Virgin’s picture, while his prayer he saith. * The price of the jour.nal in w!.’.ch the article first ap.reared.

iI I What a romplete feeling of winter-time is here, together with an intimation of those Catholic elegancies, of which we are to have more in the poem! 11 The owl with all his feathers was a-cold.11 Could lie little selected an ima,,e inore warm and 11 coll-ifoi-t,,ti)llc;Iti itself, -in(l, tl,ierefore, bitter contradicted

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L6 -EMRRRLBAY Ii Northward he turneth through a little door, And scarce three steps, ere music’s golden tongue Flattered to tears this aged man and poor; Bu; no; already had his death-bell rung; The joys of all his life were said and sung: Hlis was harsh penance on St. Agnes’ Eve: Another way he went, and soon among Rough ashes sat he, for his soul’s reprieve; And all night kept awake, for sinner’s sake to grieve. ” Flattered to tears this aged man and poor.” This “flattered” is exquisite. A true poet is by nature a metaphysician; far greater in general than metaphysicians professed. He feels instinctively what the others get at by long searching. In this word “flattered” is the whole theory of the secret of tears; which are the tributes, more or less worthy, of selfpity to self-love. Whenever we shed tears, we take pity on ourselves; and we feel, if we do not consciously say so, that we deserve to have the pity taken.

In many cases, the pity is just, and the self-love not to be construed unhandsomely. In many others, it is the reverse; and this is the reason why selfish people are so often found among the tear-shedders, and why they seem even to shed them for others. They imagine themselves in the situation of the others, as indeed the most generous must, before they can sympathize; but the generous console as well as weep. Selfish tears are niggardly of everything but themselves. “Flattered to tears.”’ Yes, the poor old man was moved by the’sweet music to think that so sweet a thing was intended for his comfort as well as for others. He felt that the mysterious kindness of Heaven did not omit even his poor, Ad, sorry case in its numerous workings and visitations; and, as he wished to live longer, he began to think that his wish was to be attended to. He began to consider how much he had suffered wrongly or mysteriously-and how much better a man he was, with all his sins, than fate seemed to have taken him for. Hence he found himself deserving of tears and self-pity, and he shed them, and felt soothed by his poor, old, loving self. Not undeservedly either; for he was a pains-taking pilgrim, ased, patient, and humble, and willingly suffered cold and toil for the sake of something better than he could otherwise desenrve; and so the pity is not exclusively on his own side: we pity him too, and would fain see him well out of that cold chapel, gathered into a warmer place than a grave. But it was not to be.

We must, therefore, console ourselves with knowing, that this icy endurance of his was the last, and that he soon found himself at the sunny gate of heaven. Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline; The music, yearninig like a god in pain, She scarcely heard; her maiden eyes divine Fixed on the floor, saw many a sweeping train Pass by-she heeded not at all; in vain Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, And back retired; not cooled by high disdain. But she saw not; her heart was otherwhereShe sighed for Agnes’ dreams, the sweetest of the year. So, purposing each m om ent to retire, She lingered still. Meantime, across the mooes, Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, Buttressed from moonlight, stands he, and implores All saints to give him sight of Madeline, But for one moment in the tedious hours, That he might gaze, and worship all unseen, Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss-in sooth such thing, have been. He ventures in; let no buzzed whisper tell, All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords Will storm his heart, Love’s fev’rous citadel. For him those chambers held barbarian hordes. Hyena foemnen, and hot-blooded lords. Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against his lineage. Not one breast affords Him any mercy, in that mansion foul. Save one old beldams. weak in body and in soul. That ancient beadsman heard the prelude soft, And so it chanced (for many a door was wide From hurry to and fro) soon up aloft The sil,er-snarling trumpets’gan to chide; The level chambers, ready with their pride, Were glowing to receive a thousand guests: The carved anigels, ever eager-eyed, Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests, With hair blown black, and w;gs put cross-wise on their breasts. Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand, To where he stood, hid from the torches’ flame.

Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond The sound of merriment and chorus bland. He startled her; but soon she knew his face, And grasped his fingers in her palsied hand: Saying, “Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place; They are all here to-night, the whole blood-thirsty race. -At length burst in the argent revelry, With plume, tiara, and all rich array, Numerous as shadows haunting fairily The blain, new stuffed, in youth, with triumphs gay Ot old romance. Those let us wish away, And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there, Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day, On love, and winged St. Agnies’ saintly care, ts she hadl heard old dames full many timnes declare. – Get hence! get hence! there’s dwarfish Hildebrand, He had n fever late, and in the fit Ile cursial thee and thine, both hotu.se and lan(l: Theni thl,rtc’s that old Lord Maurice,?Lot a whu i More tamefor his grazy hails-Alas, me I flit  i 164

TITE MIRROR LIBRARY. iir. VI. They told her how, upon St. Agnes’ Eve, Young virgins might have visiops of delight; And soft adorings from their loves receive Upon the honeyed middle of the night, If ceremonies due they did aright; As, siipperlesa to bed they must retire, And couch supine their beauties, lily white; Nor look behind, nor sidewise, but require Of heaven with ul)ward eyes for all that they desire. Vil. Vill. She danced along with vague, regardless eyes, Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short; The hallowed hour was near at hand; she sighs Amid the timbrels, and the thronged r6sort Of whisperers, in anger or in sport; ‘Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn I Hood-winked with faery fancy; all amort, Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn, And all the bliss to be before to-morrow more,. TX. X. IV. Xi. V. Xii.

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THE EVE OF STr. AGNES. Flit like a ghost away.”-” Al, gossip dear, We’re safe enough; here in this aim-chair sit, w And tell me how-“-” Good saints! not here! not here! Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier.” “I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,” Quoth Porphyro: “Oh, may I ne’er find grace, When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer, If one of her soft ringlets I displace, Or look with ruffian-passion in her face; Good Angela, believe me by these tears, Or I will, even in a moment’s space, Awake with horrid shout my foeman’s ears, And beard them, though they be more fang’d than wolves and bears.” He followed through a lowly-arched way, Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume; And as she muttered, ” Well-a-well-a-day!” He found him in at little mnooddight-room, P:,ie, ltlticed, chill, and silent as a tomb. “Now tell me where is Madeline,” said he, “Oi, tell me, Angela, by the holy loom WVhich none but secret Sisterhood may see, WVhen they St. Agnes’ wool are weaving piously.” “Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul? A poor, weak, palsy-stricken churchy-ard thing, Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll; Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening, Were never miss’d?” Thus plaining, doth she bring A gentler speech from burning Porphyro; So woful and of such deep sorrowing, That Angela gives promise she will do Whatever he shall wish, betide or weal or wo; The poet does not make his Wo little moonlight room” comfortable, observe. The high taste of the exordium is kept up. All is still wintry. There is to be no comfort in the poem but what is given by love. All else may be willingly left to the cold walls. XIV. XIX. ” St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes’ Eve Yet men will murder upon holydays; Thou must hold water in a witch’s sieve, And be the liege-lord of all elves and fays To venture so: it fills me with amaze To see thee, Porphyro!-St. Agnes’ Eve! God’s help! my lady fair the conjuror plas This very night: good angels her deceive! But let me laugh awhile; I’ve mickle time to grieve.” Which vas, to lead him in close secrecy, Even to Madeline’s chamber, and there hide Him in a closet, of such privacy That he might see her beauty unespied, And win, perhaps, that night a peerless bride; While legioned fairies paced the coverlet, And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed. Never on such a night have lovers met, Since Merlin paid his demon all the monstrous debt. xv. What he means by Merlin’s “monstrous debt,” we can not say. Merlin, the famous enchanter, obtained King Uther his interview with the fair Iogerne; but though he was the son of a devil, and conversant with the race, we are aware of no debt that he owed them. Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon, While Porphyro upon her face doth look, Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone, Who keepeth closed a uwndrous riddle-book, .s spectacled she sits in chimney nook; But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told His lady’s purpose; and he scarce could brook Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold, and Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. “r It shall be as thou wishest,” said the dame; “All cates and dainties shall be stored there, Quickly on this feast-night; by the tambor-frame Her own lute thou wilt see; no time to spare, For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare On such a catering trust my dizzy head; Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer The while: ah! thou must needs the lady wed; Or may I never leave my grave among the dead.” He almost shed tears of sympathy, to think how his ‘,easure is exposed to the cold-and of delight and tride to think of her sleeping beauty, and her love for hinmself. This passage “asleep in the lap of legends old” is in the highest imaginative taste, fusing together the tangible and the spiritual, the real and the fanciful, the remote and the near. Madeline is asleep in her bed; but she is also asleep in accordance with the legends of the season; and therefore the bed becomes their lap as well as sleep’s. The poet does not critically think of all this; he feels it: and thus should other young poets draw upon the prominent points of their feelings on a subject, sucking the essence out of them into analogous words, instead of beating about the bush for tlwughts, and, perhaps, getting very clever ones, but confused-not the best, nor any one better than another. Such, at least, is the difference between the truest poetry and the degrees beneath it. XXII.

XVI. Her faltering hand upon the balustrade, Old Angelo was feeling for the stair, When Madeline, St. Agnes’ charmed maid, Rose, like a missioned spirit, unaware: With silver taper’s light, and pious care, She turned, and down the aged gossip led To a safe level matting. Now prepare Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed; Shie comes, she conmes again, like ring-dove frayed and fled. Sudden a thought came, like afull-blown rose, Flushing his brow; and in his pained heart Made purple riot; then doth he propose A stratagem, that makes the beldame starts. “A cruel man, and impious, thou art: Sweet ladyl! let her pray, and sleep, and dream, Alone with her good angels, far apart F,om wicked men like thee. Go! go!I deem ‘rhou canst not, surely, be the same that thou dost seem.” 16 =  7 .

XVII. Xiii. XVTTT. XX. XXI. So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear; The lovers endless minutes slowly passed, The dame returned and whispered in his ear To follow her; with aged eyes aghast From fright of dim espial.

Safe at last, Through many a dusky gallery, they gain The maiden’s chamber, silke7t, hushed, and chitste, Where Porphyro took covert, pleased amain: His poor guide hurried back with agues in her bmin.

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166 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. had felt-for he was also deeply in love; and extreme sensibility struggled in him with a great understanding. But our picture is not finished: Out went the taper as she hurried in; Its little smoke in pallid moonshine died; She closed the door, she panted all akin To spirits of the air, and visions wide; Nor uttered syllable, or, wo betide! But to her heart her heart it-as voluble, Paining wuith eloquence her balmy side: ./s though a tongueless nightingale should swell Hfer throat itn vaiin, and die heart-stifled in her dell. Anon his heart revives; her vespers done, Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; Unclasped her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees; Half hidden, like a mrermtnaid in sea-weed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees I n fa ncy fair St. Agnes in her bed, But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. is a verse in the taste of Chaucer, full of minute grace and truth. The smoke of the waxen taper seems almost as ethereal and fair as the mioonllighlt, and both suit each other and the heroine. But what a lovely ine is the seventh, about the heart: Howv true and cordial the “warmed jewels!” and what matter of faict also, made elegant, is the rustling downward of the attire; and the mixture of dress and undress, and dishevelled hair, likened to a ” mer maid in sea-weed!” But the next stanza is perhaps the most exquisite in the poem. And the nightingale! how touching the simlnile! The hlieart a “tongueless nightingale,” dying, iii that dell of the bosomn! WVhat thorough sweetness, and perfection of lovely imagery! How one delicacy is heaped upon another! But for a burst of richness, noiseless, colored, suddenly enriching the moonlight, as if a door of heaven were opened, read the following:-H Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, In sort of walkeful swoon, perplexed she lay, Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppressed Her soothed limbs, and soul, fatigued away, Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day; Blissfully havened both from joy and pain; Clasped like a missal, where swart Paynims pray; Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As THOUGH A ROSE SHOULD

SHUT, AND BE A BUD AGAI.-. d casement high and triple-arched C.ere was, 311i garlanded fwithe curven i on oageries Offruits aid flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, .dnl diamnotwied with pan)es of quaint device, Innumerable of stains and splendid dies, ds are the tiger-mnoth’s deep danmaisked wings; wlnd in the midst, among tholsand heral(dries, .dud TWILIGHT saints, and dim emnblazonings, AI shielded’scutcheon BLUSHED with blood of queens ant kings. Can the beautiful go beyond this? We never saw it. And how the imagery rises! Flown like a thoughtblissfully havened-clasped like a missal in a land of Pagans: that is to say, where Christian prayer-books must not be seen, and are, therefore, doubly cherished for the danger. And then, although nothing can surpass the preciousness of this idea, is the idea of the beautiful, crowning all Could all the pomp and graces of aristocracy, with Titian’s and Raphael’s aid to boot, go beyond the rich religion of this picture, with its ”

twilight saints,” and its’scutcheons ” blushing with the blood of queens?”

But we must not stop the reader: Thus it is that poetry, in its intense sympathy with creation, may be said to create anew, rendering its words almost a.s s te e.,cts’.ey:ee,, and individually more lasting; the spiritual perpetuity putting them on a level (not to speak it profanely) with the fugitive forms of the sub stanc e. But we are to have more luxuries stil, presently. Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, And threw warm gules on Madeline’s fair breast, As down she knelt for heaven’s grace and boon; Rose-bloom fell on her hands together pressed, .dnd on her silver cross soft amniethyst; .nd on her hair a glory like a saint: She seemed a splendid angel, newly dressed Save uings, for heaven; Porphyro grew faint, She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint. Soe tolen to this paradise, and so entranced, Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, And listened to her breathing, if it chanced To wake into a slumberous tenderness; Which when he heard, that minute did he bless, And breathed himself; then from the closet crept, Noiseless as fear in a wild wilderness, And over the hushed carpet silent stept, And’tween the curtains peeped, where, lo! how fast she slept. _rhe lovely and innocent creature thus praying under the gorgeous painted window, completes the exceeding and unique beauty of this picture-one that will for ever stand by itself in poetry, as an addition to the stock. It would have struck a glow on the face of Shakspere himself. He might have put Imogen or Ophelia under such a shrine. How proper, as well as pretty, the heraldic term gules, considering the occasion! Red would not have been a fiftieth part so good. And with what elegant luxury he touches the ” silver cross” with ” amethyst,” and the fair human hands with ” rose color,” the kin to their carnation The lover’s growing “faint,” is one of the few inequalities which are to be found in the later productions of this great but young anul ()Ver-s(,Iitive po et. [le had, at the time of writing Iis – oe Il;, tlse se,s h)f ,utirtal illness iln,;ir. andl he.,t’:ls, wrote as he h Then, by the bedside, where the faded moon Made a dim silver twilight-soft he set A table, and, half-anguished, threw thereon A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet: 0 for some drowsy Morphean amulet! The boisterous, midnight, festive, clarion, The kettle-drum, and far-lheard clarionet, Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:The hall-ds,oo slttts again, and all the noise is -one. I 166 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. XXIII. XXVI. 11 Its little smol,-e i,.i pallid moonshine died,,” 11 PainiDg with eloquence her balmy side.” XXVIT. xxrv. “Blinded alike from sunshine and fr a. As though a 7-ose should shut, and be a bud again.?) XXV. XXVIII. XXIX.

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THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. xxx. xxxvi. And still she slept an) a iue-lidded sleep In blanchedl linen, smoothi and lavendered, While he fiom forthli ti e closet brought a heap Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd, With jellies soother than the creamy curd, ~ild lucet.sya-urs, lii,ct wilh ciumitnono: Manrna Ioid dsistes, in argosy transfeirred From Fez; and s)icel dainties, every one, F1’omn silkier Smnarcait to cedaired Lebanon.

Beyond a mortal man impassioned far At these voluptuous accents, he arose, Ethereal, flushed, and like a throbbing star Seen’mid the sapphire heaven’s deep repose; Into her dream he melted, as the rose Blendeth its odor with the violet Solution sweet. Meanwhile the frost wind blows Like love’s alarumt, pattering the s harp sle et Against the window panes: St.

Agnes’ moon hath set. here is delicate modulation, and super-refined epi,uorean nicety! ‘Tis dark; qui,ki pattereth the flaw-blown sleet. ”

This is no dream; my bride, my Madeline!” ‘Tis dark; the iced gusts still rave and beat. ” No dream, alas! alas! and wo is mine; Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine; Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine, Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;A dove, forlorn and lost, with sick unpruned wing.” make us read the line delicately, and at the tip-end, as iT were, of one’s tongue. These delicates he heaped with glowing hand On golden dishes, and in baskets bright Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand In the retired quiet of the night, Filling the chilly room with perfume light. ”’ And now, my love, my seraph fair awake! Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes’ sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache.” ‘ My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride! Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? Thy beauty’s shield, heart-shaped, and vermeil-died? Ah! silver shrine, here will I take my rest, After so many hours of toil and quest A famished pilgrim, saved by a miracle, Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest Saving of thy sweet self; if thou thinkst well To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.” Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream By the dusk curtains:-‘twas a midnight charm Impossible to melt as iced stream: The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies; It seemed he never, never could redeem From such a steadfast spell his lady’s eyes; 6o mused awhile, entoiled in woofed phantasies. With what a I)pretty wilfi conceit the costume of the poem is kept up in the third line about the shield. The poet knew when to introduce apparent trifles forbidden to those who are void of real passion, and who, feeling nothing intensely, can intensify nothing. cc Hark!‘tis an elfin-storm from faery land, Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed; Arise-arise! the morning is at hand; The bloated wassailers will never heed:-. Let us away, my love, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to se  Drowned all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead: Awake!

arise! my love, and fearless be, For o’er the southern moors I have a home for thee.’ Awakening up, he took her hlollow lute Tumultuous-and, in chords that tenderest be, He played an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence called, “La belle dame sans mercy:” Close to her ear touching the melody; Wherewith disturbed she uttered a soft moan: He ceased-she panted quick-and suddenly HIer blue afirayed eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone. She hurried at his words, beset with fears, For there were sleeping dragons all around, At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found In all the house was heard no human sound. A chain-drooped lamp was flickering by each door; The arras, rife with horseman, hawk, and hound, Fluttered in the besieging wind’s uproar: .dnd the loug carpets rose along the gusty floor. Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep: There was a painful change, that nigh expelled The blisses of her dream so pure and deep, At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with many a sigh; While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep; Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye, Fearing to move or speak, she looked so dreamingly. This is a slip of the memory, for there were hardly carpets in those days. But the truth of the painting makes amends, as in the unchronological pictures of old masters.

“Ah, Porphyro!” said she, “but even now Thy voice was a sweet tremble in mine ear, Made tuneable with every sweetest vow, And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear; How changed thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Those looks immortal, those complainings dear; Oh! leave me not in this e ternal wo, For if thou diest, my love, I know got where to go.” They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hal; Like phantoms to the iron porch they glide, Where lay the porter in uneasy sprawl, With a huge empty flagon by his side; The wakeful blood-hound rose and shook his lade, Byut his sagacious eye a n in mate o wns: By one, and one, the bolts full easy shide: The chains lie silent on the footworn stones; l he ke) turns, and t},c d nor upon its hinges groans. Madeline is half awake, and Porphyro reassures hera wfith living kind loolks, and an affectionate embrace. I i 167 XXX. XXXVI. XXXVII. 11

Luceiit syrtips, tiiict with cinnamon,” XXXI. XXXVIII. XXXII. XXXIX.

XXXIII. XL. XXXINI. XXXV. XLZ.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. characters. When the party was reassembled, two or three days afterward,’THE CULPRIT FAY’ was read to them, nearly as it is now printed. ” Drake placed a very modest estimate on his own produections, and it is believed that but a small portion of them have been preserved. When on his death-bed, a friend inquired of him what disposition he would have made with his poems-‘ 0, burn them,’ he replied,‘they are quite valueless.’ Written copies of a number of them were, however, in circulation, and some had been incorrectly printed in the periodicals; and for this reason, Commodore Dekay, the husband of the daughter and only child of the deceased poet, published, in 1836, the single collection of them which has appeared. Drake was unassuming and benevolent in his manners and feelings, and he had an unfailing fountain of fine humor, which made him one of the most pleasant of companions.” The three authors of these three works of genius, died alilke prematurely. Mr.

Praed, author of LILLIAN, (in whose company the writer had the pleasure of passing some time at the country-seat of a mutual friend in Eng land), was in the plenitude of a brilliant political career, a member of parliament, and a man of fortune. He had o been not long married when he died. Like Drake, he set but’ small value on his poetry. He kept it as a vein to a amuse his friends, and the accomplished lady who was his entertainer at the house just alluded to, had a large manuscript volume of his poetry, worthy of any reputation, which was rigorously banned from publication by the author. He was a man of very grave demeanor, rather above the middle height, of a consumptive habit, pale and thoughtful looking. His intimate friends were very few, and in all his character, he was concentrative and retiring. The irreproachable purity of his life, and the lofty character of his ambitions and pursuits, gave him a weight and hedged him about with a dignity which made his career looked upon with unusual interest, and his death more than ordinarily mournful. The history of KEATS is better known to the world than that of either of the others. His death is said to lie at the door of Lord Brougham-who wrote the criticism, in the agony of reading which Keats burst a blood-vessel. He had been an apothecary’s boy, and the critic unfeelingly counselled him to “return to his gallipots.”

The writer visited his grave at Rome, and read there the epitaph he himself directed to be graven on the head-stone: ” Here lies one whose name was written in water.” It almost requires a poet to appreciate the unreachable delicacy of Keats’s use of language. He plucks his epithets from the profoundest hidinga-places of meaning and association. He wrote with a nib iulevnitabk-its forked pursuit certain detection to the elusive, reluctant, indispensable best word. The sense of satisfaction aches while you read his poetry so clear to the bottom of the capability of language drops his plummet word. The Italicised passages in the “Eve of St. Agnei” will be a glide to what we mean. St. Agnes was a Roman virgin who suffered martyrdom in the reign of Diocletian. Her parents, a few days after her decease, are said ~to have had a vision of her surrounded’by angels, and attended by a white lamb, which afterward became sacred to her. In the catholic church, for merly, the nuns used to bring a couple of lambs to her altar during mass. The superstition is, that by taking certaim w oefesures of dicination, on St. (fgnes’ Eve, damsdls may get a sight of ttleirfurture bulsb!.mds t n M dream Keats’s poem makes beautiful use of the superstition. And they are gone: ay, ages long ago These lovers fled away into the storm. That night the baron dreampt of many a wo, And all his warrior-guests, wit h shade and form Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm, Were lone be-nightmared. Angzela the old Died palsy-twitched, with meager face deform: The beadsman, after thousand aves told, For aye unsought-for, slept among his ashes cold. Here endeth the young and divine poet, but not the delight and gratitude of his readers; for, as he sings elsewhere N THE Rococo” is the quaint, but, in fact, mos t desc riptive nam e of a n u “Ex tra” now in pres s for the Mirror Libray.” Those of your reader s who havte been lately in France will be fami liar with the term rococo. The etymology of it has been matter of no litt l e fruitless inquiry. It came into use about four or five years aigo, when it was the rame to look up costly and old-fashioned articles of jewellery and furniture. A valuable stone, for example, in a b eautiful but antique setting, was rococo. A beauty, who had the kind of face paint ed in the old pictures, alas rococo. A chair, or a table of car ved wood, costly o nce, but unfashionable for many a day, was rococo. Articles of vertu were looked up, and offered for sale with a view to the prevailing taste for rococo-highly-carved picture-frames, old but elaboratety-made trinkets, rich brocades, etc., etc.-things intrinsically beautiful and valuable, in short, but unmeritedly obsolete. ” THE Rococo,” published by the proprietors of the New Mirror, answers this description exactly. It comprises the three most exquisite and absolute creations of pure imagination (in my opinion) that have been produced since Shakspere ”

LRLLTAN,” by Praed; ” THE CULPRIT FAY,” by Drake; and ” ST. AGNES’ EVE,”

by Keats-all three of which have been overlaid and partially lost sight of in the torrent of new literature, but all three now to be had in fair type, price one shilling! The man who could read either of these three poems without feeling the chambers of his brain filled with intellectual incense-without feeling his eyes warm, his blood moved, and his inmost Lausing of novelty and melody deliciously ministered todoes not love poetry enough “to give a rose-tint to his russet cares.” I declare, I think it is worth the outlay of a fever to get (by seclusion and depletion) the delicacy of nerve and perception to devour and relish, with intellectual nicety, these three subtly-compounded feasts of imagination.

Of these three poems, ”’ THE CULPRIT FAY” is, by much, the most original in conception-though, in composition, it is far less artistic than ” THE

EVE OF ST. AGNES.” The reader who feels patriotic on the subject of poetry will rejoice in the former poem, as being in its imagery and assoeations wholly American, as in its original design it is wholly unsuggested by any other poem. ” It was composed,” says his biography, ” hastily among the Highlands of the Hriudson, in the summer of 1819. The author was walkin.with some friends on a warm moonlight evening, when one ,,f the partv remarked that it would be difficult to write a faerly poem, purely imaginative, wvithout the ai~l of human I i I ii i6s XLII. ” A thing of beauty is a joy for ever.” NOTES, BY N. P. WILLIS.

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THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. BY TH03OAS MOORE. Soul’s decline toward darkness, and the reappearance of Spring as its return to life and light. Besides the chief spirits of the MIahometan heaven, such as Gabriel, the angel of Revelations, Israfil, by whom the last trumpet is to be sountlel, and Azrael, the angel of death, there were also a number of subaltern intelligences, of which tradition has preserved the names, appointed to preside over the different stages, or ascents, into which the celestial world was supposed to be divided.* Thus Kelail governs the fifth heaven; while Sadiel, the presiding spirit of the third, is also employed in steadying the motions of the earth, which would be in a constant state of agitation, if this angel did not keep his foot planted upon its orb.f Among other miraculous interpositions in favor of Ma homet, we find commemorated in the pages of the Koran the appearance of five thousand angels on his side at the battle of Bedr. The ancient Persians supposed that Ormuzd appointed thirty angels to preside successively over the days of the month, and twelve greater ones to assume the government of the months themselves; among whom Bahman (to whom Ormuzd committed the custody of all animals, ex cept man), was the greatest. Mihr, the angel of the 7th month, was also the spirit that watched over the aflairs of friendship and love; Chur had the care of the disk of the s un; Mah was agent for the concerns of the moon; Isphandarmaz (whom Cazvin calls the Spirit of the Earth) was the tutelar gen ius of good and v irtuous women, etC., etc. For all this the re ader fe may consult the 19th a nd 20tth chapters of Hyde de Relg. Vet. Persarimd, w here the names and attributes of these daily sand monthly angels are wenith much minuteness and eru dition explained.

It appears, from e 3 esa h at the Ze nd-av esta, t hat the Persians had a certain office or prayer for every da y of the month (add ressed to the particular angel who presided over it), which they called the Siirouz6.

The Celestial Hierarchy of the Syrian s, as de scribe d by Kircher, appe ar s to be t he most regularly gradu ated of an, of these systems. In the sphere of t he Moon they placenr the angels, in that of Mercury the archangels, Venus and the Sun contained the Principalities and the Power s; and lso on to t he summit of the planetary system, wkere, in the sphere of Saturn, the Thrones had their station. Above this was the habitation of’ the Cherubim jn the sphere of the fixed stars: and still higher, in the region of those stars which are so distant as to be imperceptible, the Seraphim, we are told, the most perfect of all celestin! creatures, dwelt.

The Sabeans also (as D’Herbelot tells us) had their classes of angels, to whom they prayed as mediators, or intercessors; and the Arabians worshipped female angels, whom they called Benad Hasche, or, Daughters of God. THE pastern story of the angel s Harut and Marut,* and eshe Rabbinic al fict ions of the loves of Uzziel and Shamcha zai,t are the only sources to which I need refer, for the origi n of the notion on which this Romance is founded. In addition to the fitness of the subject for poetry, it struck me also as ca pabl e of affording an allegorical medium, throu gh w hich might be shadowe d out (as I have endeavored to do in the following stories) the fall of the Soul from its original purityt-the loss of light and happines s which it suffers, in the pursuit of this world’s perishable pleasures  and the punishments, both from conscience and divine justice, with which impurity, pride, and presumptuous inquiry into the awful secrets of Heaven, are’sure to be visited. The beautifil story of Cupid and Psyche owes its chief charm to this sort of “1 veiled meaning,” and it has been my wish (however I may have failed in the attempt) to communicate to the following pages the same moral interest. Among the doctrines, or notions, derived by Plato from the East, one of the most natural and sublime is that which inculcates the pre-existence of the soul, and its gradual descent into this dark material world, from that region of spirit and light which it is supposed to have once inhabited, afnd to which, after a long lapse of purification and trial, it will return. 1This relief, under various symbolical forms, may be traced through almost all the Oriental theolog,ies. The Chaldeans represent the Soul as originally endowed with wings, which fall away when it sinks from its native element, and must be reproduced before it can hope to return. Some disciples of Zoroaster once inquired of him, ” How the wincs of the Soul might be made to -row again?” “By sprinkling them,” he replied, ” with the Waters of Life.” ” But where are those WAraters to be found?” they asked. “In the Garden of God,” replied Zoroaster. The mythology of the Persians has allegorized the same doctrine, in the historv of those genii of light who strayed from their dwellings in the stars, and obscured their o)-iginal nature by mixture with this material sphere; while the Egyptians, connecting it with the descent and ascent of the wln in the zodiac, considered Autumn as emblematic of the See note on page 3, Hyde de Relig.

Vet. Persarurn, p. 272. t The account which Macrobius gives’ of the downward journey of the Soul, through that gate of the zodiac which opens into the lower spheres, is a curious specimen of’ the wil,l fancies passed for philosophy in ancient times. In the system of Manes, the luminous or spiritual principle owes its corruption, not to any evil tendency of its own, but to t violent inroad of the spirits of darkness, who, finding themselves in the ne.ighborhood of this pure light, and becomin g .assionatoly enamcred of its beauty, break the boundaries etween them, and take forcible possession of it.t ‘n Fonrn. Sci,ioni,. cap. 12. r See a Treatise” De la Religion dles Perses.” by the Abbe Fourher NM6rn.ires de l’Acaddien, tomn xxxi, p. 456. * “We adorned the lower heaven with lights.

and placed therein a gua,rd of angels.”I.oran, chap. xli. t See D’Iterbelot, pissi7n. I I I i i I I I i i I i I I I I I I I i PREFACE.

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HE MIRROR LIBRARY. THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. Still fair and glorious, he but shone Among those youths th’ unheavenliest one –

A creature, to whom light remained From Eden still, but altered, stained, And o’er whose brow not Love alone -A blight had, in his transit, cast, But other, earthlier joys had gone, And left their foot-prints as they passed. Sighing, as back through ages fl own, Like a tomb-searcher, Memory ran, Lifting each shroud that Time had thrown O’er buried hopes, he thus began: ‘TWAS when the world was in its prime, When the fresh stars had just begun Their race of glory, and young Time Told his first birthtdays by the sun When, in the light of Nature’s dawn Rejoicing, men and angels met* On the high hill and sunny lawnEre sorrow came, or Sin had drawn ‘Twixt man and heaven her curtail: yet I When earth lay nearer to the skies Than in these days of crime and wo, And mortals saw, without surprise, In the mid-air, angelie eyes Gazing upon this world below. Alas, that Passion should profane, Even then, the morning of the earth! That, sadder still, the fatal stain Should fall on hearts of heavenly birthAnd that from Woman’s love should falli So dark a stain, most sad of all!

“‘TwAS in a land, that far away Into the golden orient lies, Where INature knows not night’s delay, But springs to meet her bridegroom, Day, Upon the threshold of the skies. One morn, on earthly mission sent,* And mid-way choosing where to light, I saw, from the blue element Oh beautiful, but f atal sight! One of earth’s faires t w omankind, Half veiled from view, or rather shrined In the clear crystal of a brook; Which, while it hid no single gleam Of her young beauties, made them look More spirit-like, as they might seem Through the dim shadowing of a dream. Pausing in wonder I looked on, While, playfully around her breaking The waters, tlhat like diamonds shone She moved in light of her own making. At length, as from that airy height I gently lowered my breathless flight, The tremble of my wings all o’er . (For through each plume I felt the thrill) Startled her, as she reached the shore Of that small lake-her mirror stillAbove whose brink she stood, like snow When rosy with a sunset glow. Never shall I forget those eyes! The shame, the innocent surprise Of that bright face, when in the air Uplooking, she beheld me there, It seemed as if each thought, and look, And motion, were that minute chained Fast to the spot, such root she took: And-like a sunflower by a brook, With face upturned-so still remained! One evening, in that primal hour, On a hill’s side, where hung the ray Of sunset, brightening rill and bower, Three noble youths conversing lay; And, as they looked, from time to time, To the far sky, where Daylight furled His radiant wing, their brows sublime Bespoke them of that distant worldSpirits, who once, in brotherhood Of faith and bliss, near ALLA stood, And o’er whose cheeks full oft had blown The wind that breathes from ALLA’s throne,ft Creatures of light, such as still play, Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord, And through their infinite array Transmit each moment, night and day, The echo of his luminous word! (;f Heaven they spoke, and, still more oft, Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence; Till, yielding gradual to the soft And balmny evening,‘s influence-e The silent breathing of the flowers The melting light that beamed above, As on their first, fond, erring hours, Each told the story of his love, The history of that hour unblest, When, like a bird, from its high nest Won down by fascinating eyes, For Woman’s smile he lost the skies. The First who spoke was one, with look The least celestial of the threeA Spirit of light mould, that took The prints of earth most yieldingly; Who, even in heaven, was not of those Nearest the Throne,t but held a place Far off, among those shining rows That circle out through endless space, And o’er whose wings the light from Him In Heaven’s centre falls most dim. In pity to the wond’ring maid, Though loath from such a vision turning, Downward I bent, beneath the shade Of my spread wings to hidle the burning Of glances, which-I well could feel Fr e, or me, for her, too warmly shone; But, ere I could again unsr al My restless eyes, or even steal One sidelong look, the maid was gone  Hid from me in the forest leaves, Sudden as when, in all her charms Of full-blown light, some cloud receives The Moon into his dusky arms. I The Mahometans believe, says D’Herbelot, that in that early period of the world. “les hommes n’eurent qu’une seule religion. et furent souvent visites des Anges, qui leur donnoient la main.” t ” To which will be joined the sound of the bells hanging on the trees, which will be put in motion by the wind proceeding from the Throne, so often as the Blessed wish for music.” See Sale’s KoIran, Prelim. Dissert t The ancient Persians supposed that this Throne was placed in the Sun, and that through the stars were distributed thle variou, classes of Angels that encircled it. Tlhe Basili;(ians supposed that there were three hundred and t$xty-fivNe orders of angels, ”

dont Ia perfection alloit en d’-. t,rnoissant, a moesure qu’ils s’e61oignoient de la premniere classe l’esprits places dans le lPemier ciel.” See D?,pui.s, Orig. des (‘eit,.. t:in. ii. p. 11 * It appears that, in most languages, the term employed for an angel means also a messenger.

Firischteh, the Persian worel for angel, is derived (salts D’ilerbelot) from the verb Firischtin, to send. The Ilebrew,r term. too,.%elak, has the same signification. FIRST ANGEL’S STORY.. ‘Tis not in words to tell the power, The despotism th,-it, from that hour,

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THE LOVES OF THF ANGE S. Had you but seen her look, when first From my mad lips th’ avowal burst; Not angered-no-the feeling came From depths beyond mere anger’s flameIt was a sorrow, calm as deep, A mournfulness that could not weep, So filled her heart was to the brink, So fixed and frozen with grief, to think That an-el natures-that even J, Whose love she clung to, as the tie Between her spirit and the skyShould fall thus headlong from the height Of all that heaven hath pure and bright t Passion held o’er me.

Day and night I sought around each neighboring spot; And, in the chase of this sweet light, My task, and heaven, and all forgot; All, but the one, sole, haunting dream Of her I saw in that bright stream. Nor was it long, ere by her side I found myself, whole happy days, List’ning to words, whose music vied With our own Eden’s seraph lays, When seraph lays are warmed by love, But, wanting that, far, far above! And looking into eyes where, blue And beautiful, like skies seen through The sleeping wave, for me there shone A heaven, more worshipped than my own. Oh what, while I could hear and see Such words and looks, was heaven to me? Though gross the air on earth I drew, ‘Twas blessed, while she breathed it too; Though dark the flowers, though dim the sky, Love lent them light while she was nigh. Throughout creation I but knew Two separate worlds-the one, that small, Beloved, and consecrated spot Where LEA wuas-the other, all The dull, wide waste, where she was not! That very night -my heart had grow n Impatien t of its inward burning; The term t, too, of my stay was flown, And the bright Watchers ne ar bethe throne, Already, if a meteor shone Between them and this nether zone, Thought’twas their herald’s wing returning Oft did the potent spell-word, given To Envoys hither from tl e skies, To be pronounced, when bacli to heaven It is their time or wish to rise, Come to my lips that fatal day; And once, too, was so nearly spoken, That my spread plumage in the ray And breeze of heaven began to play; When my heart failed-the spell was brokenThe word unfinished died away, And my checked plumes, ready to soar, Fell slack and lifeless as before. How could I leave a world which she, Or lost or won, made all to me? No matter where my wand’rings were, So there she looked, breathed, moved aboutWo, ruin, death, more sweet with her, Than Paradise itself, without! But vain mv suit, my madness vain; Though gladly, from her eyes to gain One earthly look, one stray desire, I would have torn the wings, that hungF Furled at my back, and o’er the Fire In GEHrt’s* pit their fragments flung;‘Twas hopeless all-pure antl unmoved She stood, as lilies in the light Of the hot noon but look more white; And though she loved me, deeply loved, ‘Twas not as man, as mortal-no, Nothing of earth was in that glowShe loved me but as one, of race Angelic, from that r-idiant place She saw so oft in dreams-that heaven, To which her prayers at morn were sent, And on whose light she gazed at even, Wishing for wings, that she might go Out of this shadowy world below, To that fre, glorious element? But, to return-that v ery day A f ea st wa s held, where, full o f mirth, Aame-crowding thick as fl o we rs that play In summer winds-the you ng and gay And beautiful of this bright earth. And she was there, and’mid the young And beautiful stood first, alone; Though on her gentle brow still hung The shadow I that morn had thrownThe first, that ever.s!amne or we Had cast ca,pon i’s verral snocw. My heart was maddened;-in the flush. Of the wild revel I gave way To all that frantic mirth-that rush Of desperate gayety, which they, Who never felt how pair’s excess Can break out thus, think happiness! Sad mimicry of’ mirth and life, Whose flashes come but from the strife Of inward passions-like the light Struck out bv clashing swords in fight. W’ell I remember by her side 5itting at rosy even-tide, When-turning to the star, whose head Looked out, as from a bridal bed, At that mute, blushing hour-she said, Oh! that it were my doom to be The Spirit of yon beauteous star, Dwelling up there in purity, Alone, as all such bright thing are; My sole employ to pray and shine. To light my center at the sun And cast. its fire toward the shrife Of liim in heaven, th’ Eternal one!’ Then, too, that juice of earth, the bane And blessing of man’s heart and brainThat draught of sorcery,. which brings Phantoms of fair, forbidden tlhingsWhose drops, lilke those of rainbows, s.ile Upon the mists that circle man, Brightening not only Earth, the while, But grasping Heaven, too, in their span! Then first the fatal winecup rained Its dews of darkness through my lips,* ,o innocent the maid, so free From mortal taint in soul and frame, ‘A’om’twas my crime-mmy destiny To love, ay, burn for, with a tiame, To which earth’s wildest fires are tame. ~ be nanme given by the MTahometans to the infernal regitns, over which, they say, the angel Tabhek presides. Ey the seven gates of hell, mentioned in the Koran, the commentators understand seven different departments or wards, in which seven different sorts of sinners are to be punirhbd The first, called Gehennem, is for sinfid Mussulmans; the second, Ladha, for Christian offenders; the third, Hothama, is appointed for Jews; and the fourth and fifth. called Sair and Sacar, are destined to receive the Sabcans and the wor,hippers of fire; in the sixth, named Gehim, those pa:a dins aud( idolaters who admit a plurality of gods are pla;ced; while into the abyss of the seventh, called Dcrlik Asfil, or the DI)eep,,~. the hvpocritica: cantems of all religions are throned. I* I have already mentioned that some of the circumstance of this story were suggested to me by the eastern legend of the two angels, Harut and Marut, as given by Mapiti, who says that the author of Taalim founds upon it the Mahometan prohibition of wine.t I have since found that MAlariti’s ve rsion of the tale (which differs also from that of Di Prideaux, in his life of Mahomet), is taken from the French E?I. cyclop(:die, in whic h work, und(er the he,d ” Arot e’t 51rttt.’ tlhe reader will finid it. *Trhe italiarclarnush tells the fi, le d!i:Tve’]v. I I 171

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THE MIRROI The spell, the spell!h, speak it now, And I will bless thee!’

she exclaimed Unknowing what I did, inflamed, And lost already, on her brow I stamped one burning kiss, and named The mystic word, till then ne’er told To living creature of earth’s mould! Scarce was it said, when, quick as thought. Her lips from mine, like echo, caught The holy sound-her hands and eyes Were instant lifted to the skies, And thrice to heaven she spoke it out With that triumphant look Faith wearq When not a cloud of fear or doubt, A vapor from this vale of tears, Between her and her God appears! That very momenther whole frame All bright and glorified became, And at her back I saw unclose Two wings, magnificent as those That sparkle around ALLA’s Throne, Whose plumes, as buoyantly she rose Above me, in the moonbeam shone With a pure light, which-trom its hue, Unknown upon this earth-I knew Was light from Eden, glist’ning through! Most holy vision!

ne’er before Did augh t so radiant-since the day When EBLIS, in his downfall, bore The th ird of the br ight stars awayRise, in earth’s beauty, to repair That loss of light and glory there I But did I tamely view her flight? Did not I, too, proclaim out thrice The powerful words th at were, that nightOh, even fo r heaven too much delight 1 Again to bring us, eyes to eyes, And soul to soul, in Paradise? I did-I spoke it o’er and o’er I prayed, I wept, but all in vain; For me the spell had power no more. There seemed around me some dark chahl Which still, as I essayed to soar, Baffled, alas! each wild endeavor: Dead lay my wings, as they have lain Since that sad hour, and will remain So wills th’ offended God-for ever I Now hear the rest; our banquet done, I sought her in tii’

accustomed bower, Where late we oft, when day was gone, And the world hushed, had met alone, At the same silent, moonlight hour. Her eyes, as usual, were upturned To her loved star, whose lustre burned Purer than ever on that night; While she, in looking, grew more bright, As though she borrowed of its light. There was a virtue in that scene, A spell of holiness around, Which, hold my burning brain not been Thus maddened, would have held me bound, As though I trod celestial ground. Even as it was, with soul all flame, And lips that burned in their own sighs, I stood to gaze, with awe and shameThe memory of Eden came Full o’er me when I saw those eyes; And though too well each glance of mine To the pale, shrinking maiden proved How far, alas! from aught divine, Aught worthy of so pure a shrine, Was the wild love with which I loved, Yet must she, too, have seen-oh yes, ‘Tis soothing but to thivk she saw The deep, true, soul-felt tenderness, The homage of an Angel’s awe To her, a mortal, whom pure love Then placed above him-far aboveAnd all that struggle to repress A sinful spirit’s mad excess, Which worked within me at that hour, When, with a voice, where Passion shed All the deep sadness of her power, Her melancholy power-I said, ‘Then be it so; if back to heaven I must unloved, unpitied fly, Without one blest memorial given To sooth me in that lonely sky; One look, like those the young and fond Give when they’re parting-which would be, Even in remembrance, far beyond All heaven hith left of bliss for me! Oh, but to see that head recline A minute on this trembling arm, And those mild eyes look up to mine, Without a dread, a thought of harm! To meet, but once, the thrilling touch Of lips too purely fond to fear meOr, if that boon be all too much, Even thus to bring their fragrance near me! Nay, shrink not so-a look-a word Give them but kindly, and I fly; Already, see, my plumes have stirred, And tremble for their home on high. Thus be our parting-cheek to cheek One minute’s lapse will be forgiven, And thou, the next, shalt hear me speak The spell that plumes my wing for heaven!‘I, But soon that passing dream was gone; Further and further off she shone, Till lessened to a point, as small As are those specks that yonder burnThose vivid drops of light, that fall The last from Day’s exhausted urn. And w hen at leng th she merged, afar, Into her own immortal star, And when at length my straining sight Had caught her wing’s last fading ray, That minute from my soul the light Of heaven and love both passed away; And I forgot my home, my birth, Profaned my spirit, sunk my brow, And revelled in gross joys of earth, Till I became-what I am now!” While thus I spoke, the fearful maid, Of me, and of herself afraid, Had shrinking stood, like flowers beneath The scorchlina of the south-wind’s breath: But when I namned-alas! too well, I -now recall, tho-ugh wildered thenInstantly, when I namel the spell, Her brow, her eyes uprose again, kn3, with an eagerness, that spolke rhe sudda:n light that o’er her broke, 172 Casting whate’er of li, To my lost so,il into And filling it with such Such fantasies and w As, in the absence of h Hatint us for ever-li That walk this earth, It was to yonder star I traced Her journey up th’ illumined wastThat isle in the blue firmament, To which so oft her fancy went In wishes and in. dreams before, And which was now-such, Purity, Thy blest rewardrdained to be Her home of light for evermore! Once-or did I but fancy so? Even in her flight to that fair sphere ‘Mid all her spirit’s new-felt glow, A pitying look she turned below On him who stood in darkness here; Him whom, peaaps, if vain regret Can dwell in heaven, she pities yet; And oft, when looking to this dim And distant world,. remembers him.

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THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. The Spirit bowed his head in shame; A shamne, that of itself would tellWere there not even those breaks of flame, Celestial, through his clouded frame How grand the height from which he fell I That holy Shame, which ne’er forgets Th’ unblenched renown it used to wear; Whose blush remains, when Virtue sets, To show her sunshine has been there. Youboth remember wel l the day, When unto Eden’s new-made bowers, ALLA convoked the bright array Of his supreme angelic powers, To witness the one wonder yet, Beyond man, angel, star, or sun, He must achieve, ere he could set His seal upon the world, as doneTo see that last perfection rise, That crowning of creation’s birth, When,‘mid the worship and surprise Of circling angels, Woman’s eyes First opened upon heaven and earth; And from their lids a thrill was sent, That through each living spirit went, Like first light through the firmament! Once only, while the tale he told, Were his eyes lifted to behold That happy stainless star, where she Dwelt in her bower of purity! One minute did he look, and then As though he felt some deadly pain From its sweet light through heart and brainShrunk back, and never looked again. Can you forget how gradual stole The fresh-awakened breath of soul Throughout her perfect form-which seemed To grow transparent, as there beamed That dawn of Mind within, and caught New loveliness from each new thought? Slow as o’er summer’s seas we trace The progress of the noontide air, Dimpling its bright and silent face Each minute into so me n ew grace And varying heaven’s reflections th ere-m Or, like the light of evening, stealing O’er some fair temple, which all day Hath slept in shadow, slow revealing Its several beauties, ray by ray, Till it shines out a thing to bless, All full of light and loveliness. Can you forget her blush when round Through Eden’s lone, enchanted ground She looked, and saw, the sea-the skies  And heard the rush of many a wing, On high behests then vanishing; And saw the last few angel eyes, Still ling’ring mine among the restReluctant leaving scenes so blest? From that miraculous hour, the fate Of this new, glorious Being dwelt For ever, with a spell-like weight, Upon my spirit-early, late, Whate’er I did, or dreamed or felt, The thought of what might yet befall That matchless creature mixed with all. Nor she alone, but her whole race Through ages yet to come-whate’er Of feminine, and fond, and fair, Should spring from that pure mind and face, All waked my soul’s intensest care; Their forms, souls, feelings, still to me Creation’s strangest mystery! Who was the Second Spirit? he With the proud front anl piercing glance Who seemed when viewing heaven’s expanse, As though his far-sent eye could see On, on into th’ Immensity Behind the veils of that blue sky, Where ALLA’S grandest secrets lie?His wings, the while, though day was gone, Flashing with many a various hue Of light they from themselves alone, Instinct with Eden’s brightness, drew. ‘Twas RutBI-once among the prime And flower of those bright creatures, named Spirits of Knowledae,* who o’er Time And Space and Thought an empire claimed, Second alone to Him, whose light Was, even to theirs, as day to night; ‘Twixt whom and them was distance far And wide as would the journey be To reach from any island star The vague shores of Infinity! ‘Twas RuBi, in whose mournful eye Slept the dim light of days gone by; WVhose voice, though sweet, fell on the ear Like echoes, in some silent place, When first awaked for many a year; And when he smiled, if o’er his face Smile ever shone,‘twas like the grace Of moonlight rainbows, fair, but wan, The sunny life, the glory gone. Even o’er his pride, though still the same, A soft’ning shade from sorrow came; tnd though at times his spirit knew The kindlings of disdain and ire Short was the fitful glare they threwLike the last flashes, fierce but few, Seen through some noble pile on fire! It was my doom, even from the first, When witnessing the primal burst Of Nature’s wonders, I saw rise Those bright creations in the skiesThose worlds instinct with life and light, Which man, remote, but sees by nightIt was my doom still to be haunted By some new wonder, some sublime And matchless work, that, for the time Held all my soul, enchained, enchanted, And left me not a thought, a dream, A word, but on that only theme! Such was the Angel, who now broke The silence that had come o’er all, When he, the Spirit that last spoke, Closed the sad hist’ry of his fall; And, while a sacred lustre, flown For many a day, relumed his cheekBeautiful, as in days of old; And not those eloquent lips alone But every feature seemed to speakThus his eventful story told: The wish to know-that endless thirst, Which even by asienching is awaked, And which becomes or blest or curst, As is the fount whereat’tis slakedStill urged me onward, with desire Insatiate, to explore, inquireWhate’er the wond(rous things might be, Thiat waked each new i!dolatry, Their cause, aimi, scutrce, wlhence-ever sprung_ * The Kerubiim, as the Mussulmans call them, are often aoined indiscriminately with the Asrafil or Seraphim, uinder one common name of Azazil, by which all spirits who apiroach near the throne of Alla are designated. I I 17.‘j SECOND ANGEL’S grORY.

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174 TilE MIRROR LIBRARY. To earth, to earth each thought was given, That in this half-lost soul had birth; Like some high mount, whose head’s in heaven. While its whole shadow rests on earth! Oh what a vision were the stars, When first I saw them burn on high, Rolling along, like living cars Of light, for gods to journey by!* They were my heart’s first passiondays And nights, unwearied, in their rays Have I hung floating, till each sense Seemed full of their bright influence. Innocent joy! alas, how much Of misery had I shunned below, Could I have still lived blest with such; Nor, proud and restless burned to know The knowledge that brinHs guilt and wo.

Often so much I loved to trace The secrets of this starry raceHave I at morn and evcning run Along the lines of radiance spun Like webs, between them and the sun, Untwistirg all the tangled ties Of light into their different diesThen fleetly winged I off, in quest Of those, the farthest, loneliest, That watch, like winking sentinels,O The void, beyond which Chaos dwells; And there, with noiseless plume, pursued Their track through that grand solitude, Asking intently all and each What soul within their radiance dwelt, And wishing their sweet light were speech, That they might tell me all they felt. Nor was it Love, even yet, that thralled My spirit in his burning lies; And less, still less -ould it be called That grosser fla e, round which Love fRies Nearer and nhear, t ill he diesNo, it was wonder,, ch as thrilled At all God’s works my dazzled sense; The same rapt wonder, only filled With passion, more profound, intenseA vehement, but wandering fire, Which, though nor love, nor yet desireThough through all womankind it took Its range, as lawless lightnings run, Yet wanted but a touch, a look, To fix it burning upon Onie. Then, too, the ever-restless zeal, Th’ insatiate curiosity To know how shapes, so fair, must feetTo look, but once, beneath the seal Of so much loveliness, and see What souls belonged to such bright eyes Whether, as sunbeams find their way Into the gem that hidden lies, Those looks could inward turn their ray, And ma ke the soul as b right as they: All this impelled my anxious chase, And still the more I saw and knew, Of Woman’s fond, weak, conquering rae, Th’

intenser still my wonder grew. Nay, oft so passionate my chase Of these resplendent heirs of space, Oft did I follow-lest a ray Should’scape me in the farthest nightSome pilgrim Comet, on his way To visit distant shrines of light, And well remember how I sutng Exultingly, when on my sight New worlds of stars, all fresh and acung, As if just born of darkness, sprung P I had beleld their First, their EvE, Born in that splendid Paradise, Which sprung there solely to receive The first light of her waking eyes. I h a d s een purest angels lean In wor ship o’her her from above; And man oh yes, had envying seen Proud man possessed of’ all her love. I saw their happiness, so brief, So exquisite-her error, too, That easy trust, that prompt belief In what the warm heart wishes true; That faith in words, when kindly said, By which the whole fond sex is ledMingled with-what I durst not blame, For’tis my own-that zeal to know, Sad, fatal zeal, so sure of wo; Which, though from heaven all pure it came, Yet stained, misused, brought sin and shame On her, on me, on all below! Such was my pure ambition then, My sinless transport, night and morn; Ere yet this newer world of men, And that most fair of stars was born Which I, infatal hour saw rise Among the flowers of Paradise! Thenceforth my nature all was changed, My heart, soul, senses, turned below; And he, who but so lately ranged Yon wonderful expanse, where glow Worlds upon worlds-yet found his mind Even in that luminous range confinedNow blest the humblest, meanest sod Of the dark earth where Woman trod! In vain my former idols glistened From their far thrones; in vain these ears To the once-thrilling music listened, That hymned around my favorite spheres I had seen this; had seen Man, armed, As his soul is, with strength and sense, By her first words to ruin charmed; His vaunted reason’s cold defence, Like an ice-barrier in the ray Of melting summer, smiled away. Nay, stranger yet, spite of all this Though by her counsels taught to err, Though driven from Paradise for her, (And with her-that, at least, was bliss), Had I not heard him, ere he crost The threshold of that earthly heaven, Which by her wildering smile he lost So quickly was the wrong forgiven I Had I not heart him, as he prest The frail, fond trembler to a breast Which she had doomed to sin and strife, Call her-even then-his Life! his Life Yes, such the love-taught name, the first, That ruined Man to Woman gave, * “C’est un fait indubitable que la plupart des anciens phil. sophes, soit Chaldeers, soit Grecs, nous ont donne les astres flomme animes, et ont soutenu que les astres, qui nous eclairent, n’etoient que ou les chars, ou mime les navires, des Intelligences qui les conduisoient. Pour les Chars, cela se lit partout; on n’a qu’ouvrir Pline, St. Clement,” &c., &c.-Me.

moire Historique, sur le Sabiisme, par M. FOURMONT. A be’ief tbht the stars are eith.er sprits o: the vehicles of spirits, was common to all the religions and heresies of the Past. Kircher has given the names and stations of the seven archangels, who were by the Cabala of the Jews distributed through the planets. t According to the cosmogony of the ancient Persians, there were four stars set as sentinels in the four quarters of the ~eavens, to watch over the other fixed stars, and superintend he planets in their course. The names of these four sentinel .tars are, according to the Boiiidesh, Taschter, for the east; ::,’,vis, for the west; Venand, fi,r the soulth;,,,,d II-aftorang, tstr the no(,rth.

* Chavah, or, as it is in Arabic, ITfavah (the name by whfct Adam called thie woman after their transgression), means t’ Life.” 174 THE MIRROR

LIBRARY. Their inmost powers, as thou,-h for me Existence on that knowledge hung.

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THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. I i Even in his outcast hour, when curst By her fond witchery, with that worst And earliest boon of love, the grave I Slie, who brought death into the worl(l, There stood before him, with the light Of their lost Paradise still bright Upon those sunny locks, that curled Down her white shoulders to her feetSo beautiful in form, so sweet In heart and voice, as to redeem The loss, the death of all things dear, Except herself-and make it seem Life, endless Life, while she was near I Could I help wondering at a creature, Thus circled round with spells so strong-T One, to whose ev’ry thought, word, feature, In joy and wo, through right and wrong, Such sweet omnipotence Heaven gave, To bless or ruin, curse or save? Enough to make even them more fairBut’twas the Mind, outshining clear Through her whole frame-the soul, still near, To l ight each charm, y et ind ependent Of what it lighted, as the sun That shines on flowers, would be resplendent Were there no flowers to shine upon’Twas this, all this, in one combined Th’ unnumbered looks and arts that form The glory of young woman-kind, Taken, in their perfection, warm, Ere time had chilled a single charm, And stamped with such a seal of Mind, As gave to beauties, that might be Too sensual else, too unrefined, The impress of Divinity. Nor did the marvel cease with her New Eves in all her daughters came, As strong to charm, as weak to err, As sure of man through praise and blame, Whate’er they brought him, pride or shame, He still th’

unreasoning worshipper, And they, throughout all time, the same, Enchantresses of soul and frame Into whose hands, from first to last, This world with all its destinies, Devotedly by Heaven seems cast, To save or ruin, as they please! Oh,‘tis not to be told how long,, How restlessly I sighed to find Some one, from out that witching throng, Some abstract of the form and mind Of the whole matchless sex, from which In my own arms beheld, possest, I might learn all the powers to witch, To warm, and (if my fate unblest Would have it) ruin, of the rest! Into whose inward soul and sense I might descend, as doth the bee Into the flower’s deep heart, and thence Rifle, in all its purity, The prime, the quintessence, the whole Of wondrous Woman’s frame and soul! ‘Twas this-a union, which the hand Of Nature kept for her alone, Of everything most playful, bland, Voluptuous, spiritual, grand, In angel-natures and her ownOh this it wa s that d rew me nigh One, who seemed kin to heaven as 1, A bright twin-sister from on highOne, in whose love, I felt, were given The mixed delights of either sphere, All that the spirit seeks in heaven, And all the senses burn for here. At length, my burning wish, my prayer-T (For suc-oh what will tongues not dare, When hearts go wrong?-this lip preferred)At length my ominous prayer was heardBut whether heard in heaven or hell, Listen-and thou wilt know too well. From the first hour she caught my sight, I never left her-day and night Hovering unseen around her way, And’mid her loneliest musings near, I soon could track each thought that lay, Gleaming within her heart, as clear As pebbles within brooks appear; And there, among the countless things That keep young hearts for ever glowing, Vague wishes, fond imaginings, Love-dreams, as yet no object knowingLight, winged hopes, that come when bid, And rainbow joys that end in weeping; And passions, among pure thoughts hid, Like serpents under flowerets sleeping: ‘Mong all these feelings-felt where’er Young hearts are beating-I saw there Proud thoughts, aspirings high-beyond Whate’er yet dwelt in soul so fondGlimpses of glory, far away Into the bright, vague future given; And fancies, free and grand, whose play, Like that of eaglets, is near heaven! With this, too-what a soul and heart To fall beneath the tempter’s art!A zeal for knowledge, such as ne’er Enshrined itself in form so fair, Since that first, fatal hour, when Eve, With every fruit of Eden blest, Save one alone-rather than leave That one unreached, lost all the rest. There was a maid, of all who move Like visions o’er this orb, most fit To be a bright young angel’s love, Herself so bright, so exquisite! The pride, too, of her step, as light Along th’ unconscious earth she went, Seemed that of one, born with a right To walk some heavenlier element, And tread in places where her feet A star at every step should meet. ‘Twas not alone that loveliness By which the wildered sense is caughtOf lips, whose very breath could bless; Of playful blushes, that seemed naught But luminous escapes of thought; Of eyes that, when by anger stirred, Were fire itself, but, at a word Of tenderness, all soft became As thoug,h they coud, like the sun’s bird, Dissolve away in their own flameOf form, as pliant as the shoots Of a young tree, in vernal flower; Yet round and glowing as the fruits, That drop fioin it in summer’s hour; ‘Twas not alone this loveliness That falls to loveliest woman’s shabCmr Though, even here, her form could spare From its own beauty’s rich exceA THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. 1 7 -,-i Had we-but hold-hear every part Of our sad tale-spite of the pain Remembrance gives, when the fixed dart Is stirred thus in the wound againHear every step, so full of bliss, And yet so ruinous, that led Down to the last, dark precipice, Where perished both-the fallen, the dead I It was in dreams that fij-st I stole, Wich gei-itle mastery o’er’.ier n, ’.ndIn that rich twilierht of the soul, When reason’s beam, half hid behind The clouds of’ sleep, obscurely gilds Each shadowy shape the Fancy buildq’Twas then, bv that soft light, I brought Va!,-ue, glimmery visions to her view;Catches of radiance, lost When caught, Bri-ht I,-tl)vrinths. to nriiibt, Ar(-l vist,i,, witii r,o 1),,t,iway tlirou,,-n

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T’HE MIRROR LIBRARY. Dwellings of bliss, that opening shone, Then closed, dissolved, and left no trace-W All that, in short, could templ)t Hope on, But give her wing no resting-place; Myself the while, with brow, as yet, Pure as the young moon’s coronet, Through every dream still in her sight, Th’ enchaiiter of eachl mocking scene, Who gave the hope, then brought the blight, Who said,‘Behold, yon world of light,’ Then sulden dropt a veil between! At length, whlen I p)erceived each thought,s Waking oi sleeping, fixed en naught But these illusive scenes, and meThe phantom, who thus came and wen’ In half revealments only meant To madden curiosityWhen by such various arts I found Her fancy to its lti-ost wound, One night-‘twas in a holy spot, Which she for prayer ha.d chose-a grot Of purest marnble, built below Her garden beds, through which a glow From lamps invisible then stole, Brightly pervading all the placeLike that mysterious light, the soul, Itself unseen, sheds through the face. There, at her altar, while she knelt, And all that woman ever felt, When God and man both claimed her sighsEvery warm thought, that ever dwelt, Like summer clouds,‘twixt earth and skies, Too pure to fall, too gross to rise, Spoke in her gestures, tones, and eyesThen, as the mystic light’s soft ray Grew softer still, as though its ray Was breathed from her, I heard her say: Till, startled by the br eathing, nigh, Of lips, that e choed b ack her sigh, Sudden her brow again she raised: And there, just lighted on the shrine, Beheld me-n ot as I had blazed Around he r, full of light divine, In her late dreams, but softened down Into more mortal grace;-my crown Of flowers, too radiant for this world, Left hanging on yon starry steep; My wings shut up, like banners furled, When Peace hath put their pomp to sleep Or like autumnal clouds, that keep Their lightnings sheathed, rather than mar The dawning hour of some young star; And nothing left, but what beseemed Thl’ accessible, though glorious mate Of mortal woman-whose eyes beamed Back upon hers, as passionate; Whose ready heart brought flame for flame, Whose sin, whose madness was the same; And whose soul lost, in that one hour, For her and for her love-oh more Of heaven’s light than even the power Of heaven itself could now restore I Wonderful Spirit, who dost make Slumber so lovely that it seems No longer life to live awake, Since heaven itself descends in dreams, The Spirit here Stopped in his utterance, as if words Gave way beneath the wild career & Of his then rushing thoughtslike chords, Midway in some enthusiast’s song, Breaking beneath a touch too strong; While the clenched hand upon the brow Told how remembrance throbbed there now! But soon’twas o’er-tha t casual blaze From the sunk fire of other daysThat relic of a flame, whose burning Had been too fierce to be relumed, Soon passed away, and the youth, turning To his bright listeners, thus resumed: Why do I ever lose thee? why, When on thy realms and thee I gaze, Still drops that veil, which I could die, Oh gladly, but one hour to raise? Long ere such miracles as thou And thine came o’er my thoughts, a thirst For light was in this soul, which now Thy looks have into passion nursed. Th ere’s nothing bright above, below, In sky-earth-ocean, that this breast, Doth not intensely burn to know, And thee, thee, thee, o’er all the rest! “Days, months elapsed, and though what most On earth I sighed for was mine, allYet-was I happy? God, thou know’st, Howe’er they smile, and feign, and boast, What happiness is theirs, who fall! Twas bitterest anguish-made more keen – Even by the love, the bliss, between Whose throbs it came, like gleams of hell In agonizing croswlight given Athwart the glimpses, they who dwell In purgatory* catch of heaven I Th en come, oh Spirit, from behind The curtains of thy radiant home, rI thou wouldst be as angel stirned, Or loved and clasped as mortal, come! Bring all thy dazzling wonders here, That I may, waking, know and see; Or waft me hence to thy own sphere Thy heaven or-ay, even that with thee I * Called by the Mussulmans Al Araf-a sort of wall or pma tition which, according to the 7th chapter of the Koran, sep rates hell from paradise, and where they, who have not merits sufficient to gain them immediate admittance into heaven are supposed to stand for a certain period, alternately tanta lized and tormented by the sights that arre on either side presented to them. Manes, who borrowed in many instances from the Platonists placed his plirgatories, or places of purification in the Sun and IMoon.-lBeaus(obre, liv. iii., chap. 8. By those ethereal wines, whose way Lies throughl an element, so fraught With living Mn that, ts they play, Ther every movement is a thought! I .,76 By that bright, wreathed hair, between Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind Of Paradise so late hath been, And left its fragrant soul behind! By those impassioned eyes, that m’elt Their light into the inmost heart: Like sunset in the waters, felt As molten fire through every part I do implore thee, oh most bright And worshipped Spirit, shine but o’er My waking, wondering eyes this night, This one blest night-I ask no more.-‘

Exhausted, breathless, as she said These burning words, her languid head Upon the altar’s steps she cast, As if that brain-throb were its last I Oh idol of my dreams, whate’er Thy nature be-human, divine, Or but half heavenlytill too fair, Too heavenly to be ever mine! And yet, that hour!”.

Demon or God, who hold’st thi,- book Of knowledge spread beneath thine eye, Give me, with thee, but one bri,-ht look Into its leaves, and let me die!

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THE LOVES OF THIE ANGELS. The only feelini that to me Seemed joy-or ralthler niy sole rest Fromr achling mi:ery was to see Sy young, o proui, blooming ILILIS blest. She, the fitir fountain of all ill To my lost seoll-whom -et its thirst Feri-iily pante(d after still, And founl the clharme fresh as at firstTo see her happy-to refle ct Whaitever beams still round me played Of former pride, of glory awreckedl, On her, nmy Moon, w hose light I made, And whose soul worshipped even my shadeThis was, I own, enjoyment-thisA My sole, last linaerin glinmpse of bliss. And proud she was, fair creature!-proud, Bey-ond what even most queenly stirs In woman’s heart, nor would lhave bowed That beautifiul young brow of hers To aught beneath the First above, So high she deemed her Chlerub’s love!

But not alone the wonders found Through Nature’s realm-th’ unveiled, material, Visible glories, that abound, Through all her vast, enchanted ground But whatsoe’er unseen, ethereal, Dwells far away from human sense, Wrapped in its own intelligence T he mystery of that Fountain-hea d, From which all vital spirit r uns, All breath of Life, wihere’er tis spread Through men or angels, flowers or sunsThe workings of th’ Al mighty Mind, When first o’er Chaos he designed The outlines of t his w orld; and through That f epth o f darkness-ilie the bow, Called out of rain-clouds, hue by hue-t Saw the grand, gradual picture grow; The covenant wt ith human kind By ALLA rnade+-the chains of Fate He round himself.an(i them hath twined, Till his hi gh tmske lhe consummateh Till good fi-omn evil, love from hate, Shall be worrked out through sin and pain, Arid Fate shall loose her iron chain, Anid all be fr-ee, be briglit again! SuchI wsrere the (deep-(drawn mysteries, Arid s(omne, ev-en more obscure, profound, And wilderini to the mind than these, Which-fair as woma,n’s thought could sound, Or a fallen, outlawed spirit reachShe dared to ]earn, and I to teach. Till-filled with such unearttly lore, And niingling the pure light it brings With much that fancy had, before, Shed in false, teinted glimmeringsTh’ enthusiast girl spoke out, as one Inspired, among her own dark race, Who from their ancient shrines would run, Leaving their holy rites undone, To gaze upon her holier face. And, though but wild the things she spoke, Yet,‘mid that play of error’s smoke Into fair shapes by fancy curled, Some gleams of pure religion brokeGlimpses, that have not yet awoke, But startled the still-dreaming world! Oh, many a truth, remote, sublime, Which Heaven would from the minds of men Have kept concealed, till its own time, Stole out in these revealments thenRevealments dim, that have forerun, By aged,‘he great Sealing One!

Like that imperfect dawn, or light~ F,scaping from the Zodiac’s signs, Which makes the doubtful east half bright, Before the real morning shines!

Thus did some moons of bliss go by Of bliss to her, who saw but love And knowledge throughout earth and sky; To whose enamored soul and eye, I seemed-as is the sun on high The light of all belo~w, above Then, too, that passion, hourly growing Stronger and stronger-to which even Her love, at times, gave way of knowing Everything strange in earth and heaven; Not only all that, full revealed, Th’ eternal ALLA loves to show, But all that He hath wisely sealed In darkness, for man not to knowEven this desire, alas! ill-starred And fatal as it was, I sought To feed each minute, and unbarred Such realms of wondler on her thought, As ne’er, till then, had let their light Escape on any mortal’s sight! In the deep earth-beneath the sea Through caves of fire-through wilds of airWherever sleeping Mystery Had spread her curtain, we were thereLove still beside us, as we went, At home in each new element, And sure of worship everywhere! Then first was Nature taught to lay The wealth of all her kingdoms down At woman’s worshipped feet, and say, Bright creature, this is all thine own!’

Then first were diamonds, from the nights Of earth’s deep centre brouzht to light, And made to grace the conquering way Of proud young, beauty with their ray. Then, too, the pearl from out its shell Unsightly, in the sunless sea, (As’twere a spirit, forced to dwell In form unlovsely) wa s set free, And round the neck of woman threw A light it lent and borrowed too. For never did this maid whate’er Th’ ambition of the hour-forget Her sex’s pride in being fair; Nor that adornment, tasteful, rare, Which makes the mighty magnet, set In Woman’s form, more mighty yet. Nor was there aught within the range Of my swif wing in sea or air,’ Of beautiful, or grand, or strange, That, quicely as her wish could change, I dil not seek, with such fond care, * I am aware that this happy saying of Lord Albemarele’ loses much of its grace and playfulness, by being put into the mouth of anv but a human lover. t According to Whitehurst’s theory, the mention of rainbows by an antediluvian angel is an anachronism; as he says, “1 There was no rain before the flood, and consequently no rainbow, which accounts for the novelty of this sight after the Delti,-e.11 t For the terms of this compact, of which the angels were supposed to be witnesses, see the chapter of the Koran, entitled Al Araf, andl the article “1 Adam” in D’Herbelot. 11 In aeknowledg,nab trte authority of the great Prophets who Iha precle(d Vir.l, MTahomet represented his own mission as tlh fil’,l a – se,,’ or consummation of them all. l TIt,e Zo Tiae’,ight. *;’ Quelques gnomes desireux de devenir immortels, avoient voulu gagner les bonnes graces des nos filles, et leur avoient apporte des pierreries dont ils sont gardiens naturels: et ces I auteurs ont cru, s’appuyans sur le livre d’Enoch mal-entendu, que c‘6toient des pieges que les anges amoureux,” &c., &c.- Comte de GC(ibalis. As the fiction of the loves of angels with women gave birth to the fanciful wcrld of sylphs and gnomes, so we owe to it also the invention of those beautiful Genii and Peris, which embellish so mudcl the mythology of the Fast; for in the fabulous histories of Caltiimarath, of Thainutlralt, &c., these spir- itual creatures are always represented as the descendants of Path, and called the Bani A1lg-‘nn, or children of Giann. I 17-i That when I’ve seen her look above At some bright star admiringly, I’ve said, I Nay, look not there, my love,41 Alas, I can not give it thee!’

Page 178 view page image i7 THE MIRROR LIBRARY The spirit of sea, and land, and air, Whose influence, felt everywhere, Spread from its centre, her own heart, Even to the world’s extremest part; While through that world her reinless mind Had now careered so fast and far, That earth itself seemed left behind, And her proud fancy, uneonfined, Already saw Reaven’s gates ajar! And those wings fitrled, whose open light For mortal gaze were else too brightI first had stood before her sight, And found myself-oh, ecstasy, Which even in pain I ne’er forgetWorshipped as only God should be, And loved as never man was yet! In that same garden were we now, Thoughtfully side by side reclining, Her eyes turned upward, and her brow With its own silent fancies shining. Happy enthusiast! still, oh stillSpite of my own heart’s mortal chlill, Spite of that double-fronted sorrow, Which looks at once before and back, Beholds the yesterday, the morrow, And sees both comfortless, both blackSpite of all this, I could have still In her delight forgot all ill; Or, if pain woztld not be forgot, At least have borne and murmured not. When thoughts of an offended Heaven, Of sinfulness, which I-even I, While down its steep most headlong drivenWell knew could never be forgiven, Came o’er me with an agony Beyond all reach of mortal woA torture kept for those who know, Know every thing, and-worst of allKnow and love Virtue while they fall! Even then, her presence had the power To sooth, to warm-nay, even to bless  If ever bliss could graft its flower, On stemin so full of bitternessEven then her glorious smile to me Broug,ht warmth and radiance, if not balm; Like m onlight o’er a troubled sea Brigi tening the storm it can not calm. It txt an evening b righ t an d still As ever blushed on wave or bower, Snmiling friom heaven, as if naught ill Could happen in so sweet an hour. Yet, I rempember, both grew sad In looking at that light-even she, Of heart so fiesh, and brow so glad, Felt the still hour’s solemnity, And thought she saw, in that repose, The death-hour not alone of light, But of this whole {air world-the close Of all things beautiful and brightThe last, grand sunset, in whose ray Nature herself died calm away! ‘ I had, last night, a dream of thee, Resembling those divine ones, given, Like preludes to sweet minstrelsey, Before thou cam’st thyself from heaven. Oft, too, when that disheartening fear, Which all who love, beneath yon sky, Feel, when they gaze on what is dear The dreadful thought that it must die! That desolating thought, which comes Into men’s happiest hours and homes; Whose melancholy boding flings Death’s shadow o’er the brightest things, Sicklies the infant’s bloom, and spreads The grave beneath youting lovers’

heads! This fear, so sad to all-to me Most fcull of sadness, from the thought That I must still live on,* when she Would, like the snow that on the sea Fell yesterday, in vain be sought; That Heaven to me this final seal Of all earth’s sorrow would deny, And I eternally must feel The death-pang, without power to die! Even this, her fond endearments-fond As ever cherished the sweet bond ‘Twixt heart and heart-could charm away; Before her look no clouds would stay, Or, if they did, their gloom was gone, Their darkness put a glory on! But’tis not,‘tis not for the wrong, The guilty, to be happy long; And she, too, now, had sunk within The shadow of her tempter’s sin, Too deep for even Omnipotence To snatch the fated victim thence! The same rich wreath was o n th y brow, Dazzling as if of starlight made; And these wings, lying darkly now, Like meteors round thee flashed and playeo. Thou stoodst all bright, as in those dreams, As if just wafted from above; Mingling earth’s warmth with heaven’s beam4 A creature to adore and love. Suddel I fe lt th ee draw me near To thy pure heart, where, fondly placed, I seemed witihin the atmosphere Of that exhaling light embraced; Listen, and, if a tear there be Left in your hearts, weep it for me. ‘Twas on the evening of a day, Which we in love had dreamed away; In that same garden, where -the pride Of seraph splendor laid aside, Thinkst thou, were LTrLIs in thy place, A creatur ofy on lofty skies, She wouild’ havre hid one sin!le grace One glory from her lover’s eyes? * Pococke, however, gives it as the opinion of the Mahom. an doetors, that all souls, not only of men and of animals, li’ing either on land or in the sea, but of the angels alo, must Qecessar’ly taste of death. I iII II Ii 178 THE MIRROR LIBRARY At length, as tbough some livelier thougle. Had suddenly l,er faicy caught, Slie turnd upon me her dark eyes, D’Iated into that full shape They took in joy, reproach, surprise, As’twere to let more soul escape, And, playfully as on my head Her white hand rested, smiled and said: And felt, methought, thl ethereal flame Pass from thy purer soul to mine; Till-oli, too blissful-I became, Lilie thee, all spirit, all divine I Say, wliy did dre,-tm so blest come o’er me, If, now I w,,ike,‘tis faded, gone? V,hen will my Clierub shine before me Tlyiis raditnt, -,is in heaven he shone?

AVIien sliali r, waking, be allo-wed To gaze upon those perfect charms, And el.-tsl) tbee once, without a cloud, A chill of earth, within these arms? Oh what a pride to say, this, this Is my own Angel-all divine, And pure, and dazzling as he is, And fresh from heaven-he’s mines he’s miue ‘o, iio-tlien, iC tlioii lov’st like me, Sl,iiiie otit, yoiing in the blaze

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THE LOVES OF’FIlE ANGELS. Of thy most proud divinity, Nor think thlou’lt wound this mortal gaze. Too long and oft I’ve looked upon Those ardent eyes, intense even thusToo near the stars themselves have gone, Tl’o fear aught grand or luminous. Then doubt me notch, whlo can say Bit that this dreanm many nyet come true, Anti my blest spirit drink thy ray, Till it l’ecomes a’.! lieavenly t(;o? Let me thii oi 0e bu,t feel the flame Of those si)nca,!t winil, the very pride \Will change imy nature, and this frame By the Iimere touch be dleified!’ Thus having-as, alas, deceived By my sin’s blindness, I believed No cause for dread, and those dark eyes Now fixed upon me, eagerly As though’l th’ unlocking of the skies Then waited but a sign from meHow could I pause? how even let fall A word, a whisper that could stir, In her proud heart a doubt, that all I brought from heaven belongced to her. Slow from her side I rose, while she Arose, too, muittely, tremblingly. PBut not with fear-all hope and pride, She waited for the awful boon, Bilie p,-iestesses, at eventide, W~atching the rise of the fill moon, Whose light, when once its orb hath shone, ‘Twill madden them to look upon! Thi,s sioke the maid, as one not used o 1 bb ealirth or heaven refused As Co e, ail.ho knew Iher inflitnce o’er All creitures, whatsoe’er they were, A,il, though to heaven she couldi not soar, At least would bring down heaven to her. Lfittle d(i,l shle, als, or I Even I, whose soul, but half-way yet [,,imecr’ed in siln’s obscurity WVas as the eartli whliereon we lie, O’er half whose disk the sun is set Little (lid we fi-resee the fate, The dreadful-how can it be told? Each pain, such anguish to relate Is o’er again to feel, behold! But, chargel as’tis, Iny heart must speak Its sorrow out, or it will break! Some dark misgivings had, I own, Passed for a moment through my breast Fears of some danger, vague, unknown, To one, or both-something unblest To happen from this proud request. But soon these boding fancies fled; Nor saw I aught that could forbid My full revealment, save the dread Of that first dazzle, when, unhid, Such light should burst upon a lid Ne’er tried in heaven; and even this glare She might by love’s own nursing care, Be, like you  eddyes, taught to bear. For well I klnier, the lustre shed From cherub wings, when proudliest spread, WNras, in its nature, lambent, pure, And innocent as is the light Fhlie glow-worm hangs out to allure Her mate to her green bower at night. Oft had I in the mid-air, swept Throuah clouds in which the lightning slept, As in its lair, ready to spring, Yet waked it not-though from mv wing A thousan(d sparks fell zlittering! Oft too when round me from above The feathered snow, in all its whiteness, Fell like the inoultings of heaven’s Dove-4′ So harmless, though-so full of brightness, Was my brow’s wreath, that it would shake From off its flowers each downy flake A s d e lica te, untmelted, fair, And cool as tney had lighted there. Of all my glories, the bright crown, Which, when I last from heaven came down, Was left behind me, in yon star That shines from out those clouds afar Where, relic sa(l,‘tis treasured yet, The downfallen angel’s coronet! Of all my glories, this alone Was wanting: but th’

illumin’d brow, The sun-bri,ht locks, the eyes that now Had love’s spell added to their own, And poured a light till then unknown; Th’ unfolded wings, that, in their play, Shed sparkles bright as ALLA’s throne; All I could bring of heaven’s array, Of that rich panoply of charms A Cherub moves in, on the day Of his best pomp, I now put on; And, proud that in her eves I shone Thus glorious, glided to her arms; Which still (though, at a sight so splendid, Her dazzled brow had, instantly, Sunk on her breast) were wide extended To clasp the form she durst not see!* Great Heaven! how could thy vengeance ligb !So bitterly on one so bright? How could the hand, that gave such charms, Blast them again in love’s own arms? Scarce had I touched her shrinking frame When-oh most horrible! I felt That every spark of that pure flame Pure, while among the stars I dwelt Was now, by my transgressions, turned Into gross, earthly fire, which burned, Burned all it touched, as fast as eye Could follow the fierce, ravening flashes; Till there-oh God, I still ask why Such doom was hers? I saw her lie Blackening within my arms to ashes! That brow, a glory but to seem Those lips, whose touch was what the first Fr esh cup of immortality Is to a new-made angel’s thirst! Those clasping arms, within whose round My heart’s horizon-the whole bound Of its hope, proslect, heaven was found! Which, eve:- n this dread moment, fond As when they first were round me caste Loosed not in death the fatal bond, But, burning, held me to the last! All, all, that, but that morn, had seemed As if Love’s self there breathed and beamed Nar ever w ith LrLrs-had I not Around her sleep all radiant beamed, I The Dove, or pigeon which attended Mahomet as his Fa- My heart’s horizon-the wh ole bound ‘nilirr, and was frequently seen to whisper Of its hope, prose, heaver, was found! f I recollect right, one of that select number of animals (inltludi,;ng also the ant of Solomon, the dog of the Seven Sleep- ers, &c.), which were thought by the Prophet worthy of ad- As when the first were round me cast m’ssion into Paradise. Loosed not in death the fatal bond, ‘ rhe MIoslems have a tradition that Mahomet was saved But burning held me to the last (wheli he hid himself in a cave in Mount Shur) by his pursu All, all, that, but that morn, had seemed As if Love’s self there breateadbeee ers finding the mouth of the cave covered by a spider’s web, As if Love’s self there breathed and beamed ait a iest bulIt by two pigeons at the entrance.

w;itht two eggs intblr-‘Aen in it, whi!}, made them think no one could(l hav e en- bl t.er,d it. In consequnteeof hsthis, Iaomtnin1. Moh ammed rsays Sale,]thoughaprophet,wasnt e his. followe rs to loo’s upon pigeons as sacred, and( never to’ill to bear the sight of Gabriel, when he appeared in his proper a pid.tier ” f,decrt Universal History, vol. i.

form, muchI less would tne’s be able to si,wort it, i i 11 ii I i I 9

.Httng o’er her slumbers, nor for,-ot l’o kiss her eyelids, as she dreamed? And vet, at morn, from that repose, Hd she not waked, unscathed and bright, As doth the pure, unconscious rose, Though by the firefly kissed all night.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Now, parched and black, before me lay, Withering in agony away; And mine, oh misery! mine the flame, From which this desolation came; I, the curst spirit, whose caress Had blasted all that loveliness! Played in those plumes, that never more To their lost home in heaven must soar, Breathed inwardly the voiceless prayer, Unheard by all but Mercy’s earAnd which if Mercy did Slot hear, Oh, God would?iot be what this bright And glorious univers? of his, This world of beauty, goodness, light, And endless love, proclainms he is! Not long they knelt, when, from a wood That crowned that airy solitude, They heard a low, uncertain sound, As from a lute, that just had found Some hapl)y theme, and murmured round The new-borrn fancy, with fond tone, Scarce thinking aught so sweet its own! Till soon a voice, that matched as well Tlhat gentle instrument, as suits The sea-air toin (,cean-slhell (So kin its spirit to the lute’s), Tremblingly followed the soft strain, Interpreting,, its joy, its pain, And lending the light wings of words To many a thought, that else had lain Unfledged antl mute among the chords. ‘Twas maddening! but now hear even worseHad death, death only, been the curse I brought upon her-lihad the doom But ended here, when her young bloom Lay in the dust-and did the spirit No part of that fell curse inherit, ‘Twere not so dreadful-but, come nearToo shocking’tis for earth to hearJust when her eyes, in fading, took Their last, keen, agonized farewell, And l ook ed in mine with-o h, that look! Great v engeful Power, whate’er the hell Thou mpyst to human souls assign, The memory of that look is mine! In her last struggle, on my brow Her ashy lips a kiss imprest, So withering!-I feel it now’Twas fire-but fire, even more unblest Than was my own, and like that flame, The angels shudder but to name, Hell’s everlasting element! Deep, deep it pierced into my brain, Madd’ning and torturing as it went; And here-mark here, the brand, the stain It left upon my front-burnt in By that last kiss of love and sinA brand, which all the pomp and pride Of a fallen Spirit can not hide! All started at the sound-but chief The third youn< A ngel, in whose face, Though failed like the others, grief Ha( leit a gentler, holier trace; As if, even yet, through pain and ill, Hope had not fled him-as if still Her precious pearl, in sorrow's cup, Unmelted at the bottom lay, To shine again, when, all drunk up, The bitterness should pass away. Chiefly did he, though in his eyes There shone more pleasure than surprise, Turn to the wood, from whence that sound Of solitary sweetness broke; Then, listening, look delighted round To his bright peers, while thus it spoke"Come, pray with me, my seraph love, My angel-lord, come pray with me; In vain to-night my lip hath strove To send one holy prayer aboveThe knee may bend, the lip may move, But pray I can not, without'thee' I've fed the altar in my bower With droppings from the incense-tree; I've sheltered it from wind and shower, But dim it burns the livelong hour, As if, like me, it had no power Of life or lustre, without thee! But is it thus, dread Providence Can it, indeed, be thus, that she, Who (but for one proud, fond offence) Had honored heaven itself, should be Now doomed-I can not speak it-no, Merciful ATLLA!'tis not soNever could lips divine have said The fiat of a fate so dread.' And yet, that look-so deeply fraught With more than anguish, with despairThat new, fierce fire, resembling naught In heaven or earth-this scorch I bear!Oh-for the first time that these knees Have bent before thee since my fall, Great Power, if ever thy decrees Thou couldst for prayer like mine recall, Pardon that spirit, and on me, On me, who taught her pride to err, Shed out each drop of agony Thy burning vial keeps for her! See, too, where low beside me kneel Two other outcasts, who, though gone And lost themselves, yet dare to feel And pray for that poor mortal one. Alas! too well, too well they knowI The pain, the penitence, the wo That Passion brings upon the best, The wisest, and the loveliest. Oh, who is to be saved, if such Bright, erring souls are not forgiven; So loath they wander, and so much Their very wand'rings lean toward heaven W Again, I cry, Just Power, transfer That creature's sufferings all to me Mine, mine the guilt, the torment be, ro save one minute's pain to her, Let nine last all eternity!" The song had ceased when, from the wood Which, sweeping down that airy height, Reached the lone spot whereon they stood There suddenly shone out a light From a clear lamp, wlich, as it blazed Across the brow of one, who raised Its flame aloft (as if to throw The light upon that grouip below), Displayed two eyees, sparkling between The dusky leaves, such as are seen By fancy only, in those flees, That haunt a ipoet's walk at even, Lookin- from out their leafy places Upon his dreams of love and heaven. He paused, and to the earth bent down His throbbing head; while they, who felt That agony as'twere their own, Those angel youths, beside him knelt, And, in the night's still silence there, While mournfully each wand'ring air I I I 180 A boat at midnight sent alone To drift upou the moonless sea, A lute, whose leading enord is gone, A wounded bird, that hath but one Imperfect wing to soar upon, Are like what I am, without tbee! Then neler, my spirit-love, divide, In life or death, tfiyself from me; But when a-ain, in sunny pride, Thou walkst through Eden, let me glide, A prostrate shadow, by thy side Oh happier thus than without thee!91,

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THE LOVES OF THE ANGELS. ‘Twas but a moment-the blush, brought O’er all her features at the thought Of being seen thus, late, alone, By any but the eyes she sought, Had scarcely for an instant shone Through the dark leaves when she was goneGone, like a meteor that o’erhead Sudidenly shines, and, ere we’ve said, “Behold, how beautiful!”-‘tis fled. Their rank, their honors, far above Even those to high-broewed Cherubs given, Though know in g all;-so much doth love Transcend all Knowledge, even in heaven! ‘Mong these was ZARAPH once-and none E’er felt affection’s holy fire, Or yearned towar d th’ Eternal One, With half such longing, deep desire. Love was to his im passion ed soul Not, as with others, a mere part Of its existence, but the whol e The very life-breath of his heart!

Oft, when from ALLA’S lifted br ow A lustre came, too bright to bear, And all the seraph ranks would bow, To shade their dazzled sight, nor dare To look upon tli’ effulgence there Th’ Spi’ it’s eves would court the blaze (Stich pride he in adoring took), And rather lose, in that one gaze, The power of looking, than not look! Then, too, when angel voices sung The mercy of their God, and strung Their harps to hail, with welcome sweet, That moment, watched for by all eyes, When some repentant sinner’s feet First touched the threshold of the skies, Oh then how clearly did the voice Of ZARAPH above all rejoice! Love was in every buoyant tone Such love, as only could belong To the blest angels, and alone Could, even from angels, bring such song I Yet, ere she went, the words, ” I come, I come, my NAAIA,” reached her ear, In that kind voice, familiar, dear, Which tells of confidence, of home Of habit, that hath drawn hearts near, Till they grow oie-.of ftitlh sincere, And all that Love most loves to hear; k rp 3ic, I eatl’ng o” the * ast, TRe pre-ent, and tile tire to he, Where Hope and Memory, to the last, Lengthen out life’s true harmony! Nor long did hlie, whom call so kind Summoned away, remain behind; Nor di d t her e need much time to tell What they-alas! more fallen than he From happiness and heaven knew well His gentler love’s short history! Thus did it run-not as he told The tale himself, but as’tis graved Upon the tablets that, of old, By SFTH* were from the deluge saved, All written over with sublime And sadd’ning legends of th’ unblest, But glorious Spirits of that time, And this young Angel’s’mong the rest. Alas, that it should e’er have been In heaven as’tis too often here, Where nothing fond or bi)right is seen, But it hath pain and peril near; Where right and wrong so close resemble, That what we take ibfor virtue’s thrill Is often the first downward tremble Of the heart’s balance unto ill; Where Love hath not a shrine so pure, So holy, but the serpent, Sin, In moments, even the most secure, Beneath his altar may glide in! AMONG. the Spirits, of pure flame, That in th’ eternal heavens abideCircles of light, that from the same Unclouded centre sweeping wide, Carry its beams on every sideLike spheres of air that waft around The undulations of rich sound, Till the far-circling radiance be Diflused into infinity! First and immediate near the Throne Of ALLA,F as if most his own, The Seraphs stands-this burning sign Traced on their banner, “Love divine!” So was it with that Angel-such The charm, that sloped his fall along, From good to ill, fro m loving much, Too easy lapse, to loving wrong. Even so that amorous Spirit, bound By beauty’s spell, where’er’twas found, From the bright things above the moon Down to earth’s beaming eyes descended T’ill love for the Creator soon In passion for the creature ended. Seth is a favorite personage among the Orientals, and acts a conspicuous part in many of their most extravagant romances. The Syrians pretended to have a Testament of this Patriarch in their possession, in which was explained the whole theology of angels, their different orders, &c., &c. The Curds, too (as Hyde mentions in his Appendix), have a book, which contains all the rites of their religion, and which they call Sohuph Sheit, or the Book of Seth. In the same manner that Seth and Cham are supposed to have preserved these memorials of antediluvian knowledge, Xixuthrus is said in Chaldean fable to have deposited in Siparis, the city of the Sun, those monuments of science which he had saved out of the waters of a deluge.-See Jablonski’s learned remarks upon these columns or tablets of Seth, which he supposes to be the same with the pillars of Mercury, or the Egyptian Thoth.-Pantheon. Egypt., lib. v., cap. 5. t The Musstimans, says DlHerbelot, apply the general name, M.ocarreboun, to all those spirits ”

qui approchent le plus pras le Tr,ne.” Of this number are Mikail and Gebrail. ; The *,ratplhim, or Spirits of D)ivine l,ove. ThlereX a?,’:))rs to are. aTnr,,ni wr:ters on the Past, as well as a,n’i t he (r -otlq itheemselves. con(isidfrihle indecision with r,gtric to( the r-p,ctio cl;mq fc grtph m and C oherubim to tple i t. rm’:;; the v’eti;l o!r.lrcl y. the derivation w hich ilyl ass eels to t1, u-or~ (Yhe:’,lt seems to (Tetermitie :beC prced?no:’~ i.. fiver of th:at ordleTHIRD

ANGEL’S STORY. ‘Twas first at twil,ht, on the shore Of the smooth sea, he heard the lute And voice of her he loved steal o’er The silver,%vaters, that lay mute, As loath, by even a breath, to stay The pilgrimage of that sweet lay, Whose echoes still went on and on, Till lost amon. the light that shone Far off, beyona’ the ocean’s brim Therf, where the rich cascade ofday Had, o’,er th’ horizon’s golden rim, Into Elysium rolled away!

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MIRROR LI Of God she sung, and of_heildAadthughte I Of God she sung, and of the mild Attendant lerey, that beside His awful th rone ifor eve r smiled, Ready, with her wlhite hand, to guide His bolts of vengeance to their preyThat she might quenich them on the way! Of Peace-of that Atonirg Love, Upon whose star, shining above This twilight world of hope and fear, The weeping eyes of Faith are aixc,l So fond, that with her eatery tear The light of that love-star is iiixed!All this she sung, and such a soul Of piety was in that song, That the charmed Angel,.is it stole Tenderly to his ear, alonz Those lulling w,aters wlh~ee lie la), Watching the dally lilt’>s d-ing ray, Thought’twas a voice f.:ll out the wave, An echo, that some sea-nym vh gave To Ecten’s distant harmiony, Heard faint and s,w.eet beneath the sea! And, though the Spirit had transgressed Had, from his station’mong the blest Won down by woman’s smile, allowed Terrestrial passion to breathe o’er The mirror of his heart, and cloud God’s ilmage, there so bright beforeYet never did that Power look down On error with a brow so mild; Never did Justice wear a frown, Through which so gently Mercy smiled. For hunmble was their love-with awe And trembling like some treasure kept, That was not theirs by holy lawWhose beauty with remorse they saw, And o’er whose preciousness thev wept. Humnility, that lor, sweet root, From whiichl all lheavlenly virtues shoot, Was il the hearts of bl(th-but most In l.iact,s hc-i,-t, by whom alone Those charms foi which a heaven was lost, Seemed all iinivalued and unklniiown; And when her seraph’s eyes she caught, And hid hers glowing on his breast, Even blisstw s h umbled by the thoughit ” Whrat claim have I t o be so blest r ” S till less could iai,l, so meek, have nursed Desire of linowle,,Ige-that vaiii thirst, With which the sex hath all been cursed, From luckless EvE to hel, who near The Tabernacle stole to hear The secrets of the angels:* no  ‘~o love as her own Seraph loved, With Faith, the same through bliss and wo  Faith, that, were even its light removed, Could, like the dial, fixed remain. And wait till it shone out again; With Patience that, though often bowed By the rude storm, can rise anew; And Hope that, even fioln Evil’s cloud, Sees sunny Good half breaking through I This deep, relying Love, worth more In heaven than all a Cherub’s loreThis Faith, more sure than aught beside, Was the sole joy, ambition, pride Of her fond heart-tth’ unreasoning scope Of all its views, above, below, So true she felt it that to hope, To trust, is happier than to knotw. Quickly, however, to its source, Tracing that music’s melting course, He saw, upon the golden sand Of the seashore, a mai len stand, Before whose feet th’ exlt)ii “, waves Flung their last offering with a sigh-i As, in the East, exhausted slaves Lay down the far-brou,“t gift, and dieAnd, while her lute hung by her, hushed, As if uneq(ual to the tide Of song, that from her lips still gushed, She raised, like one beatified, Those eyes, whose light seemed rather gisen To be adored than to adoreSuch eyes, as may haive looked from heaven, But ne’er were raised to it before?

Oh Love, Religion, Music- all That’s left of Eden upon earthThe only blessings, since the fall Of our weak souls, that still recall A trace of their high, glorious birthHow kindred are the dreams you bring! How Love, though unto earth so prone, Delights to take Religion’s wing, When time or grief hath stained his own! How near to Love’s beguiling brink, Too oft, entranced Religion lies! While Music, Music is the link They both still hold by to the skies, The language of their native sphere, Which they had else forgotten here. A nd thus in humibleness they trod, Abashed, but pure before their God; Nor e’er did earth behold a sight So meekly beautiful as they, When, with the altar’s holy light Full on their brows, they knelt to pray, Hand within hand, and side by side, Two links of love, awhile untied From the great chain above, but fast Holding together to the last!Two fallen Splendors,t from that tree, Which buds with such eternally,t How then could ZARAPH fail to feel That moment’s witcheries?-one, so fair, Breathing out music, that might steal Heaven from itself, and rapt in prayer That seraphs might be proud to share! Oh, he did feel it, all too well With warmth, that far too dearly costNor knew he, when at last he fell, To which attraction, t wwhich spell, Love, Music, or Devotion, most His soul in that sweet hour was lost. * Sara. tf An allusion to the Sephiroths, or Splendors of the Jewish Cabbala, represented as a tree, of which God is the crown or summit. The Sephiroths are the higher orders of emanative beings in the strange and incomprehensible svstem of the Jewish Cabbala. They are called by various names, Pity, Beauty, etc., etc.; and their influences are supposed to act through certain canals, which communicate with each other. B The reader may judge of the rationality of this Jewish system by the following explanation of part of the machinery: -” Les canaux qui sortent de la Misericorde et de la Force, et qui vont aboutir a la Beaute, sont charges d’un grand nombre d’Anges. I1 y en a trente-cinq sur le canal de la Miseri. corde, qui recompensert et qui courounent la vertu des Saints,” etc., etc.-For a concise acco4int of the Cabalist&;c Philosophy, see Enfie(ld’s very useful comnpendium of Brucker.

‘ On les repir sente qlch.ulqefi sous la, figure d’uln arbre … l’Ensoph qil’on met atu.d(essius e l’arbre Sethiri’tiqua , ies Sple.deurs dlivins, est l’dnfini -L’tliestoire des Juia. st” A.. 11. I It Les Egyptiens disent que la Musique est Savtr de RLelitpon’ .Voya,es de Pythagore, tom. i., p.

422. i I I I. , i I, i I: I i i ii I 182 Svreet was the hour, though dearly won, And pure, as aught of earth could be, For then first did the gloriov-s sun Before religion’s altar -;ee Two heart-s in wedlock’s golden tie Self-pledged, in love to live and die. Blest union! by that Angel wove, And woi-thv from such hands to come; -%fe, sole asyium, in which Love, When fallen or exiled from above, In this dark world can final -t ho,-ne. a

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ANGELS-THE SYLI,PH’S BALI Shaken to earth, yet Keeping all Their light and freshness in the fall. Their only punishment (as wrong, However sweet, must bear its brand), Fheir only (loom w as this-that, long As the green earth and ocean stand, They both shall wander here-the same, Throughout all tirme, in heart anl frameStill looking to that gonal sublime, Whose light remote, bit sure, they see; Pilgrims of Love, whose way is Time, Whose home is in Ete( nity! Subject, the while, to all the strife, True Love encouliters in this lifeThe wishes, hopes, he breathes in vain; The chill, that turns his warmest sighs To earthly vapor, ere they rise; The doubt hlie feeds oin, and the pain That in his very sweetness lies: Still worse, th’ illusions that betray His footsteps to their shining brink; That tempt him, on his desert way Tirough the bleak world, to bend and drink, Where nothing meets his lips, alas!But he again must sighing pass On to that far-off home of peace, In which alone his thirst will cease. H ome she was t aken to his Mine A Palace, paved with diamonds allAnd, proud as Lady Gnome to shine, Sent out her tickets for a Ball. All this they bear, but, not the less, Have moments rich in happinessBlest meetings, after many a day Of widowhood past far away, When the loved face again is seen Close, close, with not a tear betweenConfidings frank, without control, Poured mutually from soul to soul; As free from any fear or doubt As is that light from chill or stain, The sun into the stars sheds out, To be by them shed back again!That happy rrminglement of hearts, Where, changed as chymic compounds are, Each with its own existence parts, To find a new one, happier far! Such are their joys-and, crowning all, That blessed hope of the bright hour, When, happy and no more to fall, Their spirits shall, with freshened power, Rise up rewarded for their trust In Him, from whom all goodness spings, And, shaking off earth’s soiling dust From their emancipated wings, Wandler for ever through those skies Of radiance, where Love never dies! Glow-worms, that round the tiny dishes, Like little lighthouses, were set up! And pretty phosphorescent fishes, That by their own gay light were eat up. In what lone region of the earth These Pilgrims now may roam or dwell, God and the Angels, who look forth To watch their steps, alone can tell. But shoulds we, in our wanderings, Meet a young pair, whose beauty wants But the ad(ornament of bright wins, To look like heaven’s inhabitantsWho shine where’er they tread, and yet Ape humble in their earthly lot, As is the wayside violet, That shines unseen, and were it not For its sweet breath, would be forgotWhose hearts, in every thought, are one, Whose voices utter the same willsAnswering, as Echo doth some tone Of fairy music’mong the hills, So like itself, we seek in vain Which is the echo, which the stiai.t  Whose piety is love, whose love, Though close as’twere their souls’ embrace, Is not of earth, but from above Like two fair mirrors, face to face, Whose light, from one to th’ other thrown, Is heaven’s reflection, not their ownShould we e’er meet with aught so pure, So perfect l,ore, we may be sure But others disapproved thi s pla n, And, by his flame though somewhat frighted, Thought Love too much a gentleman, In such a dangerous place to light it.

However, the re he was- and d ancing With the fair Sylplh, light as a feather; They looked like two fresh sunbeams, glancing. At daybreak, down to earth together. THE LOVES OF THE I I S.,-; ‘Tis ZARAPH and his bride we s”; And call voung lovers round, to view The pilgrim pair, as they pursue Their pathway toward eternity. THE SYLPHIS BALL. A SyLpij, as bright as ever sported Her figure through the fields of air, By an old swarthy Gnome was courted, And, strange to say, be won t,e fw. The annals of the ol(lest witch A pair so sorted could not show, But how refuse?-the Gnome was rich, The Rothschild of the world below; And Sylphs, lilie other pretty creatures, Are told, betimes, they must consider Love as an auctioneer of features, Who knocls them down to the best bidder. The lower world, of co,-irse, was there, And all the best; but c)f the itl)per The sprinkling was but sliy and rare, A few old Sylphids, who loved supper. As none yet knew the wondrous Lamp Of DAVY, that renowned Aladdin, And the Gnome’s Halls exhaled a damp, Which accidents from fire were bad in; The chambers were supplied with light By many strange but safe devices; Large fire-flies, such as shine at night Among the Orient’s flowers and spices; Musical flint-mills-swiftly played By elfin hands-that, flashing round, Like certain fire-eyed minstrel maids, Gave out, at once, both light and sound. Bologna stones, that drink the sun; And water from that Indian sea, Whose waves at night like wild-fire run Corked up in crystal carefully.

I.iMong the few guests from Ether, came That wicked Sylph, whom Love we call: My Lady knew him but by name, My Lord, her husband, not at all. Some prudent Gnomes, Itis said, apprized That he was coming, aztd, no doubt, Alarmed about his touch, advised He should, by all means, be kept out. And all had gone off safe and %Nel!, But for that 1,1,-tguy torc!i, whose li,ht, ThoLigh not yet Iiindle(I-wlio could tell How scon, how (levilislilv, it 7iiight?

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IT~lL M’I~i~OR L~l~l~AR_ _ __ _ _~ To check young Genius’ pr o ud careiv, The slaves, who now his throne invaded, Made Criticism his prime Vizier, And from that hoiir his glories faded. 1~~~~~~~.4 And so it -h,anc(d-whlichl, in those dark And fireless lhalls, wVas quite amazing; Did we not know how small a spark Can set the torch of Love a-blazing.

Whether it came (when close entangled In the gay waltz) from her bright eyes, Or from the lucciole, that spangled Her locks of jet-is all surmise; His most heroic deeds-the same, That dazzled, when spontaneous actionsNow, done by law, seemed cold and tame, And shorn of all their first attractions. But certain’tis th’ ethereal girl Did drop a spark, at some odd turning, Which, by the waltz’s windy whirl, ‘ {as fanned up into actual burning. If he but stirred to take the ail, Instant, the Viz: 3 (‘- no’ at. “, Good Lord, your..ghn ss cn L go theie Bless me, your Highness can’t do that.” Oh for that Lamp’s metallic gauze, That cuirtai.n of protecting wire, Which DAvY delicately draws Around illicit, dangerous fire! If, loving pomp, hie chose to buy Rich jewels for his diadem, ” The taste was bad, the price was high A flower were simpler than a gem.” The wall he sets’twixt Flame and Air, (Likle that which barred young Thisbe’s bliss,) Thluough whose small holes this dangerous pair May see each other, but not kiss.* To please them if he took to flowers’ What trifling, what unmeaning things! Fit for a woman’s toilet hours, But not at all the style for Kings.” At first the torch looked rather bluely, A sign, they say, that no good bodedThen quick the gas became unruly, And, crack! the ball-room all exploded. If, f ond of his domestic sphere, He played no more the rambling comet” A dull, good sort of a man,‘twas clear, But, as for great or brave, far from it.” Sylphs, Gnomes, and fiddlers, mixed together, With all their aunts, sons, cousins, nieces, Like butterflies in stormy weather, Were blown-legs, wings, and tails-to pieces! Did h e then look o’er distant oceans, For realms more worthy to enthrone him? ” Saint Aristotle, what wild notions! Serve a’ ne exeat regno’ on him.” While,‘mid these victims of the torch, The Sylph, alas! too, bore her partFound lying, with a livid scorch, As if from lightning, o’er her heart! At length, their last and worst to do, They round him placed a guard of watchmen Reviewers, knaves in brown, or blue Turned up with yellow-chiefly Scotchmen; “Well done”-a laughing Goblin said Escaping from this gaseous strifeA l’Tis not the first t im e Love hao made A blow-up in connubial litf!” To dog his footsteps all about, Like those in Longwood’s prison-grounds, W ho at Napoleon’s heels ro de out, For fear the Conqueror should break bounds. Oh for some Champion of his power, Some Ultra spirit, to set free, As erst in Shakspere’s sovereign hour, The thunders of his Royalty! GENTUS AND CRITICISM. To vindicate his ancient line, The first, the true, the only one, Of Rig ht, eternal and divine, That rules beneath the blessed sun. ” Scripsit quidem fata, sed sequitur.”-SENEcA. OF old, the Sultan Genius reigned, As Nature meant, supreme, alone; With mind unchecked, and hands unchained, His views, his conquests were his own. But power like his, that digs its grave With its own sceptre, could not last; So Genius’ self became the slave Of laws that Genius’ self had passed.

FROM THE FRENCH. WITH women and apples both Paris and Adam Made mischief enough in their day:God be praised that the fate of mankind, my dear mnadar Depends not on us, the same way. For, weak as I am with temptation to grapple, The world would have doubly to rue thee; Like Adam, I’d gladly take from thee the apple, Like Paris, at one give it to thee. As Jove, who forged the chain of Fate, Was, ever after, doomed to wear it; His nods, his struggles all too late ” Qui semel jussit, semper paret.” a u”

Partique dede re Ocula quisque suc, non pervenientia contra.’>OVID. I I I i I I Tied down in Legislation’s school, Afraid of even his own ambition, His very victories were by rule, And he was great but by permission, 0 0

IMITATION.

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Til]E ANaEL OF TtiE WO RLDI. BY RefT. G E OIGE (‘R OLY. It came at last.

It came with trumpet’s sounding, It came with thunders of the atabal, And warrior shouts, and Arab charger’s bounding, The SACRED STANDARD crown’d Medina’s wall! From palace-roof, and minaret’s golden ball, Ten thousand emerald banners floated free, Beneath, like sunbeams, through the gateway tall, The Emirs led the ir steel-mail’d c h ivalry, Anid the whole city rang with sports and soldier glee. THrRF.‘s gory on thy mountains, proud Bengal, When on their temples bursts the morning sun! There’s glory on thy marble-towered wall, Proud Ispahan, beneath his burning noon! There’s gltiry when his golden course is done, Proud Istamboul, upon thy waters blue! But fall’n Damascnus, in e ws l thine sas beauty’s throne, In morn, and noon, and evening’s purple dew, Of all from Ocean’s marge to mighty Himmalu. East of the city stands a lofty mount, Its brow with lightning delved and rent in sunder; And through the fragments rolls a little fount, Whose channel bears the blast of fire and thunder! And there has many a pilgrim come to wonder; For there are flowers unnumber’d blossoming, With but the bare and calcined marble under; Yet in all Asia no such colours spring, No perfumes rich as in that mountain’s rocky ring. This was the eve o f eves, the end o f war, Beginning of dominion, first of time! When, swifter than the shooting of a star, Mohammed saw the Vision’s pomps sublime! Swept o’er the rainbow’d sea-the fiery clime, Heard from the throne its will in thunders roll’d; Then glancing on our world of woe and crime, Saw from Arabia’s sands his banner’s fold Wave o’er the brighten’d globe its sacred conquering gold. And some who pray’d the night out on the hill, Have said they heard,-unless it was their dream, Or the mere murmur of the babbling rill, Just as the morn-star shot its first slant beam, A sound of music, such as they might deem The song of spirits-that would sometimes sail Close to their ear, a deep, delicious stream, Then sweep away, and die with a low wail; rhen come again, and thus, till LUCIFER was pale. The sun was slowly sinking to the West, Pavil’on’d with a thousand glorious dyes; The turtle-doves were win4ing to the nest, Along the mountain’s soft declivities; The fresher breath of flowers began to rise.

Like incense, to that sweet departing sun; Faint as the hum of bees the city’s cries: A moment, and the lingering disk was gone; Then were the Angels’ task on earth’s dim orbit done. And some, but bolder still, had dared to turn That soil of mystery for hidden gold; But saw strange, stifling blazes round them burn, And died!-by few that venturous tale was told. And wealth was found; yet, as the pilgrims hold, Though it was glorious on the mountain’s brow, Brought to the plain it crumbled into mould, The diamonds melted in the hand like snow; So none molest that spot for gem? or ingots now, Oft had he gazed upon that lovely vale, But never gazed with gladness such as now; When on Damascus’ roofs and turrets pale He saw the solemn sunlight’s fainter glow, With joy he heard the Imaun’s voices flow Like breath of silver trumpets on the air; The vintagers’

sweet song, the camels’ low, As home they stalked from pasture, pair by pair, Flinging their shadows tall in the steep sunset glare. But one, and ever after, round the hill – He stray’d:-they said a meteor scorch’d his sight; Blind, mad, a warning of Heaven’s fearful will. ‘Twas on the sacred evening of “The Flight,” His spade turn’d up a shaft of marble white, Fragment of some kiosk, the chapiter A crystal circle, but at morn’s first light Rich forms began within it to appear, ceptred and wing’d, and then, it sank in water clear. Yet once upon that guarded mount, no foot But of the Moslem true might press a flower, And of them none, butt with some solemn suit Beyor.d man’s help, might venture near the bower: !‘or, in its shade, in beauty and in power, For judgment sat the A-NGEL OF THE WORLD: SenTt by the propheta t ill the destined hour That saw in dust Arabia’s idols hurl’d, ZVen to the skit s again his wing should be unfurl’d. The Angel’s flashing eyes were on the vault, That now with lamps of diamond all was hung, His mighty wings like tissues heavenly-wrought Upon the bosom of the air were hung. The solemn hymn’s last harmonies werctsung, The sun was couching on the distant zone. , Farewell” was breathing on the Angel’s tongues, He glanced below. There s tood a suppliant on e! The impatient Angel sank, in wrath, upon his throrn Then at his sceptre’s wave a rush of plumes Shook the thick dew-drops from the roses’ dyes; And, as embodying of their waked perfumes, A crowd of lovely forms, with lightning eyes, And flower-croA,n’d hair, and cheeks of Paradise, Circled the bower of beauty on the win  – And all the grove was rich with symphonies Of seemitig flute, and born, and golden string, That slowly rose, and o’ei- the Mount hung hovering

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L8’EMRO LIBRARY Yet all was quickly soothed,-” this labour past, His coronet of teibold light was won.” His l!anc againi upon the form was cast, T’al iO’v sci’d( d-in, on the dazzling sto(leI; Hie bade it rise anid spezal. The solernn’ tone Of Eartihs l,i’s l Sori g niill ed joy with fear, As s,ii:Tter a.les of rose by litv htniS t, coe;wh re As the niglt-utti n il the desert di-ear; }tis voice seeii’d sudden life to tiidat all’ ii sul)pliant’s ear. W’oe to the heart that lets thee once intrude, Victim of visions that life’s purpose steal, Till the whole struggling nature lies subdued. Bleeding with wounds the grave alone musit heal. Proud Angel, was it thine that mortal woe to feel? Still knelt the pilgrim, cover’d with her veil, Btt all her beauty living on his e ye; Still hyacint h the c lustering ringlets fell Wreathing her forehead’s polish’d ivory; Her cheek unseen still wore the rose-bud’s dye; She sigh’d; he heard the sigh beside him swell, He glanced around-no spirit hover’d iiigh Touch’d the fall’n flower, and blushing, sigh’d cc farewell e What sound has stunn’d his ear? A sudden thunder-peail He look’d on heaven,‘twas calm, but in the vale A creeping mist had girt the mountain round, Making the golden minarets glimmer pale; It scaled the mount,-the feeble day was drowii’d. The sky was w ith its livid hue embrown’d, But soon the vapours grew a circling sea, Reflecting lovely from its blue profound Mountain, and crimson cloud, add blossom’d tree; Another heaven and earth in bright tranquillity. And on its bosom swam a small chaloupe, That like a wild swan sported on the tide. The silken sail that canopied its poop Show’d one that look’d an Houri in her pride; Anon came spurring tip the mountain’s side A warrior Moslem all in glittering mail, That to his country’s doubtful battle hied. ” He saw the form, he heard the tempter’s tale, And answered with his own: for beauty will prevail The foirm arose-the face e as in a ve il, The voice was low, and often check’d with sighs; The tale it utter d was a simple tale; ,, A vowv to close a dyilyg parent’s eyes, And brotughIit its wearv steps irom T’ripolis; The Arab in the Svrianii mountains lay, The caravan was made the robber’s prize, The pilgrii’s little wealth was swept awnay, Maiii’s Iel) nas vain.” Here sauk the voice in soft decay. c And this is Earth!” the Angel frowning said; Siid fiom the grouniid he took a matchless gem, ‘,n( flung it to the mourner, then outspread His pinions, like the lightning’s rushin-g beam. The pilgrims started al the diamrnond’s gleam, Glanced up in prayer, then, bending near the throne, Shed the quick tears that from the bosom stream Andl tried to speak, but tears were there alone; l’he pitying Angel said, “Be happy and begone.” The weeper raised the veil; a ruby lip First dawn’d: then glow’d the young cheek’s deeper hue, Yet delicate as roses when they dip Their odorous blossoms in the morning dew.

Then beam’d the eyes, twin stars of living blue; Half shaded by the curls of glossy hair, That turn’d to golden as the light wind threw Their clusters in the Western golden glare, Yet wa-. her blue eye dim, for tears were standing there. He look’d upon her, and her hurried gaze Sought from his glance sweet refuge on the ground; But o’er her cheek of beauty rush’d a blaze; And, as the soul had felt some sudden wound, Her bosom heaved above its silken bound. He looked again; the cheek was deadly pale; The bosom sank with one long sigh profound; Yet still one lily hand upheld her veil, And still one press’d her heart-that sigh told all its tale. But now in storm uprose the vast mirage; Where sits she now who tempted him to roam? How shall the skiffwith that wild sea engage! In vain the quivering helm is turn’d to home Dark’ning above the piles of tumbling foam, Rushes a shape of woe, and through the roar Peals in the warrior’s ear a voice of doom. Down plunges the chaloupe.-The storm is o’er Heavy and slow the corpse rolls onward to the shore. The Angel’s heart was smote-bbut that touch’d flower, Now opening, breathed such fragrance subtly sweet, He felt it strangely chain him to the bower. He dared not then that pilgrimi’s eye to meet, But gazed upon the small unsandal’d feet, Shining like silver on the floor of rose; At length he raised his glance;-the veil’s light net Had floated backward from her pencil’d brows, Her eye was fix’d on Heaven, in sad, sublime repose. She stoop’d, and from the thicket pluck’d a flower, And fondiy kiss’d, and then with feeble hand She laid it on the footstool of the bower; Such was the ancient custom of the land. Her sighs were richer than the rose they fann’d; The breezes swept it to the Angel’s feet; Yet even that swieet sigiht boon,‘twas Heaven’s command, He must not touch, from her though doubly sweet, No earthly gift must stain that hallow’d judgment-seat. Still lay the flower upon the splendid spot, The Pilgrim turn’d away, as smote with shame; Her eve a glance of self-upbraiding shot; ‘Twas in his soul, a shaft of living flame. Then bow’d the humble one, and bless’d his name, Cross’d her white arms, and slowly bade farewell. A sudden faintness o’er the Angel came; The voice rose sweet and solemn as a spell, She bow’d her face to earth, and o’er it dropped her vt Ne. Beauty, what art thou, that thy slightest gaze Can make the spirit from its centre roll; Its whole long course, a sad and shadowy maze? Thou midnight or thou noontide of the soul; One glorious vision lighting up the whole Of the wide world; or one deep, wild desire, By day and night consuming, sad and sole; Ti pre e ll Hope, Prde, Genius, na y, till Love’s own fire, Desert the weary heart, a cold and mouldering pyre.

A simple Syrian lyre wa s on her-breast, And on her crimson lip was murmuring A village strain, that in the day’s sweet rest Is heard in Araby round many a spring, When down the twilight vales the maidens bring The flocks to some old patriarchal well; Or where beneath the palms some desert-king Lies, with his tribe arodnd him as they fell! The thunder burst again; a long, deep, crashing peal. The Angel heard it not; as round the ranze Of the blue hill-tops roar’d the volley on, Uttering its voice with wild, Terial charge; Now sinking in a deep and distant rmoan, Like the last echo of a host o’erthrowiin; Then rushing with new vengeance down again, Shooting the fiery flash and thunder-stone, Till flamed, like funeral pyres, the mountain chain The Angel heard it not; its wisdom all was vain. He heard not even the strain, though it had changed From the calm sweetness of’he holy hymn. His thoughts from depth to depth unconscious ranged, Y et all within was dizzy, strange, an d din; A mist seem’d spreading betw een heaven and him; He sat absorb’d in drearns-;l searchin~ tone Came on his ear, oh howv her dark eyes swin Who breathed that echo of a heart undone, The song of early joys, delicious, dear. aitd gone! Enchanted sleep, yet full of deadly dreams; Companionship divine, stern solitude; Thou serpent, colour’d with the brightest gleams That e’er hid poison, making hearts thy food; 186 TIIE MIRROR LIBRARY.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. That wings with fiery speed, recoil’d, sprang, rolld; Before them nwaned the inoooh’s ascetidi,’:4 phase, The clouds above thern shra,!‘k tile ret(ld’,ing ftlo: On iusli’d the giant coh1lsijIs blai,ze onl I)t;-7ze The sacrilegious died, wral)p’d il the burstin,,g haze. Again it changed. Eut, non’twes wild and grand, The praise of heaits that scorni the world’s control, Disdaining all but Love’s delicious band, The chain of gold and flowers, the tie of soul Again strange!,aleness o’er her beauty stole, She glanced above, then stoop’d her glowing eye, Blue as the star that glitter’d by the pole; One #ear-drop gleam’d, she dash’d it quickly by, And d,‘opp’d the lyre, and turn’d-as if she turn’d to die. The night-breeze from the mountains had begun; And as it wing’d among the clouds of even, Where, like a routed king, the Sultan Sun Still struggled on the fiery verge of heaven; Their volumes in ten thousand shapes were driven; Spreading away in boundless palace halls, Whose lights fcom gold aind emerald lamps were given; Or airy citadels and battled walls; Or sunk in valleys sweet, with silver waterfalls. But, for those sights of heaven the Angel’s heart Was all unsettled: and a bitter sigh Burst from his burning lip, and with a start He cast upon the earth his conscious eye.

The whole horizon from that sumnmit high Spread out in vision, from the pallid line Where old Palmyra’s pomps in ruin lie, Gilding the Arab sands, to where supine [‘he western lustre tinged thy spires, lost Palestine!

Yet, loveliest of the vision was the vale That sloped beneath his own imperial bowers; Sheeted with colours like an Indian mail, A tapestry sweet of all sun-painted flowers, Balsam, and clove, and jasmines scented showers, And the red glory of the Persian rose, Spreading in league on league around the towers, Where, loved of Heaven, and hated of its foes, .he Queen of Cities shines, in calm and proud repose. And still he gazed-and saw not that the eve Was fading into night. A sudden thought Struck to his dreaming heart, that made it heave; Was he not there in Paradise?-that spot, Was it not lovely as the lofty vault That rose above him? In his native skies, Could he be happy till his soul forgot, Oh! how forget, the being whom his eyes Loved as their light of light? He heard a tempest rise And every bud round pe destal and plinth, As fell the evening, turn’d a living genm. Lighte d i ts purpl e lamp the hyacinth, The d ah lia pour’d its thousand -colour’d gleam, A ruby torch the wond’ring eye might deem Hung on the brow of some niight-watching tower, Where upwards climb’d the broad magnolia’s stem. An urn of lovely~lustre every flower, Burning before the king of that illumined bower. And nestling in that arbour’s leafy twine, From cedar’s top to violet’s lowly bell, Were birds, now hush’d, of plumage all divine, That, as the quivering radiance on them fell, Shot back such hues as stain the orient shell, Touching the deep, green shades with light from eyes Jacinth, and jet, and blazing carbuncle, And gold-dropt coronets, and wings of dyes Bathed in the living streams of their own Paradise. The Angel knew the warning of that storm; But saw the shudd’ring Minstrel’s step draw near, And felt the -whole deep witchery of’ her form; Her sigh was music’s echo to his ear; Ile loved-and what has love to do with fear? Now night had droop’d on earth her raven wing, Blut in the arbour all was splendour clear; And, like twin spirits in its charmed ring, Shone that sweet child of earth and that star-diadem’d king For, whether’twas the light’s unusual glow, Or that some dazzling change had on her come; Her look, though lovely still, was loftier now, Her tender cheek was flush’d with brighter bloom; Yet in her azure eyebeam gathlier’d gloom, Like evening’ os louds acro s s its owith blme star, Then would a sudden flash its depths illume; And wore she but the wing and gemm’d tiar, She seem’d instinct with might to make the clouds her car Was it a dream? the vale at once was bare, And o’er it hung a broad and sulphurous cloud: The soil grew red and rifted with its glare; Down to their roots the mountain cedars bow’d; Along the ground a rapid vapour flow’d, Yellow and pale, thick seam’d with streaks of flame. Before it sprang the vulture from the shroud; The lion bounded from it scared and tame; Behind it, dark’ning heaven, the mighty wirlwind came. She slowly raised her arm, that, bright as snow, Gleamn’d like a rising meteor through the air, Shedding white lustre on her turban’d brow; And gazed on heaven, as wrapt in solemn prayer; She still look’d woman, yet more proudly fair; A nd as she stood and poin ted t o t he sky, With that fix’d look of loveliness and care, The Angel thought, and check’d it with a sigh, He sawsoe Spirit falle n from immortality. The silent prayer was done; and now she moved Faint to his footstool, and, upon her knee, Besorught her lord, if in his heaven they loved, That, as she never more his face must see, She there might pled-,ge her heart’s fidelity. Then turn’d, and pluck’d a cluster from the vine, And o’er a chalice waved it, with a sigh, Then stoop’d the crystal cup bet’o,e the shrine. In wrath the Angel rose-the guilty draught was wine! She stood; she shrank; she totter’d. Down he sprang, Clasp’d with one hand her waist, with one upheld The vase-his ears with giddy mrmirnrurs rang; His eye upon her dying cheek rwas s)ell’d; Up to the br in the driatught of evil swN-ell’d Like liquid rose, its odoii) toue-h’d his brain; Ile knewv his ruin, but his soul was quiell’d; He shudder’d-gazed upon her cheek again, Press’d her pale lip, and to the last that cup did drain Like a long tulip bed, across the plain A caravan approach’d the evening well, A long, deep mass of turban, plume, and vane; And lovely came its distant, solemn swell Of s,ng, and pilgrim-horn, and camel-bell. The sandy ocean rose before their eye, In thunder on their bending host it fell Ten thousand lips sent up one fearful cry; ]he sound was still’d at once, beneath its wave they lie.

But, taro escaped, that up the mountain sprung, And those the dead men’s treasure downvwrds drew; One, with slow steps; but beautiful and young Was she, who round his neck her white arms threw Away the tomb of sand like vapour flew. There, naked lay the costly caravan, A league of piles of silk and gems that threw A rainbow light, and mid them stiff and wan, Stietch’d by ris camel’s flank, their transient master, man. The statelier wand’rer from the height was won, And cap and sash soon gleam’d with plunder’d gold. But, now the Desert rose, in pillars dun, Glowing with fire like iron in the mould, 187 The Angel sat enthroned %vitliln a Of alabaster rais(d on Cul-taiii’d %vitli tissues of,,,o For spirits wove the x,,-eb of bl(,sso’i-r)s I)r’ght, Woof of all flowers that dr’ril ti.-e n,.oriiiiig light, And “,ith their beautv figured all the stone In characters of rnisterv aiid niii4ht, A more than niortl guard around the throne, That in their tender shade one glorious diamond shoae

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I ~~~ THE MIRROR LIBRARY.~~~~~~~~~~~ Th’ enchantress smiled, as still in some sweet dream, Then w%aken’d in a long, delicious sigh, And on the bending spirit fix’d the beamn Of her deep, dewy, melancholy eye. The undone Angel gave no more reply Than hiding his pale forehead in the hair That floated on her neck of ivory, And breathless pressing, with her ringlets fair, From his bright eyes the tears of passion and despair.

Beyond the p)ower of his vindictive king. Slave to her slightest wordl, he raised his plume. For life or death, he reck’d not w hiclt, to spring; Nay,* to confront the thunder and the gloom. She wildly kiss’d his hand, and sanlk, as il a -omb. The Angel sooth’d her, “No! let Justice vreak Its wrath upon them both, or him alone.” A flush of love’s pure crimnson lit her cheek; She whisper’d, and his stoop’d ear drank the tone With mad delight; ” Oh, there is one way, one, To save us both. Are there not mighty words, Graved on th e magnet-th rone w her e S olomon Sits ever guarded by the genii swords, To give thy servant wings, like her resplendent Lords?” The heaven was one blue cope, inlaid with gems Thick as the concave of a diamond mine, But from the north now fly pale, phosphor beams, That o’er the mount their quivering net entwine; The smallest stars through that sweet lustre shine Then, like a routed host, its streamers fly: Then, from the moony horizontal line A surge, of sudden glory floods the sky, O ceb ~f dur-)l. wax es, aid m,i teA L.zvlli But wilder wonder smote their shrinking eyes: A vapour plunged upon te vale from heaven, Then, darkly gathering, tower’d of mountain size; From its high crater column’d smokes were driven; It heaved within, as if pent flames had striven With mighty winds to burst their prison hold, Till all the cloud-volcano’s bulk was riven With angry light, that seem’d in cataracts roll’d, Silver, and sanguine steel, and streams of molten gold.

But still its draught was fever in his blood. He caught the upward, humble, weeping gleam Of woman’s eye, by passion all subdued; He sigh’d, and at his sigh he saw it beam: Oh! the sweet frenzy of a lover’s dream! A moment’s lingering, and they both must die. The lightning round them shot a broader stream; He felt her clasp his feet in agony; He spoke the ”

Words of might”,-the thunder gave reply Then echoed on the winds a hollow roar, An earthquake groan, that told convulsion near: Out rush’d the burthen of its burning core, Myriads of fiery globes, as day-light clear.

The sky was fill’d with flashing sphere on sphere, Shooting straight upward to the ienith’s crown. The stars were blasted in that splendour drear, The land beneath in wild distinctness shone, P’rom Syria’s yellow sands to Libanus’ sumrmit-stone The storm is on the embattled clouds receding, The purple streamers wander pale and thin, But o’er the pole a fiercer flame is spreading, Wheel within wheel of fire, a.nd far within Revolves a stooping splendour crystalline. A throne;-but who the sitter on that throne! The Angel knew the punisher of sin. Check’d on his lip the self-upbraiding groan, And clasp’d his dying love, and joy’d to be undone.

Away! away! the sky is one black cloud, Sh ooting its lightnings down in s pire on spire. Around the mou nt its cano p y i s bow’d, A fiery vault upraise d o n pillar’d f ire; The stars like lamp s along its roof expire; But through its centre bursts an o rb of rays The Angel knew the Avenger i n his ire! The hill-top smoked beneath the s.too pi ng blaze, The culprits dared not there their guilty glances raise. And words were utter’d from that whirling sphere, That mortal sense might never hear and live. They pierced like arrows through the Angel’s ear; He bow’d his head;‘twas vain to fly or strive. Down comes the final wrath: the thunders give The doubled peal, the rains in cataracts sweep, Broad bars of fire the sheeted deluge rive; The mountain summits to the valley leap, Pavilion, garden, grove, smoke up one ruin’d heap. The storm stands still! a mometit’s pause of terrort All dungeon-dark!-Again the lightnings yawn, Shewing the earth as in a quivering mirror. The prostrate Angel felt but that the one, Whose love had lost him Paradise, was gone: He dared not see her corpse!-he closed his eyes; A voice burst o’er him, solemn as the tone Of the last trump,-he glanced upon the skies, He saw, what shook his soul with terror, shame, surprise And once,‘twas but a moment, on her cheek He gave a glance, then sank his hurried eye, And press’d it closer on her dazzling neck. Yet, even in that swift gaze, he could espy A look that made his heart’s blood backwards fly. Was it a dream? there echoed in his ear A stinging tone-a laugh of mockery! It was a dream-it must be. Oh!

that fear, When the heart longs to know, what it is death to hear. He glanced again-her eye was upwards still, Fix’d on the stooping of that burn ing car; But through his bosom shot an arrowy thrill, To see its solemn, stern, unearthly glare; She stood a statue of sublime despair, But on her lip sat scorn.-His spirit froze, His footstep reel’d,-his warm lip gasp’d for air; She felt his throb,and o’er him stoopld wi th brows As evening sweet, and kiss’d him with a lip of rose. The Minstrel stood before him; two broad plumes Spread from her shoulders on the burthen’d air; Her face was glorious still, but love’s young blooms Had vanish’d for the hue of bold despair; A fiery circle crown’d her sable hair; And, as she look’d upon her prostrate prize, Her eyeballs shot around a me teor glare, Her form tower’d up at once to giant size, ‘Twas EBLIS! king of Hell’s relentless sovereignties. The tempter spoke” Spirit, thou mightst have stood, But thou hast fall’n a weak and willing slave. Now were thy feeble heart our serpents’ food, Thy bed our burning ocean’s sleepless wave, But haughty Heaven controls the power it gave. Ye t art thou doom’d to wander from tlPy sphe re, Till the last trumpet reaches to the grave; Till the Sun rolls the grand concluding year; Till Earth is Paradise; then shall thy crime be clew” Again she was all beauty, and they stood Still fonder clasp’d, and gazing with the eye Of famine, gazing on the poison’d food That it must feed on, or abstaining die. There was between them now nor tear nor sigh; Theirs was the deep communion of the soul; Passions absorbing, bitter luxury; What was to them or heaven or earth, the whole Was in that fatal spot, where they stood sad, and sole. The minstrel first shook off the silent trance; And in a voice sweet as the murmuring Of summer streams beneath the moonlight’s g lance, Besougirht the desperate one to spread the wing I. I i i THE MIRROR LIBRARI. lss This was the sin of sins! the first, last crime, In earth and heaven, unnamed, unnameable; This’rom’liS tTone )f light, belore 311 tim, ilak – mituei Et)l -,‘oi-glite,t, tL;-,t fel’.. I-le tarte(i oack.’-” lhat iirg’d’Jim t,) reb,l What led that soft seducer to his b6wer? Could she have laid upon his soiil that spell, Young, lovely, fond; yet but an earthly flower?’ But for that fatal cup, he had been free that hour.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. I (). The Angel listen’d,-risen upon one knee, Resolved to hear the deadliest undismay’d His star-dropt plume hung round him droopingly, His brow, like marble, on his hand was staid. Still through the auburn locks’ o’erhanging shade His face shone beautiful; hlie heard his ban; Then came the words of mercy, sternly said; He p lunged within his ha s his hands his visage wan, And the first wild, sweet tears from his heart-pulses ran. The Giant grasp’d him as he fell to earth, And his black vanes upon the air were flung, A tabernacle dark;-and shouts of inirth Mingled with shriekiugs thlroLugh the tempest s;v H is aim around thve waniting aTe rgl tere cing. Then on the clouid.s he dar-ted with a groa.n’; A moment o’er the mount of ruin hrung, Thenburst through space, like the rod comet’s clone, Leaving his track on heaven a burning, endless zone. THE STORY OF RIMINI. CANTO I. THE COMING TO FETCH THE BRIDE FROM

RAVENNA. THE sun is up, and’tis a m,:m of May Round old Ravenna’s clear-shown towers and bay, A morn, the loveliest which the year has seen, Last of the spring, yet fresh with all its green; For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night, Have left a sparkling welcome for the light, And there’s a crystal clearness all about; The leaves are sharp, the distant hills look out; A balmy briskness comes upon the breeze; The smoke goes dancing from the cottage trees; And when you listen, you may hear a coil Of bubbling springs about the grassier soil; And all the scene in short,-sky, earth, and sea, Breathes like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly And hark! the approaching trumpets, with a star t On the smooth wind come dancing to the heart. A moment’s hush succeeds; and from the walls, Firm and at once, a silver answer calls. Then press the crowd; and all, who best can striv e In shuffling struggle, tow’rd the palace drive, Where baluster’d and broad, of marble fair, Its portico commands the public square; For there Duke Guido is to hold his state With his fair daughter, seated o’er the gate:But the full place rejects the invading tide; And after a rude heave from side to side, With angry faces turned, and feet regained, The peaceful press with order is maintained, Leaving the path-ways only for the crowd, The space within for the procession proud. ‘Tis nature, full of spirits, waked and springing:The birds to the delicious time are singing, arting with freaks and snatches up and down, here the light woods go seaward from the town; While happy faces, striking through the green Of leafy roads, at every turn are seen; And the far ships, lifting their sails of white Like joyful hands, come up with scatter’d light, Come gleaming up, true to the wished-for day, And chase the whistling brine, and swirl into the bay. For in this manner is the square set out:- The sides, path-deep, are crowded round about, And faced with guards, who keep the road entire; And opposite to these a brilliant quire Of knights and ladies hold the central spot, Seated in groups upon a grassy plot; The seats with boughs are shaded from above Of early trees transplanted from a grove, And in the midst, fresh whistling through the scene A lightsome fountain starts from out the green, Clear and compact, till, at its height o’er-run, It shakes its loosening silver in the sun.

And well may all who can, come crowding there, If peace returning, and processions rare, And to crown all, a marriage in the spring Can set enjoying fancies on the wing; For on this sparkling day, Ravenna’s pride, The daughter of their prince, becomes a bride, A bride, to ransom an exhausted land: And he, whose victories have obtained her hand, Has taken with the dawn, so flies report, His promised journey to the expecting court, With hasting pomp, and squires of high degree, The bold Giovanni, lord of Rimini. There, talking with the ladies, you may see, As in some nest of faery poetrv y, Some of the finest warrior s of the court,Baptist, and Hugo of the p rinc el y port, And Azo, and Obizo, and the grace Of frank Esmeriald with his open face, And Felix the Fine Arm, and hilie wh, well Repays h av his lavish ho nors, Lionel, Besides a host of spirits, nursed in glory, Fit for sweet woman‘3 love and for the poet’s story There too, in thickest of the bright-eyed throng Stands the young father of Italian song, Guy Cavalcainti, of a knightlv race; The poet looks out in his earnest face; He with the pheasaiit’s pllltrle there-bending now Something he speaks around him ws ith a bow, And all the listening looks, with nods and flushes, Break round him into smlles and sparkling blushes.

Another start of trumpets, sowith rel)lv; And o’er the gate a sudden canopy Of snowy white disparts its draperied shade, And Guido issues with the princely maid, And sits;-the courtiers fall on either side; But every look is fixed upon the bride, Who pensive comes at first, and hardly hears The enormous shout that springs as she appearsi Till, as she views the coun.less gaze below, And faces that with gratefi.-nage glow, Already in the streets the stir grows loud Of joy increasing and a bustling crowd.

With feet and voice the gathering hum contends, Yearns the deep talk, the ready laugh ascends: Callings, and clapping doors, and curs unite, And shouts from mere exuberance of delight, And armed bands, making important way, Gallant and grave, the lords of holiday, And nodding neighbors, greeting as they run, And pilgrims, chanting in the morning sun. With heaved-out tapestry the windows glow, By lovely faces brought, that come and go; Till, the work smoothed, and all the street attired, They take their seats, with upward gaze admired; Some looking down, some forwards or aside, Some re-adjusting tresses newly tied, Some turning a trim waist, or o’er the flow Of crimson cloths hanging a hand of snow; ut all with smiles prepared, and garlands green, And all in fluttering talk, impatient for the scene. THE MIRROR LIBRARY. I f li i i I ;I i

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190 TilE MIRROR LIBRARY. A horne to leave, and husband yet to see, Fade in the warmtlis of that great charity; And hard it is, she thinks, to have no will; But not to bless these thousands, harder still: With that, a keen and quivering glance of tears Scarce moves ner patient mouth, and disappears; A smile is underneath, and breaks away, And round she looks and breathes, as best befits the day What need I tell of lovely lips and eyes, A perfect wvaist, arid bosom’s balmy rise? There’s not in all that crowvd a gallant being, Whom if his heart were whole, and rank agreeinc,.

It would not fire to twice of what he is, To clasp her to his heart, and call her his. While thus with tip-toe looks the people gaze, Another shout the neighb’ring quarters raise: The-train are in the town, and gathering near, With noise cf cavalry, and trumpets clear; A princely music, unbedinned with drums; The mi,lity brass seems opening as it comes; And i.

w it fills, and now it shakes the air, And noe it bursts into the sounding square; .‘t whlic- the crowd with such a shout rejoice, Fich thinks he’s deafen’d with his neighbor’s voice. Ihen, with a long-drawn breath, the clangors die; the palace trumpets give a last reply, And clatteiing hoofs succeed, with stately stir O)f snortings proud and clinking furniture. It seems as if the harnessed war were near; But in their garb of peace the train appear, Their swiords alone reserved, but idly hung, And the chains freed by which their shields were slung First come the trumpeters, clad all in white Except the breast, which wears a scutcheon bright. By four and four they ride, on horses grey; And as they sit along their easy way, To the steed’s motion yielding as they go, Each plants his trumpet on his saddle-bow. The heralds next appear, in vests attired Of stiffening gold with radiant colors fired; And then the pursuivants, who wait on these, All dressed in painted richness to the knees: Each rides a dappled horse, and bears a shield, Charged with three heads upon a golden field.’ Twelve ranks of squires come after, twelve in one, With forked pennons lifted in the sun, WVhich tell, as they look backward in the wind, The bearings of the knights that ride behind. Their steeds are ruddy bay; and every squire His master’s color shows in his attire. W ith various earnestness the crowd admire Horseman and horse, the motion and the attire. Solme watch, as they go by, the riders’ faces Looking compcstIre, and their knightly graces; The life, the carelessness, the sudden heed, The body curving to the rearing steed, The patting hand, that best persuades the check, And makes the quarrel up with a proud neck, The travell’d hues of some, the bloom of those, And scars, the keepsakes of admiring foes. Others the horses and their pride explore, Their jauntiness behind and strength before; The flowing back, firm chest, and fetlocks clean, The branching veins ridging the glossy lean, The mane hung sleekly, the projecting eye That to the stander near looks awfully, The finished head, in its compactness free, Small, and o’erarching to the lifted knee, The start and snatch, as if they felt the comb, With mouths that fling about the creamy foam, The snorting turbulence, the nod, the champing, The shift, the tossing, and the fiery tramping. And now the Pri ncess, pale an d with fixed eye, Perceives the last of those precursors nigb, Each rank uncovering, as they pass in state, Both to the courtly fountain and the gate. And then a second interval succeeds Of stately length, and then a troop of steeds Milkwhite and unattired, Arabian bred, Each by a blooming boy lightsomely led: In every limb is seen their faultless race; But sprightly malice glances in the face; They doubt their masters in a foreign place: Slender their spotless shapes, and meet the sight With freshness, after all those colors bright: And as with easy pitch their steps they bear, The very ease seems something to beware: The yielding head has still a wilful air. These for a princely present are divined, And show the giver is not far behind. The talk increases now, and now advance, Space after space, with many a sprightly prance, The pages of the court, in rows of three; Of white and crimson is their livery. Space after space,-and still th e train appear,A fervid whisper fills the general earAh-yes-no-‘tis not he-but’tis the squires Wh o g o before him whe n his pomp requires;And now his huntsman shows the le ssening train Now the squire-carver, and the chamberlain,And now his banner comes, and now his shield Borne by the squire that waits him to the field. And then an interval,-a lordly space;A pin-drop silence strikes o’er all the place; The princess, from a distance, scarcely knows Which way to look; her color comes and goes, And, with an impulse and affection free, She lays her hand upon her father’s knee, Who looks upon her with a labored smile, Gathering it up into his own the while, When some one’s voice, as if it knew not how To check itself, exclaims, s” The prince! now-now!’ And on a milik-white courser, like the air, A glorious figure springs into the square, TJp, with a burst of thunder, goes the shout, And rolls the trembling walls and peopled roofs about These lpast, and at a lordly distance, come The knights themselves, and fill the quickening lhum,ni The floter of Rimini.

Apart they ride, Six in;t rov, and w ith a various pride; But all as fresh as fancy could desire, All slha)es of gallantry on steeds of fire.

Differing in colors is the knight’s array, The horses, black and chesnut, roan and bay;The horsemen, crimson vested, purple, and white,All but the scarlet cloak for every knight, Which thronvn apart, and hanging loose behind, Rests on the steed, and ruffles in the wind. Instead of helm, in draperies they appear Of folded cloth, depending by the ear: And the steeds also make a mantled show; The golden bits keep wrangling as,they go: With gold the bridles glance against the sun; And the rich horse-cloths, ample every one, Which, from the saddle-bow, dress half the steed, Are some of them all thick with golden thread: Others have spots, on grounds of difl’erent hue, As burning stars upon a cloth of blce; Or purple smearings, with a velvet light, Rich from the zlarv yellow thickening bright; Or a spring ogreen, powdered with April posies; Or flush vermilion, set with silver roses: But all go sweeping back, and seem to dress The forward march with loitering stateliness. Never was nobler finish of fine sight; ‘Twas like the coming of a shape of light; And every iovely gazer, with a start, Felt the quick pleasure smite across her heart. The princess, who at first could scarcely see, Though looking still that way from dignity, Gathers new courage as the praise goes round, And bends her eyes to learn what thdv have tound And see,-his horse obeys the check unseen; And with an air’twixt ardent and serene, Letting a fall of curls about his brow, He takes his cap off with a gallant bow; Theii for another and a deafening shout, 190 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. v I Tha anns of the Malatesta family.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. And scarfs are waved, and flowers come fluttering out, And, shaken by the noise, the reeling air Sweeps with a giddy whirl among the fair, And whisks their garments, and their shining hair. With busy interchange of wonder glows The cros, d, and loves his bravery as hlie goes,But on his shape the gentler sight attends, Moves as he passes,-as he bends him, bends,Watches his air, his gesture, and his face, And thinks it never saw such mnianly grace, So fine are his bare throat, and curls of black,So lightsomely dropt in, his lordly backHis thigh so fitted for the tilt or dance, So heaped with strength, and turned with elegance; But above all, so meaning is his look, Full, and as readable as open book; And such true gallantry the sex descries In the frank lifting of his cordial eyes. Little gallant, and had a sort (4f cioua Hanging fbr ever on his col,Id address, Which he misto(,k tor sovere-ign matlitiess But more of this hereatter. (,uid(lo knriew The parinice’s faults; and he was conscious too, That sirweet as was his daughteri, and,)rel)ared To do her duty, where al)peal was barred, She h ad a setse (t rriae, jst a f;t wiee; And where the match loolied ill fi)r liarmony, Might pauise lowith fir,ivness, anid ref’use to strike A chord her own sweet muiisic so titilike. The old inani th ]eru e, ekindenoug,l at heart, Yet f(,,)d, fro rn habit, ~,t’ i:~tri>uu;utd alrt, And little si’Itf(.r s..:tiirncits like these, Which seemed to him llere maiden;,iceties Had thougtlt at otn(ce t(, (-r.ititv the pride Of his stern neighbor, ard se cure the bride, By telling hind, thet it, as lie }Ji(t heard, Busy ine was just thier,‘twas but a fiord, And he mig,ht sfend a;jd -ed I( t )’ ( third, Only thie (dulue tljus itrtier iiiist pr,eicsme, For both thieir satkes,-thit still a 1iiri(e must com, The bride meantime was to](], arid sot unmrsoved, To look for one no sootier seen than loved; And when Giovanni, struck with wh-l,at he thought Mere p~roof hono Isis trtiumphalt: hadi was sought, Dispatched the w-islied-for i,‘ince, who A-as a creature Formed in the very, poetry of niatuir,2, The effect was perfect, and the f;uture wife Caught in the elaborate snar-e, p)erhaps for lif, His haughty steed, who seems by turns to be Vexed and made proud by that cool mastery, Shakes at his bit, and rolls his eyes with care, Reaching with stately step at the fine air; And now and then, sideling his restless pace, Drops with his hinder legs, and shifts his place, And feels through all his frame a fiery thrill: The princely rider on his back sits still, And looks where’er he likes, and sways him at his will. Surprise, relief, a joy scarce understood, Something perhaps of very gratitude, And fifty feelings, undefin’d and new, Dance through the bride, and flush her faded hue Could I but once,” she thinks, ” securely place A trust for the contents on such a case, And know the spirit that should fill that dwelling, This chance of mine would hardly be compelling.” Just then, the stranger, coming slowly round By the clear fountain and the brilliant ground, And bending, as he goes, with frequent thanks, Beckons a follower to him from the ranks, And loosening, as he speaks, from its light hold, A dropping jewel with its chain of gold, Sends it, in token he had loved him long, To the young father of Italian song: The youth smiles up, and with a lowly grace Bending his lifted eyes and blushing face, Looks after his new friend, who, scarcely gone In the wide turning, nods and passes on. This is sufficient for the destined bride; She took an interest first, but now a pride: And as the prince comes riding to the place, Baring his head, and raising his fine face, She meets his fll obeisance with an eye Of self-permission and sweet gravity; fie looks with touched respect, and gazes, and goes by. CANTO II. THE BRIDE’S JOURNEY TO RIMINI. PAss we the followers, and their closing state The court was entered by a hinder gate; T’he duke and princess had retired before, Joined by the knights and ladies at the door; But something seemed amiss, and there ensued Deep talk among the spreading multitude, Who stood in groups, or paced the measured street, Filling with earnest hum the noontide heat; Nor ceased the wonder, as the day increased, And brought no symptoms of a bridal feast, Ni, mass, no tilt, no largess for the crowd, Nthling to answer that procession proud; But a blank look, as if no court had been, Silence without and secrecy within; And nothing heard by listening at the walls, But now and then a bustling through the halls, Or the dim organ roused at gathering intervals. One shock there was, however, to sustain, Which nigh restohe(i her to hle rself again. Sh e s aw, when all tweoe housed, id Guiido’s fance A look of lies1trely surprise take place; A little whisperinga f ollowed tor a while, And then’twas told her with an easy smile, That Prince Giovanni, to his great chagrin, Had been delayed by something unforeseen, But rather than defer his day of bliss (If his fair ruler toolk it not amiss) Had sent his brother Paulo in hi;s 6iead; “Who,” said old Guido, atwith a nod(ling head, “May well be said to represent his brother, For when you see the one, you lknowv the other.” By this time Paulo joined them wvhiere they stood, And seeing her in some uneasy mood, Changed the mere cold respects his brother sent To such a strain of cordial compliment, And paid them with an air so frank and bright, As to a friend appreciated at sight, That air in short which sets you at your ease, Without implying your perplexities, That what with the surprise in every way, The hurry of the time, the appointed day, The very shame, which now appeared increased, Of begging leave to have her hand released, And above all, those tones, and smiles, and looks, Which seemed to realize the dreams of books, And helped her genial fancy to conclude That fruit of such a stock must all be good, She knew no longer how she could oppose: Quick were the marriage-rights; and at the close, The proxy, turning midst the general hush, Kissed her meek lips, betwixt a rosy blush. The rest however still were lociring on, Careless and mute, and scarce the noise was gone. When riding from the gate with banners reared. Again the morning visitors appeared. The prince was in his place; and in a car, The truth was this:The bridegroom had not come, Buit sent his brother, proxy in his room. A lofty spirit the former was, and proud, 191 At last, about the vesper hour, a score Of trumpets issued from the 1)alace door, The banners of their brass with favors tied, And with a blast proclaimed the wedded bride. But not a word the sullen silence broke, T’ll something of a gift the herald spoke, And with a ba of money issiiing out, Scattered the ready harvest round about; Then burst the mob irito a jovial c’rv, And largess! largess! claps against the sky, And bold Giovaniii’s name, the lord of Rimini.

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I’J TH IRRlIBAY Before him, glistening like a farewell star, Sate the dear lady with her brimming eyes; And off thev set, through doubtful looks and cries; For some too shrewdly guessed, and some were vexed At the dull day, and some the whole perplexed; And all great pity thought it to divide Two that seemed made for bridegroom and for bride. Ev’n she, whose heart this strange, abrupt event Had cross’d and sear’d with burning wonderment Could scarce, at times, a starting cry forbear At leaving her own home and native air; Till passing now the limits of the town, And on the last few gazers looking down, She saw by the road-side an aged throng, Who wanting power to bustle with the strong, Had learnt their gracious mistress was to go, And gathered there, an unconcerted show; Bending they stood, with their old forehead’s bare, And the winds fingered with their reverend hair. Farewell! farewell, my friends! she would have cried, But in her throat the leaping accents died, And, waving with her hand a vain adieu, She dropt her veil, and backwarder withdrew, And let the kindly tears their own good course pursue L To scour thme spae nd giv e the win d s a charge, Or pulling tight the bridles, as they pass, Dip their warm mouths into the freshening grass. iBut soon in easy rankc, from glade to glade, Proceed they, coasting underneath the shade, Some baling to the cool their placid brows, Some looking upward through the glimmering beughs, Or peering grave through inward-opening places, An.d half prepared for glimpse of shadowy faces. Various the trees and passing foliag,e here, Wild pear, and oak, and dusky juniper, With briony between in trails of white, And ivy, and the suckle’s streaky light, And moss, warm gleaming with a sudden mark, Like growths of sunshine left upon the bark, And still the pine, long-haired, and dark, and tall, In lordly right, predominant o’er all. Much they admire that old religious tree With shaft above the rest up-shooting free, And shaking, when its dark locks feel the wind, Its wealthy fruit with rough Mosaic rind. At noisy intervals, the living cloud Of cawing rooks breaks o’er them, gathering loud Like a wild people at a stranger’s coming; Then hushing paths succeed, wvith insects humming, Or ring-dove, that repeats his pensive plea, Or s tartled gull up-screaming tow ards the s ea. But scarce their eyes encounter living thing, Save, now and then, a goat loose wandering, Or a few cattle, looking up aslant With sleepy eyes and meek mouths ruminant; Or once, a plodding woodmand, old and bent, Passing with half indifferent wonderment, Yet turning, at the last, to look once more; Then feels his trembling staff, and onward as before So ride they pleased,-till now the couching sun Levels his final look through shadows dun; And the clear moon, with meek o’er-lifted face, Seems come to look into the silvering place. Then first the bride waked up, for then was heard, Sole voice, the poet’s and the lover’s bird, Preluding first, as if the sounds were cast For the dear leaves about her, till at last With floods of rapture, in a perfect shower, She vents her heart on the delicious hour. Lightly the horsemen go, as if they’d ride A velvet path, and hear no voice beside: A placid hope assures the breath-sus)ending bride So ride they in delight through beam and shade;Till many a rill now passed, and many a glade, They quit the piny labyrinths, and soon Emerge into the full and day-like moon: Chilling it seems; and pushing steed on steed, They start them freshly with a homeward speed. Then well-known fields they pass, and straggling cob Boy-storied trees, and love-remember’d spots, And turning last a sudden corner, see The moon-lit towers of slumbering Bimini The marble bridge comes heaving forth below With a long gleam; and nearer as they go, They see the still Marecchia, cold and bright, Sleeping along with face against the light. A hollow trample now,-a fall of chains,The bride has entered,-inot a voice remairs;Night, and a maiden silence, wrap the plains. It was a lovely evening, fit to close A lovely day, and brilliant in repose. Warm, but not dim, a glow was in the air; The softened breeze came smoothing here and there; And every tree, in passing, one by one, Gleamed out with twinkles of the golden sun: For leafy was the road, with tall array, On either side, of mulberry and bay, And distant snatches of blue hills between; And there the alder was with its bright green, And the broad chestnut, and the poplar’s shoot, That like a feather waves from head to foot, With, ever and anon, majestic pines; And still from tree to tree, the early vines Hung garlanding the way in amber lines. Nor long the princess kept her from the view Of that dear scenery with its parting hue: For sitting now, calm from the gush of tears, With dreaming eye fixed down, and half-shut ears, Heari-ng, yet hearing not, the fervent sound Of hoofs thick reckoning and the wheel’s moist round, A call of ” slower!” from the farther part Of the check’d riders, woke her with a start; And looking up again, half sigh, half stare, She lifts her veil, and feels the freshening air. ‘Tis down a hill they go, gentle indeed, And such, as with a bold and playful speed Another time they would have scorned to measure; But now they take with them a lovely treasure, And feel they should consult her gentle pleasure. And now with thicker shades the pines appear; The noise of hoofs grows duller on the ear; And quitting suddenly their gravelly toil, The wheels go spinning o’er a sandy soil. Here first the silence of the country seems To comne about her with its listening dreams, And full of anxious thoughts, half freed from pain, In downward musing she relapsed again, Leaving the others, who had passed that way In careless spirits of the early day, To look about, and mark the reverend scene, For awful tales renowned, and everlasting green. A heavy spot the forest looks at first, To one -rim shade condemned, and sandy thirst, Or only coequered, here and there, with bushes Dusty and sharp, or plashy pools with rushes, About whose sides the swarming insects fry, Opening with noisome din, as they go by. But entering more and more they quit the sand At once and strike upon a grassy land, From which the trees, as from a carpet, rise In knolls and clumps, with rich varieties. A mnoment’s trouble find the knights to rein Their horses in, which, feeling turf again, Thrill, and curvet, and long to be at large i I I I I I i It i: I i I THE MIRROR LIBRARY. ID2 CANTO

111. THE FATAL PASSTON. Now why rnost I disturb a dream of bliss, And bring cold sorrow’twixt the wedded kis,,,,? How mar the face of beauty, and disclose The weeping days that with the morning rose, And bring the bitter disappointment iD,The holy-cheat, the virtue-bidding sin,The shock, that told this lovelv, trusting heart, That she had given, beyond ali power to part, Her hope, belief, love, passio’n, to one brother, Possession, (oh, the misery!) to another!

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T From this complexion in the reigning brother His younger birth perhaps had saved the other. Borni to a lioniage less gratuitous, He learned to wi.‘l a nobler for his house; And both from habit and a genial heart, Without mii(-is trouble of the reasoning art, Found this the wisdom and the sovereign good To be, and make, as happy as he could. Not that he s~awN, or thought he saw, beyond His gener-al age, and could not be as fond Of wars and creeds as any of his race, But most he loved 3. happy human face; And wheresoe’er his fine, frank eyes were thrown, He struck the looks he swished for, with his own. So what but service leaped where’er he went I Was there a tilt-day or a tournament,For welcome grace there rode not such another, Nor yet for strength, except his lordly brother. Was there a court-day, or a feast, or dance, Or minstrelsy with roving plumes from France, Or summer party to the greenwood shade, With lutes prepared, and cloth on herbage lBid, And ladies’ laughter coming through the air,He was the readiest and the blithest there; And made the time so exquisitely pass With stories told with elbow on the grass, Or touched the music in his turn so finely, That all he did, they thought, was done divinely Some likeness.-,as there’tw,,ixt the two,an air At times, a cheeki, a color of the hair, A tone, wheni sim)ea!kiu l of iidifferent things; Nor, bv the scale (tf wi.)an nlmeasurings, Wuuld,you a iIoe peolia), than that the one Was more roblst, thit otlier finclier spun; That of t%l% t-(, (i-a.pi was the graver, Paul,) th lie iif, an thl, more in ilavor. Some tastes there were indeed, that would prefer Giova:,ni’s countein aice as the martialler; And’twas a soldier’s truly, if an eye Ardent and cool at once, drawn-back and high, An eagle’s nose and a determined lip, tvere the best mirtks of manly soldiership. Paulo’s vwas fashioned in a different mould, And surely the more fine: for though’twas hold, Wlhen boldness was required, and could put on A glowing frown as if an angel shone, Yet there was nothing in it one might call A stamp exclusive or professional, No courtier’s face, and yet its smile was ready, No scholar’s, yet its look was deep and steady, No sol(lier’s, for its power was all of mind, Too true for violence, and too refined. The very nose, lightly yet firmly wrought, Showed taste; the forehead a clear-spirited thought; Wisdom looked sweet and inward from his eye; And round his mouth was sensibility: It was’ a face, in short, seemed made to show How far the genuine flesh and blood could go; A morning glass of unaffected nature, Something, that baffled looks of loftier feature, The visage of a glorious human creature. If any points there were, at which they came Nearer together,‘twas in knightly fame, And all accomplishments that art may know, Hunting, atnd princely hawking, and the bow, The rush together in the bright-eyed list, Fore-thoughted( chess, the riddle rarely missed, Alid the decision of still knottier points, WVith knife in hand, of boar and peacock joints,-T Things, that might shake the fame that Tristan got, And bring a doubt on perfect Launcelot.* But leave we knightho od to the former part; The tale I tell is of the human heart. The worst of Prince Giovanni, as his bride Too quicklv found, was an ill-temper’d pride. Bold, handsome, able (if he chose) to please, Punctual and right in common offices, He lost the sight of conduct’s only worth, The scattering, smiles on this uneasy earth, And on the strength of virtues of small weight, Claimed tow’rds himself the exercise of great. He kept no reckoning with his sweets and sours;He’d hold a sullen countenance for hours, And then, if pleased to cheer himself a space, Look for the immediate rapture in your face, Arec wonder that a cloud could still be there, How small soever, when his own was fair. Ye, such is conscience,-so designed to keep Stern, central watch, though all things else go sleep, And so much knowledge of one’s self there lies Cored, after all, in our complacencies, That no suspicion would have touched him more, Than that of wanntif on the generous score: He would have whlelmed you with a weight of scorn, Been proud at eve, inflexible at morn, In short, ill-temypred for a week to come, And all to strike that desperate error dumb. Taste had he, in a word, for high-turned merit, But not the patience, nor the genial spirit And so he mnde,‘twixt virtue and defect, A sort of fierce deaond on your respect, Which, if assisted by his high degree, It gave him in some eves a dignity, And struck a meaner deference in the many, Left him at last unloveable with any. The lovely stranger could not fail to see Too soon this difference, more es pe cially As her consent, too light ly n ow, she t hought, With hopes far different had been strangely bought, And-manv a time the pain of that neglect Would strike in blushes o’er her self-respect: But since the ill was cureless, she applied With busy vir tue to resume her pride, And hoped to value her submissive heart On playinig well a patriot daughter’s part,. Trying her new-found duties to prefer To what a father might have owed to her. The very day too when her first surprise Was full, kind tears had come into her eyes On finding, by his care, her private room Furnished, like magic, from her own at home; The very books and all transported there, The leafy tapestry, and the crimson chair, The lute, the glass that told the shedding hours, The little urn of silver for the flowers, The frame for broidering, with a piece half done, And the white falcon, basking in the sun, Who, when he sawv her, sidled on his stand, And twined his neck against her trembling hand But what had touched her nearest, was the thought, That if’twere destined for her to be brought To a sweet mother’s bed, the joy would be Giovanni’s too, and his her family:He seemed alreadv father of her child, And on the nestling pledge in patient thought she smlld Yet then a pang would cross her, and the red In either downward cheek startle and spread, To think that he, wvho was to have such part In joys like these, had never shared her heart; But then she chased it with a sigh austere; And did she chance, at times like these, to hear Her husband’s footstep, she would haste the more, And with a double sInile open the door, And hope his dav had worn a happy face; Ask how his soldiers pleased him, or the chase, Or what new court had sent to win his sovereign grace. The prince, at this, would bend on her an eye Cordial enough, and kiss her tenderly; Nor, to say truth, was he in general slow To accept attentions, flattering to bestow; But then meantime he took no generous pains,. By mutual pleasing, to secure his gains; He entered not, in turn, in her delights, Her books, her flowers, her taste for rural sights; Nay scarcely her sweet sin,ing min_ed he, Unless his pride was roused bv company; Or when to please him, after martial play, She strained her lute to some old fiery lay * The two famous knights of the Round Table, great huntsmen, and ofcourse great carvera Boars and peacocks, served up whole, the lat ter with the feathers oti, were eminent dishes with the knights of old, and must have called forth all the exercise of this accomplishment. II I I THE MIRROR LIBRARY.

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194~~ ~ ~ ~ TEMRORLBAY Of fierce Orlando, or of Ferumbras, Or Ryan’s cloak, or how by the red grass In battle you might know where Richard wasO

Yet all the while, no doubt, however stern Or cold at times, he thought he loved in turn, And that the joy he took in her sweet ways, The pride he felt when she excited pIraise, In short, the enjoyment of his own good pleasure, WVas thanks enough, and passion beyond measure. She, had she loved him, might have thought so too: For what will love’s exalting not go through, Till long neglect, and utter selfishness, Shame the fond pride it takes in its distress? But ill prepared was she, in her hard lot, ro fancy merit where she found it not,She, who had been beguiled,-she, who was made Within a gentle bosom to be laid,To bless and to be blessed,-to be heart-bare To one who found his bettered likeness there,To think for ever with him, like a bride,-O To haunt his eye, like taste personified,To double his delight, to share his sorrow, And like a morning beam, to wake him every morrow. ‘Tis true thought he, one being more there was, Who miglit meantime have Nearyv l.otrs to pass, One weaker too to bear them, ai:d for wXhom?No matter;-he could not rev erse’ her doom; And so he sighed and smniled, as if one thought Of paltering could suppose that Ile was to be caught Yet if she loved him, common gratitude, If not, a sense of what was fair acid g,)od, Besides his new relationship anti right, Would make him wish to please her all he might And as to thinkin where could be the lmarm, If to his heart he kept its s ecret c harm? Tli wisl,ed not to he;mselt anot er’s blessin dr, Bt t then, he tligit honsolt for rAt po, 3essin; And glorious things there were, which but t o s et And not admire, wer ere mere stupidity: He might as well object to his own eyes For loving to behold the fields and skies, His neighbor’s grove, or story-painted hall; ‘Twas but the taste for what was natural; Only his fav’rite thought was lovel ie st of them all. Concluding thus and happier that he knew His ground so well, near and more near he drew, And, sanctioned by his brother’s manner, spent ~ Hours by her side, as happy as well-meant. He read with her, he rode, he train’d her hawk, He spent still evenings in delightful talk, While she sat busy at her broidery frame; Or touched the lute with her, and when they came To some fine part, prepared her for the pleasure, And then with double smile stole on the measure Then at the tournament,-who there but she Made him more gallant still than formerly, Couch o’er his tightened lance with double force, Pass like the wind, sweeping down man and horse, And franklier then than ever, midst the shout And dancing trumpets ride, uncovered, round about? His brother only, more than hitherto, He would avoid, or sooner let subdue, Partly from something strange unfelt before, Partly because Giovanni sometimes wore A knot his bride had worked him, green and gold: For in all things with nature did she hold; And while’twas being worked, her fancy was Of sunbeams mingling with a tuft of grass. Francesca from herself but ill could hide What pleasure now was added to her side, How placidly, yet fast, the days flew on Thus link’d in white and loving unison, And how the chair he sat in, and the room, Began to look, when he had failed to come.

But as she better knew the cause than he, She seemed to have the more necessity For strugglin, hard, and rouising all her pride; And so she did at first; she even tried To feel a sort of anger at his care: But these extremes brought but a kind despair; And then she only spoke more sweetly to him, And found her failing eyes give looks that melted thrs’ him Giovanni too, who felt relieved indeed To see another to his place succeed, Or rather fillin,, up some trifling hours, Better spent elsewl.ere, and beneath his powers, Left the new tie to ~-t’engthen dlay by day, Talked less and less, and longer kept away, Secure in his self-love andl sense of right, That he was welcome mnost, comne when he might And doulbtles~s, they, inl their still finler sense, W~ith added c, re repaid this confidence, Turningr their thoughts from his abuse of it, To wnhat on their ownl parts wsas graceful andl was fit. Ah nlows, ye gentlle pair,~nows think awhile, Now, awhile vue still canl ttlilnk, anti still can smnile; Now^, whI-ile volar ~cnr~se ml he;ll’ts have not been grieved Perhaps wsith somet~i,~~ not to be retrieved, And ye have still, within, the p~owser of gladness, From self resentmenat free, and retrospective madness! So did they think-but partly fi’om delay, Partly from fancied ignorance of the way, Paulo, meantime, who ever since the day He saw her sweet looks bending o’er his way, Had stored them up, unconsciously, as graces By which to judge all other forms and faces, Had learnt, I know not how, the secret snare, Which gave her up, that evening, to his care. Some babbler, may-be, of old Guido’s court, Or foolish friend had told him, half in sport: But to his heart the fatal flattery went; And grave he grew, and inwardly intent, And ran back, in his mind, with sudden spring, Look, gesture, smile, speech, silence, every thing, E’en what before had seemed indifference, And read themi over in another sense. Then would he blush with sudden self-disdain, To think how fanciful he was, and vain; And with half angry, half regretful sigh, Tossing his chin, and.feigning a free eye, Breathe off, as’twere, the idle tale, and look About him for his falcon or his book, Scorning that ever he should entertain One thought that in the end might give his brother pai.r This start however came so often round,So often fell he in deep thought, and found Occasion to renew his carelessness, Yet every time the power grown less and less, That by degrees, half wearied, half inclined, To the sweet struggling image he resigned; And merely, as he thought, to make the best Of what by force would come about his breast, Began to bend down his admiring eyes On all her touching looks and qualities, Turning their shapely sweetness every way, Till’twas his food and habit day by day, And she became companion of his thought; Silence her gentleness before him brought, Society her serne, reading her books, Music her voice, every sweet thing her looks, Which sometimes seemed, when he sat fixed awhile, ‘ro steal beneath his eyes with upward smile And did he stroll into some lonely place, Under the tress, upon the thick soft grass, How charming, would he think, to see her here! How heightened then, and perfect would appear The two divinest things in earthly lot, A lovely woman in a rural spot! Thus daily went he on, gathering sweet pain Trigterto~t rmhsaueo t Thus daily went he on, gathering sweet pain About his fancy, till it thrilled again: And if his brother’s image, less and less, Startled him up from his new idleness, Twas not-he fancied,-that he reasoned worse, Or felt less scorn of,a?ong, but the reverse. That one should think of injuring another, Or trenching on his peace,-this too a bra-her,And all from selfishness and pure weak wi., To him seemed marvellous and impossible THE MIRROR LIBRARY. t94

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1’HE MIRROR LIBRARY. 19[)~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ And most trom feeling the bare contemplation, t Give them fresh need of mutual consolation, Th – scarcelv tried to see each other less, Ann lid but meet with deeper tenderness, Living, from day to day, as they were used, Only ”

ith graver thougats, and smiles reduced, And sio.h more frequent, which, when one would heave, The other longed to start up and receive. For whether some suspicion now had crossed Giovanni’s mind, or whether he had lost More of his temp)er lately, he would treat His wife with p)etty scorns, and starts of heat, Anil, to L is ow i omissions l,roudly blind, O’e. look the pa. ns she took o mak him kind, .Ad yet be angry, if he thought them less; Lle found reproaches in her meek distress, Forcing her silent tears, and then resenting Then almost angrier grown from half repenting, And, hinting at the last, that some there were i Better perhaps than he, and tastefuller, And these, for what he knew,-he little cared, Might please her, and be pleased, though he despaired. Then would he quit the room, and half disdain HIimself for being in so harsh a strain, And venting thus his temper on a woman; Yet not the more for that changed he in common, Or tookl more pains to please her, and be near:-A What! should he truckle to a woman’s tear. At times like these the princess tried to shun The face of Paulo as too kind a one; And shutting up her tears with final sigh, Would walk into the air, and see the sky, And teel about her all the garden green, Atnd hear the birds that shot the covert boughs between. A noble range it was, of many a rood, Walled round with trees, and ending in a wood: Indeed the whole was leafy; and it had A winding stream about it, clear and glad, That danced from shade to shade, and on its way Seemed smiling with delight to feel the day. There was the pouting rose, both red and white, [he flamy heart’s-ease, flushed with purple light, Blush hiding strawberry, sunny-colored box, Hyacinth, handsome with its clustering locks, The lady lily, looking gently down, Pure lavender, to lay in bridal gown, [he daisy, lovely on both sides,-in short, All the sweet cups to which the bees resort, With plots of grass, and perfumed walks between Of citron, hones suckle, and jessamirne, With orange, w hose warm leaves so finely suit, And look as if they shade a golden fruit; And midst the flowers, turfed round beneath a shade Of circling pines, a babbling fountain played, And’twixt their shafts you saw the water bright, Which through the darksome tops glimmer’d with show’ring light. So inow you walked beside an odorous bed Of gorgeous hues, white, azure, golden, red; And now turned off into a leafy walk, Close and continuous, fit for lovers’ talk; And now pursued the stream, and as you trod Onward and onward o’er the velvet sod, Felt on your face an air, watery and sweet, And a new sense in your soft-lighting feet; And then perhaps you entered upon shades, Pillowed with dells and uplands’twixt the glades, Through which the distant palace, now and then, Looked lordly forth with many-windowed ken; At land of trees, which reaching round about, In shady blessing stretched their old arms out, With soots of sunny opening, and with nooks, To lie and read in, sloping into brooks, Where at her drink you started the slim deer, Retreating lightly with a lovely fear. And all about, the birds kept leafy house, Anol sung and sparkled in and out the boughs; And all about, a lovely sky of blue Clearly was felt, or down the leaves laughed through; And here and there, in every part, were seats, Some in the open walks, X m’e in retreats; With bowerinl leaves o’erhead, to which the eye Looked up) half’ sweetly and half awfully, Places of Nestling green, for poets made, Where, I hen the sunshine struck a yellow shade, The riggte( t runks, to inward peeping sight, Thronged in dark pillars up the gold reen light. But’twixt the wood and flowery walks, halfway, And formed of both, the loveliest portion lay, A spot, that struck you like enchanted ground: It was a shallow dell, set in a mound Of sl,ping shrubs, that mounted by degrees, The birch arid poplar mixed w ith heavier trees; Frc m under which, sent through a marble spout, Betwixt the dark wet green, a rill gushed out, Whose low sweet talking seemed as if it said Something eternal to that happy shade. The ground within was lawn, with plots of flowers Heaped towards the centre, and with citron bowers And in the midst of all, clustered with bay And myrtle, and just gleaming to the day, Lurked a pavilion,-a delicious sight, Small, marble, well-proportioned, mellowy white, With yellow vine-leaves sprinkled,-but no more, And a young orange either side the door. The door was to the wood, forward, and square, The rest was domed at top, and circular; And through the dome the only light came in, Tinged, as it entered, with the vine-leaves thin. It was a beauteous piece of ancient skill, Spared from the rage of war, and perfect still; By some supposed the work of fairy hands, Famed for luxurious taste, and choice of landrs Alcina, or Morgana,-who from fights And errant fame enveigled amorous knights, And lived with them in a long round of blisses, Feasts, concerts, baths, and bower-enshaded kisses. But’twas a temple, as its sculpture told, Built to the Nymphs that haunted there of old; For o’er the door was caved a sacrifice By girls and shepherds brought, with reverend eyes Of sylvan drinks and food, simple and swveet, And goats with struggling horns and planted feet. And round about, ran on a line wivh this In like relief, a world of Pagan bliss, That showed, in various scenes, the nymphs themselve.s Some by the water-side on bowery shelves Leaning at will,-some in the water sportinlg With sides half swelling forth, and lo(-okis of courting, Some in a flowery dell, hearing a swain Play on his pipe, till the hills ring again, Some tving up their long moist hair,-some sleep~’

Under the trees, with fauns and satyrs p)eeping, Or sidelong-eyed, pretending not to see The latter in the brakes come creelpiiigly, While from their careless urns, lying aside In the long grass, the straggling waters slide Never, be sure, before or since wAas seen A summer-house so fine in such a nest of green. All the green garden, flower-bed, shade, and plot Francesca loved, but most of all this spot. Whenever she walked forth, wherever went, About the grounds, to this at last she bent: Here she had brought a lute and a few books’ Here should she lie for hours, with- gratefil looks Thanking at heart the sunshine anld the leaves, The vernal rain-drops counting fr om the eaves, And all that promising, calrn smile wse see In nature’s face, when wie look pantiently.. Then would she think of heaven; a,~d you might Sewr Sometimes when every thing w as }hushed and clear, Her gentle voice from out those shades emerging, Singing the evening anthem to the Virgin. The gardeners an~d the rest, wrho served the place, .And blest whenever they beheldl her face, Knelt when they hleard it, bowsing and uncovered~ And felt MIRROR

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. An air of something quite seren,e ad sari, As if to seem so, bowere tAo a,, seo fire With this the lover s m,,, ps ith this they spoke, With th i this t hey sca t whsn to tl eitsa, e book And Paulo, bv dere es, readly.i’,})ra(‘ed With one permitted ar-im hii’l,,v,.Ix waslAnd both their cheeks, ti!te oti. lo.;s (l a trce, Learned with a touic(1X t,,;’,.ther, it’-.ri-lli,!, y ~ And o’er the book tijev- lt,n, ard nl(l’:said, And every lingering page grew lo’!> (as Ihiey read[ As thus they sat, ai-t fit xx l!~ loalis o! fl’eart Their color change, theyi- (‘aloe’,,loll tie part Where fond Genieuri, lowit li!,or Fraen long nhrst, Smiled upon)o1 LIaIIu1celo t kissed her first: That touch, at last.

tliri,,h ev ers firiec slid(; And Paulo tlurne, scai rI e l,: iwing w”lat lie did, Only he felt hle COrid no inore dissemble, And kissed her, mouth to llaoUl,, all in a tremble. Sad were those hearts, arnd swmetet was that long kiss: Sacred be love from sight-, whate’er it is. The world was all forgot. the struggle o’er, Desperate the joy,-That day thev read no more.

The princess came to her accustomed bower To get her, if she could, a soothing hour, Trving, as she was used, to leave her cares Without, aniid slumberously enjoy the airs, And the low-talking leaves, and that cool light The vifies let in, and all that hushing sight Of closing wood seen through the opening door, And distant plash of waters tumbling o’er, And smell of citron blooms, and fifty luxuries more. She tried, as usual, for the trial’s sake, For even that diminished her heart-ache; And never yet, how ill soe’er at ease, Came she for nothing’midst the flowers and trees.

Yet how it was she knew not, but that day, She seemed to feel too lightly borne away,Too much relieved,-too much inclined to draw A careless joy from every thing she saw, And looking round her with a new-born eye, As if some tree of knowledge had been nigh, To taste of nature, primitive and free, And bask at ease in her heart’s liberty. Painfully clear those rising thoughts appeared, With something dark at bottom that she feared; And turning from the fields her thoughtful look, She reached o’er head, and took her down a book, And fell to reading with as fix’d an air, As though she had been wrapt since morning there. HOW THE BRIDE RETURNED TO

RAVENNA ‘Twas Launcelot of the Lake, a bright romance, That, like a trumpet, made young pulses dance, Yet had a softer note that shook still more;She had begun it but the day before, And read with a full heart, half sweet, half sad, How old King Ban was spoiled of all he had But one fair castle: how one summer’s day With his fair queen and child he went away To ask the great King Arthur for assistance; How reaching by himself a hill at distance, He turned to give his castle a last look, And saw its far white face: and how a smoke, As he was looking, burst in volumes forth, And good King Ban saw all that he was worth, And his fair castle, burning to the ground, So that his w earied pulse felt over-wound, And he lay down, and said a prayer apart For those he loved, and broke his poor old heart. Then read she of the queen with her young child How she came up, and nearly had gone wild, And how in journeying on in her despair, She reached a lake and met a lady there, Who pitied her, and took the baby sweet Into her arms, when lo, with closing feet She sprang up all at once, like bird from brake, And vanished with him underneath the lake. The mother’s feelings we as well may pass:The fairy of the place that lady was, And Launcelot (so the boy was called) became Her inmate, till in search of knightly fame He went to Arthur’s court, and played his part So rarely, and displayed so frank a heart, That what with all his charms of look and limb, The Queen Geneura fell in love with him: And here, with growing interest in her reading, The princess, doubly fixed, was now prooeeding. SORROW, they say, to one with true touched ear, Is but the discord of a warbline sphe re, A lurking contrast, which though harsh it be, Distils the next note more deliciously. E’en tales like this, founded on real woe, From bitter seed to balmy fruitage grow: The woe was earthly, fugitive, is past; The song that sweetens it, may always last. And even they, whose shattered hearts and frames Make them unhappiest of poetic names, What are they, if they know their calling high But crushed perfumes exhaling to the sky? Or weeping clouds, that but a while are seen, Yet keep the earth they haste to, bright and green? Once, and but once,-nor with a scornful face Tried worth will hear,-that scene again took play Partly bv cha nce the y met, partly to se e The spot where thev had last gone cheerfully, But most, from failure of all self-support;And oh! the meeting in that loved resort! No peevishness there was, no loud distress, No mean retort of sorrv selfishniess; But a mute gush of hiiding tears from one Clasped to the core of him, who yet shed none,And self-acetsings then, which he began, And into which her tearful sweetness ran; And then hind looks, with meeting eyes again, Starting to deprecate each other’s pain; Till half persuasions they could scarce do wrong, And sudden sense of wretchedness, more strong, And-why should I add more?-again they parted, He doubly torn for her, and she nigh broken-hearted. Ready she sat with one hand to turn o’er The leaf, to which her thoughts ran on before, The other propping her white brow, and throwing Its ringlets out, under the skylight glowing. So sat she fied; and so observed was she Of one, who at the door stood tenderly,Paulo,-who from a wii-sow seeing her Go straight across the lawn, and guessing where, Had thou,,it she w-as in tears and found, that!ay, His usual efforts v.tin to keep away. * May I come in?” said he:-it made her start,That smiling voiceo;she colored, pressed her heart A moment, as for breath, and then with free And usual tone said, “0 yes,-certainly.” There’s woent to be, at conscious times like these, An affectation of a bright-eyed ease, She never ventured in that spot aga in; And Paulo knew it, but could not refrain; He went again one day; and how it looked! The calm, old shade! his presence felt rebuked. It seemed, as if the hopes of his young heart, His kindness, and his generouis scorn of art, Had all been mere a dream, or at the best A vain negation, that could stand Tno test; And that on waking from his idle fit, HIe found himself (how (could he. think of it ) A selfish boaster and a hypvocrite. 196 CANTO IV. That thought )efore li-,t(i rieved f)t,,t the p:ait, Cut sharp and siicl-‘en now it care ag,,tir.. Sick thoughts of la,e ha(] Iiis 1),)(Iv sicl. And pale he stood, and seeni(,(l to b-,ii-st o’,!iInto moist anguish never felt bef(,i-(-‘ i And with a dreadful certaii-ity to I,,’,“W, J His peace was gone, and all to cortie was N-o.,

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Francesca too,-the being, made to bless, Destined by him to the same vwretchedness, It seemed as if such whelming thoughts must find Some props for them, or he should lose his mind. And find he did, not what the worse disease Of want of charity calls sophistries, Nor what can cure a generous heart of pain, But humble guesses, helping to sustain. He thought, with quick philosophy, of things Rarely found out except through sufferings, Of habit, circumstance, design, degree, Merit, and will, and thoughtful charity: And these, although they pushed down as they rose, His self-respect, and all those morning shows Of true and perfect, which his youth had built, Pushed with them too the worst of other’s guilt; And furnished him, at least, with something kind, On which to lean a sad and startled mind: Till youth, and natural vigor, and the dread Of self-betrayal, and a thought that spread From time to time in gladness o’er his face, That she he loved could have done nothing base, Helped to restore him to his usual life, Though grave at heart, and with himself at strife; And he would rise betimes, day after day, And mount his favorite horse, and ride away Miles in the country, looking round about, As he glode by, to force his thoughts without; And, when he found it vain, would pierce the shade Of some enwooded field or closer glade. And there dismounting, idly sit, and sign Or piuck the grass beside him with vague eye, And almost envy the poor beast, that went Cropp-)ing it, here and there, with dumb content. But thus, at least, he exercised his blood, And kept it livelier than inaction could; And thus he earned for his thought-working head The power of sleeping when he went to bed, And was enabled still to wear away That task of loaded hearts, another day. But she, the gentler frame,-the shaken flower, Plucked up to wither in a foreign bower,The struggling, virtue-loving, fallen she, The wife that was, the mother that might be,What could she do, unable thus to keep Her strength alive, but sit, and think, and weep, For ever stooping o’er her broidery frame, Half blind, and longing till the night-time came, When worn and wearied out with the day’s sorrow, She might be still and senseless till the morrow? But Princee Giovahad i, w hl om k ed anan (dis tress Had touched, of late, with a new tenderness Which, to his fresh surprise, did but appeal To wound her more than when he wali severe, Began, with other helps perha)s, to see Strange thing;, and missed his brother’s company. What a convulsion was the first sensatic.! Rage, wonder, misery, scorn, huimiliation, A self-love, struck as with a p(ersonal bloN, Gloomy revenge, a prospect full of woe, All rushed upon him, like the sudden viewv Of some new world, fioreign to all he knew, Where he had waked and found disease’s visions true If any lingering, hope, that he was wrong, Smoothed o’er him now and then,‘twas not so long Next night, as sullenly awake he lay, Considering what to do the approaching day He heard his wife say something in her sleep:He shook and listened;-she began to weer,, And moaning louder, seemed to shake her head, Till all at once articulate, she said, ” He loves his brother yet-dear heaven,‘twvas I-” Then lower voiced-,” only-do let me die.” The prince looked at her hastily;-no more; He dresses, t akes his sword, and through the door Goes, like a spirit, in tire m or ning a ir;His squire awaked attends; and they repair, Silent as wonder, to his brother’s room:Htis squire calls him up too; and forth they come. The brothers meet,-Giovanni scarce in breath, Yet firm and fierce, Paulo as Bale as death. “May I request, sir,” said the prince, and frowned, “Your ear a moment in the tiltin~, ground?” “There, brother?” answered Paulo, with an air Surprised and shocked. ” Yes, brothe(r,” cried he, ah the,.’ The word smote crushingly; and paler still, He bowed, and moved his lips, as waiting on his -‘vi’l. Giovanni turned, and down the stairs they bend; The squires, with looks of sad surprise, attend; Then issue forth in the moist-striking air, And toward the tilt-yard cross a planted square. ‘Twas a fresh autumn dawn, vigorous and chill The lightsome morning star was sparkling still, Ere it turned in to heaven; and far away Appeared the streaky fingers of the day. An opening in the trees took Pauilo’s eve, As mute his brother and himself went by: It was a glimpse of the tall wooded mound, That screened Francesca’s favorite spot of ground Massy and dark in the clear twilight stood, As in a lingering sleep, the solemn wood; And through the bowering arch, which led inside, He almost fancied once, that he descried A marble gleam, where the pavilion lay;Starting he turned, and looked another way. And oh, the morrow, how it used to rise! Hlow would she open her despairing eyes, And from the sense of the long lingering day, Rushing upon her, almost turn away, Loathing the light, and groan to sleep again! Then sighing once for all, to meet the pain, She would get tup in haste, and try to pass The time in patience, wretched as it was; Till patience self, in her distempered sight, Would seem a charm to which she had no right, And trembling at the lip, and pale with fears, She shook her head, and burst into fresh tears. Old comforts now were not at her command: The falcon reached in vain from off his stand; The flowers were not refreshed; the very light, The sunshine, seemed as if it shone at night; The least noise smote her like a sudden wound; And did she hear but the remotest sound Of song or instrument about the place, She hid with both her hands her streaming face. But worse to her than all (and oh!

thought she, That ever, ever, such a worse should be!) The sight of infant was, or child at play; Then would she turn, and move her lips, and pray, T’hiat heaven would take her, if it pleased, away. I pass the meetings Paulo had with her:Calm were they in their outward character, Or pallid eforts, rather, to suppress The pan’rs within, that eitl-her’s might be less; A 9(i ended mostiy wis a passionate start Paulo’s heart bled; he waved his hand, and r -e’Ii His head a little in acknowledgment. “Say then, sir, if you can,” continued lie, “One word will do-Xy(ou have not i>i}red m,~: Tell me bult so, and T shl11 t)ear the pain Of having asked a question I disdain:But utter nothings, if not that one woid; And meet me this:”-he stopped and drew his -‘Is o)ra I 1!47 Of tears and ]indness, when they came to part — Thinner fie grew, she thought, and pale with care 11 And 1,‘twas 1, that dashed hig Doble air!” He saw her w,-tsting, ,( t with I)Iacid show; And scarce could hell)..Exclaiming in his woe, 11

0 gentle creature, lool< not at me so!" Arrived, and the two squires withdrawn apart, The prince spoke low, as with a laboring heart, Arid said, 11 Before you answer what you can, I wish to tell you, as a gentleman, That what you may confess," (and as lie spoke His voice with breathless and I)ale passiop. broke; 11 Will implicate no person lcnown to you, More than disquiet in its sleep may do."

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198 T-lE MIRRORvLIBRARY. Paulo seemed firmer grown from his despair; He drew a little back; and with the air Of one who would do well, not from a right To be well thought of, but in guilt's despite, "I am," said he, " I know,-'twas not so everBut fight for it! and with a brother! Never."

"How!" with uplifted voice, exclaimed the other; "The vile pretence! who asked you-with a brother? Brother! O traitor to the noble name Of Alatesta, I deny the claim. What! wound it deepest? strike me to the core, Me, and the hopes which I can have no more, And then, as never Malatesta could, Shrink from the letting a few drops of blood?" " It is not so,"

cried Paulo, "'tis not so; But I would save you from a further woe." But noble passion touched Giovanni's soul; He seemed to feel the clouds of habit roll Away from him at once, with all their scorn; And out he spoke, in the clear air of morn:" By heaven, by heaven, and all the bet ter part Of us poor creatures with a human heart, I trust we reap at last, as well as plough;But there, meantime, my brother, liest thou; And, Paulo, thou wert the completest knight, That ever rode with banner to the fight; And thou wert the most beautiful to see, That ever came in press of chivalry; And of a sinful man, thou wert the besi, That ever for his friend put spear in rest; And thou wert the most meek and cordial, That ever among ladies eat in hall; And thou wert still, for all that bosom gored, The kindest man, that ever struck m.)' sword." " A further woe, recreant!"

retorted he: "I know of none: yes, one there still may be; Save me the woe, save me the dire disgrace Of seeing one of an illustrious race Bearing about a heart, which feared no law, And a vile sword, which yet he dare not draw." At this the words forsook his tongue; and h Who scarcely had shed tears since infancy, Felt his stern visage thrill, and meekly bowed Ilis head, and for his brother wept aloud. The squires with glimmnering tears,-Tristan, Heart-struck, and hardly able to proceed,Double their scarfs about the fatal wound, And raise the body tip to quit the ground. Giovanni starts; and motioning to take The way they came, follows his brother back, And having seen him laid upon the bed, No further look he gave him, nor tear shed, But went away, such as he used to be, With looks of stately will, and calm austerity. " Brother, dear brother!" Paulo cried, "n nay, nay, I'll use the word no more;-but peace, I pray! You trample on a soul, sunk at your feet!" "'Tis Plse;" exclaimed the prince; "'tis a retreat To whlich you fly, when manly wrongs pursue, And fear the grave you bring a woman to." A sudden start, yet not of pride or pain, Paulo here gave; he seemed to rise again; And takling off his cap without a word, He drew, arid kissed the crossed hilt of his sword, Looking to heaven;-then with a steady brow, Mild, yet not feeble, said, "

I'm ready now." " A noble wordl! " exclaimed the prince, and smote Preparingly on earth his firming foot:- A The squires rush in between, in their despair, But both the princes tell them to beware. " Back, Gerard,"

cries Giovanni; " I require No teacher bhere, but anll observant squire."

i Back, Tristan," Paulo cries; " fear not for me; All is not worst that so appears to thee. And here," said he, " a word." The poor youth came, Starting in sweeter tears to hear his name: A whisper, and a charge there seemed to be, Given to him kindly, yet inflexibly: Both squires then drew apart again, and stood Mournfully both, each in his several mood,One half in raze, as to himself he speaks, The other with thie tears streaming down both his cheeks. The prince attacked with nerve in every limb, Nor seemed the other slow to match with him; Yet as the fight grew warm,'twas evident, One foughit to wound, the other to prevent: Giovanni pressed, and pushed, and shifted aim, A-id played his weapon like a tongue of flame; Paulo retired, and warded, turned on heel, And led him, step by step, round like a wheel. .Sometitnes indeed he feigned an angrier start, But still relapsed, and played his former part. "What!" cried Giovanni, who grew still more fierce, "Fighting in sport? Playing your cart and tierce?"

"Not so, my prince," said Paulo; ", have a care, iow.y)ou think so, or I shall wound you there." Hle stamped, and watching as he spoke the word, Drove, wit'h. his breast, full on his brother's sword. 'Twas done. He staggered, and in falling prest Giovanni's toot with his right hand and breast: Then on his elbow turned, and raising t'other, lie smileld, and said, " No fault of yours, my brother; An accident-a slip-the finishing one Tl'o errors hv that poor old man begffin. You'll not-I;oi11 not "-his heart leaped on before, And clicLed his ott' rice; but he smiled once more. For, as his hand ger'w lax, hlie felt it piest; And so, his din eyes sliding into rest, He turned him round, and dropt with hilling head And, in that loosening drop, his spirit fled. The princess, who had passed a fearful night, Toiling with dreams,-fi'ight crowding upon fright, Had missed her husband at that early hour, And would have ris'n, but found she winted power. Yet as her body seemed to go, her mind Felt, though in anguish still, strangely resigned; And moving not, nor weeping, mute she lay, Wasting in patient gravity away. The nurse, sometime before, with gentle creep Had drawn the curtains, hoping she might sleep: But suddenly she asked, though not with fear, a Nina, what bustle's that I seem to hear?" And the poor creature, who the news had heard, Pretending to be busy, had just stirred Something about the room, ard answered not a word.

W, Who's there," said that swe.t'voice, kindly and clew, Which in its stronger davs vwas joy to hear:Its weakness now almost deprived the squire Of his new firmness, but ap)roaching nigher, " Madam," said he, c;'tis I; one who may say, He loves his friends more than himself to-day;Tristan."

She paused a little, and then saidcTristan-my friend, wheat noise thus haunts inv I %di Sornethin(g l'Im sure has hbl pened tell me whatI can bear all, thoughii vot> mnav fancy lot.” ;Madam,” replied the s,,ii ~,oii,, are, I know, All sweetness Wardon me for saline so. My- master bade me say the,n,” resiumed( he, “s That he spoke firmly, when lie told it me,  That I was also, madamn, to your ear Firmly to speak and you firmly to hear, I I TIIE MIRROR LIBRARY. 198 indeed Tristan, who, when be was to make the best Of som “thing sad and not to be redressed, Could show a heart as firm as it was iind, Now locked his tears up, and seemed all resigned, And to Francesca’s chamber took his way, To tell the message of that mortal day. He found her ladies up and down the stairs Moving Path noiseless caution, and in tears, And that the news, though to herself unknown, On its old wings of vulgar haste had flown The door, as tenderly as miser’s purse, Was opened to him bv the a,ed nurse, Who shaking her old head, and pressing close Her withered lips to keep the tears that rose, Made signs she guessed what,rief fie came about, And so his arm squeezed gently, arid went out.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 19q. That he was forced this day, whether or no, To combat with the prince; and that although His noble brother was no fratricide, Yet in that fight, and on his sword,-he died.” ‘ I understar,d,” with firmness answered she; More low in voice, but still composedly. “Now, Tristan-f’aithful friend-leave me; and take This trifle here, and keel) it for my silake.” So saying, firom the curtains she put forth lHer thin white hand, that wore a ring of worth; And he, with tears no longer to be kept From quenching his heart’s thirst, s lently wept, And kneeling took the ring, and touched her hand To either streaming eye, with homage bland, And looking on it once, gently up started, And, in his reverent stillness, so departed. Her favorite lady then with the old nurse Returned, and fearing she must now be worse, Gently withdrew the curtains, and looked in:0, who that feels one godlike spark within, Shall bid not earth be just, before’tis hard, with sin? There lay she praying, upwardly intent, Like a fair statue on a monument, With her two trembling hands together prest, Palm against palrm, and pointing from her breast. She ceased, and turning slowly towards the wall, They saw her tremble sharply, feet and all,Then suddenly be still. Near and more near They bent with pale inquiry and close ear;Her eyes were shut-no motion-not a breath-A rThe gentle sufferer was at peace in death. I pass the grief that struck to every face, And the mute anguish all about that place, In which the silent people, here and there, Went soft, as though she still could feel their care. The gentle-tempered for a while forgot Their own distress, or wept the common lot: ‘]‘he warmerapter now to take offence, Yet hushed as they rebuked, and wondered whence Others at such a time could get their want of sense Fain would I haste indeed to finish all; And so at once I reach the funeral. Private’twas fancied it must be, though some Thought that her sire, the poor old duke, would come. And some were wondering in their pity, whether The lovers might not have one grave together. Next day, however, from the palace gate A blast of trumpets blew, like voice of fate; And all in sable clad, forth came again Of knights and squires the former sprightly train; Gerard was next, and then a rank of friars; And then, with hleralds on each side, two squires, The one of whom up)on a cushlionl bore The coroneted helm Prince Paulo wore, His shield the other;-then there was a space, And in the middle, with a doubtful pace, His horse succeeded, plumed and trapped in black, Bearing the sword and banner on his back: The noble creature, as in state he trod, Appeared as if he missed his princely load; And with back-rolling eye and lingering pride, To hope his master still might come to ride. Then Tristan, heedless of what passed around, Rode by hiniself, with eyes upon the ground. Then heralds in a row: and last of all Appeared a hearse, hung with an ermined pall, And nearing on its top, together set, A prince’s and princess’s coronet. Mutely they issued forth, black, slow, dejected, Nor stopped within the walls, as most expected; But passed the gates-the bridle-the last abode,And towards Ravenna held their silent road. The prince, it seems, struck, since his brother’s death, With what he hinted with his dying breath, And told by others now of all they knew, Had fixed at once the course he should pursue; An I from a mingled feeling, which he strove q’o hide no longer from his taught self-love, Of sorrow, shame, resentment, and a sense Of justice owing to that first offence, The wretched father, who, when he ha d read This letter, felt it wither his gray head, And ever since had paced about his room. Trembling, and seiz’d as with approaching doom, Had given such orders, as he well could frame, To meet devoutly whatsoever came; And as the news immediately took flight, Few in Ravenna went to sleep that night, But talked the business over, and reviewed All that they knew of her, the fair and good; And so with wondering sorrow the next day, Waited till they should see that sad array.

The days were the n a t clos e of autumn, still, A little rainy, and towards night-fall chill; There was a fitful, moaning air abroad; And ever and anon, over the road, The last few leaves came fluttering from the trees, Whose trunks now thronged to sight, in dark varieties The people, who from reverence kept at home, Listened till afternoon to hear them come; And hour on hour went by, and nought was heard But some chance horseman, or the wind that stirred, Till towards the vesper hour; and then’twas ail Some heard a voice, which seemed as if it read’ And others said, that they could hear a -ound Of many horses trampling the moist gro’lid Still nothing came,-till on a sudden, just As the wind opened in a rising gust, A voice of chanting rose, and as it spread, They plainly heard the anthem for the dead It was the choristers, who went to meet The train, and now were entering the first sc’reet. Then turned aside that city, young and old, And in their lifted hands the gushing sorrow rolled.

But of the older people, few could bear To keep the window, when the train drew near; And all felt double tenderness to see The bier approaching, slow and steadily, On which those two in senseless coldness lay, Who but a few short months-it seemed a day, Had left their walls, lovely in form and mind, In sunny manhood he,-she first of womankind. They say that when Duke Guido saw them come, He clasped his hands, and looking round the room, Lost his old wits for ever. From the morrow None saw him after. But no more of sorrow:On that same night, those lovers silently Were buried in one grave, under a tree. There side by side, and hand in hand, they lay In the green ground:-and on fine nights in May Young hearts betrothed used to come there to pray THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 19.9 Had, on the dav preceding, written word To the old dule ot’all that had occurred And though I shall i ot,” (so concluded he) Otherwise touch thine age’s misery, Yet as I would that both one grave should hide, Which can, and must not be, where I reside, ‘T’s fit, though all have something to deplore, That he,whojoin’d them once,should keep to part ne =iors.1 THE NILE. ‘k A SONNET. BY LEIGH

HUNT. IT flows through old hushed Xgypt, and its sands Like so grave mighty thouzht threading a dream, And ti s and things, as in that visiofi, seem Kpiri, along it their eternal stand,3,Caves, pillars, pyramids, the shepherd bands That roamed through the young world, the glory exueme Of high Sesostris, and that Southern beam, The laughing queen that caught the world’s great.hfads Then comes a miglitier silence, stern and strong, As of a world left empty cf its tlirong, And the void weighs on us; and then we wake, And hear the fruitful stream lapsing along ‘Twixt villages, and think how we shall take Our own calm journey on for’iumaii sake

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QO T -l MIRO LIRR.____ NOTES. us at a distance, does not on a closer inspection turn out an opaque substance. This is a charge that none of his friends will bring against Mr. Leigh Hunt. He improves upon acquaintance.

The author translates admirably into the man. Indeed the very faults clf his stvle are virtues in the individual. His natural gaiety and sprightliness of manner, his high animal spirits, and the vintei us quality of his mind produce an immnediate fascination and intoxication in those wvlho come in contact with him, and carry off in society whatever in his writings may to some seem flat and impertinent. Frown gre at sanguinethess of t e mper, from great (uickness an d unsuspectin g simplicity, he runs o n to the public as he does at his own fire-side, and talks about himself, forgetting that he is no t a lways among friends. His look, hi s tone are required to point many things that he says: his frank, cordial manner reconciles you instantly to a little over-bea ring, over-weening s elf-complacency. c To be admired, h e ne e ds but to be seen:” but perhaps he ought to be seen to be fully appreciated. No one ever sought his society who did not come away with a more favourable opinion of him: no one was ever disappointed, except those who had entertained idle prejudices against him. HIe sometimes trifles with his readers, or tires of a subject (from not being urged on by the stimulus of immao. diate sympathy)-but in conversation he is all life and animation, combining the vivacity of the school-boy with the resources of the wit and the taste of the scholar. The personal character, the spontaneous impulses, do not appear to excuse the author, unless you are acquainted with his situation and habits-like some proud beauty who gives herself what we think strange airs and graces under a mask, but who is instantly forgiven when she shows her face. We have said that Lord Byron is a sublime coxcomb: whv should we not say that Mr. Hunt is a delightful one?

There is certainly an exuberance of satisfaction in his manner which is more than the strict logical premises warrant, and which dull and I)hlegmatic constitutions know nothing of, and cannot understand till thev see it. He is the only poet or literary man we ever knew who put us in mind of Sir John Suckling or Killigrew or Carew; or who united rare intellectual acquirements with outward grace and natural gentility. Mr.

Htunt ought to have been a gentleman born, and to have patronised men of letters. He might then have played, and sung, and laughed, and talked his life away; have written manly prose, elegant verse; and his Story of Rimnini would have been praised by the Blackwood Magazine. As it is, there is no man now living who at the same time writes prose and verse so well, with the exception of Mr. Southey (an exception, we fear, that will be little palatable to either of these gentlemen.) His prose writings, however, disl-)lav more consistency of principle than the laureate’s: his verses more taste. We will venture to oppose his Third Canto of the Story of Rintini, for classic elegance and natural feeling to any equal number of lines from Mr. Southev’s Epics, om even from Mr. Moore’s Lalla Rookh. I a more gay ano conversational style of writing, we thinkl his Epistle to Lord Byron on his going abroad, is a masterpiece; and the Feast of the Poets has run through several editions A light, familiar grace, and mild unpretending pathos are the characteristics of his more sportive or serious writings whether in poetry or prose. A smile plays round the features of the one; a tear is ready to start from the thought. ful gaze of the other. He perhaps takes too little pains, anld indulges in too much waywvard caprice in both. A wit and a poet, Mr. Hulnt is also distingurlished by fineness of tact and sterling~ sense: he has onlet been a visionary in humanity, the fool of virtue. It swas said by a friend and contemporary, that Hunt was born wvith the disposition of a lord, Leigh Hunlt is the founder ofra school, ridiculed in Blackwood’s.Mrag’azine under the name (,f’ the Coc,~-ne-y School. There is muchl boldness in the p~oliticall’,erirncil~les of Leigh Hunt; bult Lois poetry is charalcterisedi by o’ellleness. A. luxury of imnages inl Moore’s style nav be di: cerned in itg and a de~‘ee of hlarmony)l u,~restl‘aned liv7 rules and ordinary language- bult,n(he all 1 an affected nc~‘ii’-nite. Mr.

Hunt rhymes like a nloble be/ esprit: and thlinks like a dema. gogue. }[is enthulsiasmn for nature leas more the air of s pretence than a real emotion, {or h!s descri~t ells are nei, ther pastoral nor uartificial..

THE A.NGEL OF THE WORLD, by the Rev. George Croly, is a paraphrase of one of the most graceful fictions of the Koran. Tile angels HAVUTi and MARUTH had, it seems, spoken uncharitably, concerning mankind, and had expressed, in the regions above, great contempt for those temptations which are and have been long found, most efficacious for overthrowsin,g the resolutions of terrestrial virtue. That they might have their purity put to the proof, the two proud angels were sent down to dwell for a season on the earth. A woman was sent to tempt them-and they fell. Her charms won them first to drink of the forbidden fruit of the grape; and, after that fall, all others were easy. They stainiied their essence with the corruptions ofsense, an(d betrayed to mortal ears ” the words that raise men to angels.” Croly writes, (for our relishing, at least,) with a better conception than Moore, for this particular style of poem, and with a far more soaring and ennobling flosv of melody. The Loves of the Angels, to this poem, are as the hop of the sparrow to the long swoop of the eagle.

Unparalleled splendor of language and imagery is Croly’s great gift, and in reading his poem, the imagination sails easily and toweringly away and lies dreamily in the clouds, listening to him. It is marvellous that this most glorious poem should ever have been forgotten as it isfor it will be, to most readers, a work entirely new. X; The STORY of RIMINI is founded on the beautiful episode of Paulo and Francesca in the fifth book of the INhERNO, where it stands like a lilv in the mouth of Tartarus. The substance of what Dante tells us of the history of the two lovers is to be fobund at the end of the third Canto. The rest has been gathered from the commentators. They differ in their accounts of it, but all agree that the lady was, in some measure, beguiled into the match with the eider and less attractive Malatesta,-Boccaccio says, by having the younger brother pointed out to her as her destined huso)and, as he was passing over a square. Francesca of Ravenna was the daughter of Guido Novello ia Polenta, lord of that city, and was married to Giovanni, 3r, u others call him, Launcelot Malatesta, Lord of Rimini, under circumstances that had given her an innocent predilection for Paulo, his younger brother. The falsehood thus practised upon her had fatal consequences. In the Poem before the reader, the Duke her father, a weak, though not ill-disposed man, desirous, on a political account, of marrying her to the Prince of Rimini, and dreading her objections in case she sees him, and becomes acquainted with his unamiable manners, contrives that he shall send his brother as his proxy, and that the poor girl shall believe the one prince to be the sample of the other. Experience undeceives her; Paulo has been told the perilous secret of her preference for him; and in both of them a struggle with their sense of duty takes place, for which the insincere and selfish morals of others had not prepared them. Giovanni discovers the secret, from words uttered by his wife in her sleep: he forces Paulo to meet him in single combat, and slays him, not without sorrow for both, and great indignation against the father; Francesca dies of a broken heart; and the two lovers, who had come to Ravenna in the midst of a gay cavalcade, are sent back to Ravenna, dead, in order that he who first helped to unite them with his falsehood, should bury them in one grave for his repentance.

The poor old man loses his wits; and the burial takes place. Leigh Hunt (James Henry Leigh Hunt) is of American parentage, by both father’s and mother’s side. He is the son of a royalist who fled to England at the commencement of the Revolution. The mother of the poet was a sister of Benj. West, the painter. Hunt was born 1784, and educated at Christ’s Hospital, on leaving which he was for some time in the office of an attorney. He next obtained a situation under government, which he was obliged to quit on establishing the paper called the Examiner, in 1809, before which he wvas the editor of the News. His last speculation was successful, owing to the virulence of its politics, which brought upon him a prosecution for a libel against the Prince Regent, and he was kept for sme time in confinement. Personal intimacy (says Hazlitt, who gives the following interesting sketch of him) might be supposed to render us i mrtial to Mr. Leigh Hunt. It is well when personal intim’acy produces this effect; and when the light, that dazzles THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 200

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THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD. THaRE is no authentic history of the world from the creation to the deluge, besides that which is found in the first chapters of Genesis. He, therefore, who fixes the date of a fictitious narrative within that period, is under obligation to no other authority whatever, for conformity of manners, events, or even localities: he has full power to accommodate these to his peculiar purposes, observing only such analogy as shall consist with the brief information, contained in the sacred records, concerning mankind in the earlijest ages. The present writer acknowledges, that he has exercised this undoubted right with great freedom. Success alone sanctions bold innovation; if he has succeeded in what he has at temptel, he will need no arguments to justify it; if he has miscarried, none will avail him. Those who imagine that he has exhibited the antediluvians, as more skilful in arts and arms than can be supposed, in their stage of society, may read the Eleventh book of PARADISE LosT: and those, who think he has made the religion of the patriarchs too evangelical, may read the Twelfth. WVith respect to the personages and incidents of his story, the author having deliberately adopted them, under the conviction, that in the characters of the one he was not stepping out of human nature, and in the construction of the other not exceeding the limits of poetical probability-he asks no favor, he deprecates no censure, on behalf of either; nor shall the facility, with which “much malice and little wit” might turn into ridicule every line that he has written, deter him from leaving the whole to the mercy of general readers. But, here is a large web of fiction involving a small fact of Scripture! Nothing could justify a work of this kind, if it were, in any way, calculated to impose on the credulity, pervert the principles, or corrupt the affections of its approvers. Here, then, the appeal lies to conscience rather than to taste, and the decision on this point is of infinitely more importance to the poet than his name among men or his interests on earth. It was his design, in this composition, to p,resent a similitude of events, that might be imagined to have happened in the first age of the world, in which such Scrip)ture characters as are introduced would probably have acted and spoken, as they are made to act and speak. The story is told as a parable only, and its value, in this view, must be determined by its moral or rather by its religious influence on the mind and on the heart. Fiction though it be, it is the fiction that represents truth, and that is truthtruth in the essence, though not in the name; truth in the spirit, though not in the letter. By freshening waters, flocks and cattle strayed, While youth and childhood watched them from the shade Age, at his fig-tree, re sted Tom his toil, And manly vigor tilled the unfailing soil; Green sprang the turf, by holy footsteps trod, Round the pure altars of the living God; Till foul idolatry those altars stained, And lust and revelry through Eden reigned. Then fled the people’s glory and defence, The joy,s of home, the peace of innocence; Sin brought forth sorrows in perpetual birth, Arid the last light from heaven forsook the earth, Save in one forest glen, Lenote and wild, Where yet a ray of linger-‘tg mercy smiled, Their quiet course wlhere Seith and Enoch ran, And God and Angel.

deigned to walk with man. riE i,:va;sion of Eden by thie descendants of Cain.-The flight of Jvaya florn the camp of the invaders to the valley where the patriarchs dwelt.-Tie story of Javan’s former life. EAST’VARD of Eden’s early-peopied plain, When Abel perished by the hand of Cain, The sour lerer from his judge’s presence fled: Thence to the aising sun his offspring spread; But hlie, the fugitive of care and guilt, Forsook the haunts he chose, the homes he built; While filial nations hailed him sire and chief, Empire nor honor brought his soul relief: lI, foiunl, where’er lie roamed uncheered, unblest, No pauise from suffering, and from toil no rest. Ages meanwhile, as ares now are told, O’er the younz world in long succession rolled; For such the vigor of primeval man, Through numbered centuries his period ran, FIRST.

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THE HARP W’IT’I A SAB13BATH TONE. The victim, while he groaned his soul away, Heard the gaunt vxulture hurrying to his prey, Then strengthless felt the ravening beak, that His widened wounds and drank the living gor One sole surviving remnant, void of fear, AVoods ia their front, Eu ilirates in their rear, WVere sworn to perish at a _lor-ious cost, For all they once ha(d known, and loved, and lost, A small, a brave, a melancholy band, The orphans and the chit lless of the land. The hordes of Caini, by aiant-chiefiains led, WVi,]e o’er the tiorttli their vast encampment spread: A bro,. I and sunny clampaign stretched between; WV’stwat’l a maze of waters girt the scene; There oa Euphrates, in its a ncient course, Fhrooe bouutco’ies Iivers rolled their confluent force, Wh.e st reams, while man the blissful garden trod, Adorned the eatrttly paradise of God; Bat sinc e e fell, within their triple bound, Fenced a ion’ rea(ioo of forbid len ground; Abettin aat on e, where hi,li athwart their bed ‘e?lLs1iv e iockls a criving barrier spread, lil euibattle.l floods, by mutual whirlpools crost, In h.etis foam ant st u reginc mist were lost; Thence, like an Alp)ine cataract of’ snow, IWhite dow n the pi ecil)ice they dashed below; There in tumultuous billows broken wide, They splet their raze, antl yoked their fourfold tide; Through one majestic channel, calm and free, The sister-rive’rs sought the parent-sea. Restored to life, one ple dge of former joy, One source of bliss to come, remained-her boy!

Sweet in her eye the cherished infant rose, At once the seal and solace of her woes; When the pale widow clasped him to her breast, Wa.rm gushed the tears, and would not be represt; In lonely anguish, when the truant child Leaped o’er the threshold, all the mother smiled. In him while fond imagination viewed Husband and parents, brethren, friends renewed, Each vanished look, each well remembered grace, That pleased in them, she sought in Javan’s face; For quick his eye and changeable its ray, As the sun’glancing through a vernal day; And like the lake, by storm or moonlight seen, With darkening furrows or cerulean mien, His countenance the mirror of his breast, The calm or trouble of his soul expressed. The midnight watch was ended; down the west The gl,wing mioon declined toward her rest; Througli eithe; hliost the voice of war was dumb; In dreams the hero won the fight to come; No sound was stirrinz, save the breeze that bore The distant cataract’s everlasting roar, When from the tents of Cain, a youth withdrew; Secret and swift from post to post he flew, And passed the camp of Eden, while the dawn Gleamed faintly o’er the interjacent lawn; Skirting the forest, cautiously and slow, He feared at every step to start a foe; Oft leaped the hare across his path, upsprung The lark beneath his feet, and soaring sung; What time, o’er eastern mountains seen afar, With golden splendor rose the morning star, As if an ancel-sentinel of night, From earth to heaven, had winged his homeward flight, Glorious at first, but lessening by the way, And lost insensibly in higher day. As years enlarged his form, in moody hours, His mind betrayed its weakness with its powers: Alike his fairest hopes and strangest fears Were nursed in silence, or divulged with tears; The fulness of his heart, repressed his tongue, Though none might rival Javan when he sung. He loved, in lonely indolence reclined, To watch the clouds and listen to the wind; But from the north, when snow and tempest came, His nobler spirit mounted into flame; With stern delight he roamed the howling woods, Or hung in ecstacy o’er headlong floods. Meanwhile excursive fancy longed to view The world, which yet by fame alone he knew: The joys of freedom were his daily theme, Glory the secret of his midnight dream; That dream he told not; though his heart would ae. he, His home was precious for his mother’s sake. With her the lowly paths of peace he ran, His g-uardian angel, till he verged to man; But when her weary eye could watch no more, When to the grave her timeless corse he bore, Not Enoch’s counsels could his steps restrain; He fled, and sojourned in the land of Cain. There, when he heard the voice of Jubal’s lyre, Instructive genius, caught the ethereal fire; And soon, with sweetly modulating skill, He learned to wind the passions at his will, To rule the chords with such mysterious art, They seemed the life-strinz-s of the hearer’s heart. Then zlory’s openinz field hae roudly trodl, Forsook the worship and the wva)ys eof Go’], Round the vain worl,d l trlue l the lhantomn fame, And cast away his birthright ftr a namne. From track of man and herd his path he chose, Where high the grass, and thick the copsewood rose; Thence by Euphrates’ banks his course inclined, Where the gray willows trembled to the wind; With toil and pain their humid shade he cleared, When at the porch of heaven the sun appeared, Througih gorgeous clouds that streaked the orient sky, And kindled into glory at his eye; While dark amid the dews that glittered round From rock anil tree, lonu shadows traced the ground. Then climbed the fugitive an airy height, And resting, back o’er Eden cast his sight. Far on the left, to man for ever closed, The Mount of Paradise in clouds reposed: The gradual landscape opened to his view; From Nature’s face the veil of mist withdrew, And left, in clear and purple light revealed, The radiant river, and the tented field; The black pine-forest, in whose girdle lay, The patriot phalanx, hemmed in close array; The verdant champaign narrowing to the north, Whence from their dusky quarters sallied forth The proud( invaders, early rouse., to fi’ght, Tribe after tribe einetr-ing into light; Whose shields an,1 lances, in the goldlen beams, Flashed o’er theb restless scene their flickering gleamrns, As when the breakers catch the morning glow, unl ocean rolls in living fire below; lI II ‘I 202 So round the unbroken Ix)rdcr of the wood, The giants poured their army like a flood, Eager to force the covert of their foe, And lay the last defence of Eden low. From the safe eminence, absorbed in thou,-ht, Even till the wind the shout of legioiis brought., He gazed-his heart recoiled-lie turned his head, And o’er the southern hi-Ils his journey sped. Who was the fugitive?

in infancy A youthful mother’s only hope was he. Whose spouse and kindred, on a festal day, Precipitate destruction swept away: Earth trembled, opened, and entoi-nbed them all; Sh,e saw them sinking, heard their voices call. Beneath the gulf-and agoilized, aghasi, On the wild verge of eddying ruin cast, Felt in one pang at that convulsive close, A widow’s anguish and a rnothei-‘s throes; A babe spran- fortli, and inauspicious birth, Where all had perished that she loved on earth. Forlorn and helpless, on the upriven ground, The parent, with her offsprin,-, Enoch found; And these with tender care and timely aid, Home to the patriarchs’ glen his charge conveyed. Yet no delibl, the inin ti-el’s 1),som lnew, None save the tones fliit fi-oiii Iiis I.arp he dre,,v,

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THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD. And the warm vt- as of a wayward mind, Whose transient plenulor left a gloomn behind, Frail as the clouds of sunset, and as fair, Pageants of light resolving into air, The world, whose charms his young affections stole, He found too mean for an immortal soul; Wound with his life, through all his feelings wrought, Death and eternity possessed his thought; Remorse impelled him, unremitting care Harassed his path, and stung him to despair, Still was the secret of his griefs unknown, Amid the universe he sighed alone; The fame he followed, and the fame he found, Healed not his heart’s immedicable wound; Admired, applauded, crowned, where’er he roved, The bard was homeless, friendless, unbeloved. All else that breathed below the circling sky, Were linked to earth by some endearing tie; He only, like the ocean-weed uptorn, And loose along the world of waters borne Was cast companionless, from wave to wave, On life’s rough sea-and there was none to save. Where;avan from that Eastern hill surveyed The -;rcling forest and embosomed glade, Earth wor e one summer lobe of living green, In heaven’s blue arch the sun alone was seen; Creation slumbered in the cloadless light, And noon was silent as the depth of night. 0 what a throng of rushing thoughts oppressed, In that vast solitude, his anxious breast! -To wither in the blossom of renown, And unrecorded to the dust go down, Or for a name on earth to quit the prize Of irnmortality beyond the skies. Perplexed his wavering cno;ee: when conscience tailed, Love rose against the world, and love prevailed; Passion, in aid of’ virtue, conquered pride, And woman won the heart to heaven denied The giant-king, who led ihe host of Cain, Delighted in the minstrel and his vein; No hand, no voice, like Javan’s could control, With soothing concords, his tempestuous soul. With him the wandering Bard, who found no rest Through ten years’ exile, sought his native west; There froin the camp retiring, he pursued His journey to the patriarchs’

solitude. This son of peace no martial armor wore, A scrip for food, a staff in hand he bore; Flaxen his robe; and o’er his shoulder hung, Broad as a warrior’s shielhl, his harp unstrung, A shell of tortoise exquisitely wrought With hieroglyphics of embodied thought, Jubal himself enchased the polished frame; And Javan won it in the strife for famne, Among the sons of music when their sire To his victorious skill adjudged the lyre. Javan, descending through the Forest, arrives at the place where hlie had formerly parted with Zillah, when he withdrew from the Patriarchs’

Glen.There lie again discovers her ill a bower form ed on the spot.‘heir strange interview and abrupt separation. S-‘EEP the descent, and wearisome the way; The twisted boughs forbade the light of day; No breath from heaven refreshed the sultry gloom, The arching forest seemed one pillared tomb, Upright and tall the trees of ages grow, While all is loneliness and waste below; There, as the massy foliage, far aloof Displayed a dark impenetrable roof, So, gnarled and rigid, clasped and interwound, An uncouth maze of roots embossed the ground: Mi dway be neath, th e sylvan wil d a ssum ed A milder aspect, shrubs and flowerets bloomed: Openings of sky, and little spots of green, And showers of sun-beams through the eaves were seen. ‘Twas noon, when Javan climbed the bordering hill, by many an old remembrance hallowed still, Whence he beheld, by sloping woods enclosed, The hamlet where his parent’s dust reposed, His home of happiness in early years, And still the home of all his hopes and fears, When from ambition struggling to break free, He mused on joys and sorrows yet to be. Awhile he stood, with rumination pale, Casting an eye of sadness o’er the vale. When, suddenly abrupt, spontaneous player Burst from his lips for one who sojourned thiere; For one, whose cottage, far appearing, drew, Even from his tnother’s grave, his transient view; Oine, whose unconscious smiles were wont to dart Ineffable emotion through his heart: A nameless sympathy, more sweet, more dear Tt,an friendship, solaced him when she was near, And well he guessed, while yet a timorous boy, That Javan’s artless songs were Zillah’s joy. Bal when ambition, with a fiercer flame Than untold love, had fired his soul for fame, This infant passion, cherished yet represt, Lived in his pulse, but died within his breast; For oft in distant lands, when hope beat high, Westwaid he turned his eager glistening eye, And gazed in spirit on her absent form, Fair as the moon emerging through the stolo, ‘‘ill sudden, strange bewildering horrors crossed His thought, and every glimpse of joy was lost. Even then, when melancholy numbed his brain, And life itself stood still in every vein, While his. cold, quivering lips sent vows above, -Never to curse her with his bitter love! His heart, espoused with hers, in secret sware To hold its truth unshaken by despair: The vowvs dispersed that fromn those lips were borne, But nevrer, never was that heart forsworn; Throu.lhout the world, the charm of Zillah’s name Repellel the touch of every meaner flame. Awhile te traveller halted at th e place, Where last he caught a glimpse of Zillah’s face, One lonely eve, when in that calm retreat, They met, as they were often wont to meet, And parted, not as they were wont to part, With gay regret, but heaviness of heart; ~hough Javan named for his return the night, vhen the new moon had rolled to full-orbed light. She stood, and gazed through tears, that forced their way, Oft as from steel) to steep, with fond delay, Lessening at every view, he turned his head, Hailed her with weaker voice, then forward sped. From that sad hour, she saw his face no more In Eden’s woods, or on Euphrates’ shore: Moons waxed and waned; to her no hope appeared, Who much his death, but more his falsehood fared. * Cosi l’infaoistj r ai Spande Orione e i rnavlganti attrista, Orion, chii tra gli astri in ciel rispi.el.de Vie piu d’ogni altro, e pill dog ni altro offends. FT”’LTCAI,L II II I i I 203 Jealous and watchful of the sex’s wiles, He trembled at the lialit ot- womaii’s si-niles! So turns the mariner’s misti-iistiiiz eN-e From proud Orion bending through the sky, Beauteous a d terrible, who slii(-Ies afar, At a-tee thebrightest and most baneftil’star.0 CANTO SECOND. Nou7, while he paused, the lapse of years forgot, Remeiiibrance eyed her lin!,-erin,2 near the spot. Onward he hastened; all his bosom burned, As if that eve of partin were returned; And she, with silent tenderness of wo, Clung to his heart, and would not let him go. Sweet was the scene! apart the cedars stood, A sunny islet opened in the wood; With vernal teints the -%i,ild-brier thicket glows, For here the desert flourished as the rose; From sapling trees, with lucid foliage crowned, Gay lights and shadows twinliled on the ground; Up the tall stems luxuriant creepers run To han., their silver blossoms in the sun -1

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THE HARP WITH A SABBATI-I TONE. Deep velvet verdure clad the turf beneath, Where trodden flowers their richest odors breathe; O’er all, the Bees, with murmuring music, flew From bell to bell, to sip the treasured dew; While insect myiiads in the solar gleams, Glanced to and fio, like intermingling beams; So fresh, so pure, the woods, the sky, the air, It seemed a place where angels might repair, And tune their harps beneath those tranquil shades, To morning songs, or Yooiilight serenades. A caln of toenderniess coumposeud his mind; His stringless halp ul)on the turf’

was thrown, And on a pipe of most mellifluous tone, FFramed by himnself, the musinig minstrel played, To charmi the slumrberer, cloistered in the shade. Jubal had taught the lyre’s responsive string, Beneath the rapture of his touch io sing; And bade the trumpet wake with bolder breath, The joy of battle in the field of death; But Javan first, whom pur-e affection fired, With Love’s clear eloquence the flute inspired; At once obedient to the lip and hand, AIt uttered ever y f eteling at comm nand. Light o’er the stops his airy fingers flew, A spirit spoke in every tone they drew; ‘Twas now the sky-lark on the wings of morn, Now tihe night-warbler leaning on her thorn; Anon through every pulse the music stole, And held sublime communion with the soul, Wrung from the coyest breast the unl)risoned sigh, And kir.-li( rapture in the coldest eye. He paused again with memory’s dream entranced; Agaiu his foot uncautiously advanced, For now the lturel thicket caught his view, Where he and Zillah wept their last adieu. Somine curious hand, since that bereaving hour, Had txine(l the copse into a covert bower, With mans, a light and fra,grant shrub between, Flow%-eiing aloft amidst perennial green, As Javan se.archedl tilis bl)ossoim-woven shade, He spied the semblatce of a sleel)ing maid; ‘Tis she;‘tis Zillah, in her leafy shrine; O’erwatched in slumber by a power divine, In cool retirement firomin the heat of d(ay, Alone, untfearing, on the moss she lay, Fair as the rainbow shines thro’

darleninr, showers, Pure as a wreath of snow on April flowers. Thus on his dulcet pipe while Javan played, Within her bower awoke the conscious maid; She, in her dream, by varying fancies crost, Had hailed her wanderer found, and mnourned him lost In one wild vision,‘midst a land unknown, By a dark river, as she sat alone, Javan beyond th e stream dejected stood; He spied her soon and leapt into the flood; The thwarting current urged him down its course, But Love repelled it with victorious force; She ran to help him landing, where at length He struggled up the bank with failing strength; She caught his hand;-when, downward from the day, A water-monster dragged the youth away; She followed headlong, but her garments bore Her form, light-floating, till she saw no more: For suddenly the dream’s delusion changed, And through a blooming wilderness she ranged: Alone she seemed, but not alone she walked, Javan, invisible, beside her talked. He told, how lie had journeyed many a year With changing seasons in their swift career, Danced with the breezes in the bowers of morn, Slept in the valley where new moons are born, Rode with the planets, on their golden cars, Round the blue world inhabited by stars, And, bathing in the sun’s crystalline streams, Became ethereal spirit in the beams, Whence were his lineaments, from mortal sight, Absorbed in pure transparency of light; But now, his pilgrimage of glory past, In Eden’s vale he sought repose at last. -The voice was mystery to Zillah’s ear, Not speech, nor song, yet full, melodious, clear; No sounds of winds or waters, birds or bees, Were e’er so exquisitely tuned to please. Then while she sought him with desiring eyes, The airy Javan darted from disguise, Full on her view a stranger’s visage broke; She fled, she fell, he caught her,-she awoke. 0 Youth! in later times, whose gentle ear This tale of ancient constancy shall hear; If thou hast known the sweetness and the pain, To love with secret hope, yet love in vain; If months and years in pining silence worn, Till doubt and fear mi-ht be no longer borne, In evening shades thy faltering tongue confessed The last dear wish that trembled in thy breast, While at each pause the streamlet purled along, And rival woodlands echoed song for song; Recall the maiden’s look;-the eye, the cheek, The blush that spoke what language could not speak Recall her look, when at the altar’s side She sealed her promise, and became thy bride; Such were to Javan Zillah’s form and face, The flower of meekness on a stem of grace; 0 she was all that youth of beauty deems, All that to love the loveliest object seems! Moments there are, that, in their sudden flight, Bring the slow mysteries of years to light; Javan, in one transporting instant, knew, That all he wished, and all he feared was true; For while the harlot-world his soul possessed, Love seemed a crime in his apostate breast; How could he tempt her innocence to share His poor ambition and his fixed despair! But now the phantoms of a ywatdering brain, And wounded spirit, crossed his thoughts in vain; Past sins and follies, cares and woes forgot, Peace, virtue, Zillah, seemed his present lot; Where’er he looked around him or above, All was the pledge of truth, the work of love, At whose transforming hand, where last they stood, Had sprung that lone memorial in the wood. Thus on the slumbering maid while Javan gazed With quicker swell her hidden bosom raised The shadowy tresses, that profusely shed Their golden wreaths from her reclining head; A deeper crimson mantled o’er her cheek, Her close lip quivered as in act to speak, While broken sobs, and tremors of unrest, TILE inward trouble of a dream expressed: At length, amidst imperfect murmurs fell The name of “Javan!” and a low “farewell!” Tranquil again, her cheek resumed its hue, And soft as infancy her breath she drew. When Javan’s ear those startling accents thrilled, Wonder and ecstacy his bosom filled; Fro But quick compunction humbler feelings wrought, H~e }luishe;!i to be a spy on Zillah’s thought; He tirn l a si le: within the neighlboring brake, Rcs(e I t) tl,rr till the nymph awake. Ti’ere, as’ l ixiry of thoul:.i.’!lined, Awoke from sleep,-b ut in her solitude Found the enchantment of her dream renewed; That living voice, so full, melodious, clear, That voice of mystery warbled in her ear. Yet words no longer wing the trembling notes, Unearthly, inexpressive music floats, In liquid tones so voluble and wild, Her senses seem by slumber still beguiled: Alarmed she started from her lonely den, But, blushing, instantly retired again: The viewless phantom came in sound so near, The stranger of her dream might next appear. Javan, concealed behind the verdant brake, Felt his lip fail, and strength his hand forsake; Then dropped his flute, and while he lav at rest Heard every pulse that travelled through his breastL Zillah, who deemed the strange illusion fled, Now from the lauirel-arbor showed her head, Her eye quici-glancin,g round, as if ill thought, 204

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BEFORE T!IE FLOOD. Recoiling from the object that she sought: 13v slow degrees, to Javan in the shade, IThe ernerging nymph her perfect shape displayed. Timne had but touched her form to finer grace, Years had but shed their favors on her face, While secret Love, and unrewarded Truth, Like cold clear dew upon the rose of youth, Gave to the springing flower a chastened bloom, And shut fiom rifling winds its coy perfume. Words can not paint the wonder of her look, When once again his pipe the minstrel took, Annd soft in under-tones began to play, ‘ike the caged woodlark’s low lamenting lay; then loud and shrill, by stronger breath impelled, .o higher strains the undaunted music swelled, L’ill new born echoes through the forest rang, knd birds, at noon, in broken slumbers sang. 3ewilJeriig transport, infantine surprise, bhr,)hbed in her bosom, sparkled in her eyes, )‘er every feature, every feeling shone, Gieti color cihanged as Javan changed his tone; While slhe between the bower and brake entranced, Alternately retreated or advanced; Sometiines the lesseniig cadence seemed to fly Then the full melody came rolling nigh; She shliunk, or followed still, with eye and feet, Afraid to lose it, more afraid to meet; For yet thlio0.,g Elen’s land, by fame alone, Jubal’s hamnonious minstrelsey was known, Though noble sonags than cheered the Patriarchs’ glen Never resounade ffion the lips of men. Javan wa s so rebuked beneath her eye, She vanished ere he faltere(d a reply And sped, while lie in cold amazement stood, Along the winding bor(ler of the wood; Now lost, now reappearing, as the glade Shone to the sun, or darlkened in the shade. He saw, but might not follow, whcre her flock Were wont to rest at noon, beneath a rock. He knew the willowy chanmpaian, and the streau., Of many,an early lay the simple tlhemtie, Chanted in boyhood’s unsuspecting hours, When Zillah joined the song, or praised his powers. Thither he watched her, while her course she bore, Nor ceased to gaze, when she was seen no more. Silence, at length, the listening maiden broke; The heart of Javan checked limi while she spoke; l’oug’lh sweeter than his p)i)e her accents stole, He lurlst not learn the tutilnlt of her soul, But, c!osely cowering in his ambuscade, With spiightlier breath an(l nimbler finger played -“‘Tis not the nightin,ale that san! so well, When Jo.van left me near this lonely cell; Uris not indeed the nightingale;her voice Could never since that hotur my soul rejoice: Some bird from Paradise haith lost her way, And carols here a long forbidden lay; For ne’er since Eve’s transgression, mortal ear Was privileged such heavenly sounds to hear; Perhaps an Angel, while hlie rests his wings, On earth ali htin,, here his descant sings; Methinks those tones, so full of joy and love, Must be the language of the world above! Within this brake he rests:” with curious ken, As if she feared to stir a lion’s deln, Breathless, on tiptoe, round the copse she crept; Her heart beat quicker, louler, as she stepped, Till Javan rose, andl fixed on her his eyes, In dumb eaibarrassment, and feigned surprise; Upright she started, at the sudden view, Back from her brow the scattered ringlets flew, Paleness a mo.ment overspread her face; But fear to frank astonishment gave place, And, with the virgin blush of innocence, She asked” Who art thou, Stranger, anid from whence?” Javan’s Soliloquy on Zillah’s desertion of hirn.-Itte reaches the ruins of his Motlher’s Cottiage.-Thence he proceeds to Enoch’. dwelling.-ITis reception tiiere.-EI,ocli anid Javaii proceed to gethlier toward the place of Sa’rifice.-Descliptiori of the Pari archs’ Glen.-Occasionr of the family of Seth retiring thither at first. “,AM I so changed by sufferinz, so forgot, That Love disowns me, Zillah knows me not? Ah! no; she shrinks from my disastrous fate, She dare not love me, and she can not hate: ‘Tis just; I merit this: Wlen Nature’s womb Engulphed my Lindred in one common tomb, Why was I spared?-A repl)obate by birth, T o heaven rebellious, unw llied on earth, Whither, 0 whither shall the outcast flee? There is no home, no peace, no hope for me. I hate the wvorldlin,‘s vanity and noise, I have no fellow%,-feeling in his j(o)ys; The saint’s serener bliss I can not share, My soli], alas! hath no communion there. This is the portion of my cup below, Silent, unminaled, solitary wo; To bear from clime to clime, the curse of Caini, Sin with remorse, yet find repentance vain; And cling, in blank despair, from breath to breath To naught in life, except the fear of death.” While Javan gave his bitter passion vent, And wandered on unheeded where he went, His feet, instinctive, led him to the spot, Where rose the ruins of his childhood’s cot: Here, as he halted in abrupt surprise, His mother seemed to vanish from his eyes, As if her gentle form, unmarked before, Had stood to greet him at the wonted door. Yet did the pale retiring spirit dart A look of tenderness that broke his heart: ‘Twas but a thought, arrested on its flight, And bodied forth, with visionary light. But chill the life l)loo 1 ran throuizh every vein. The fire of phrensy faded from his brain, He cast himself in terror on the ground: Slowly revercringi strength, he gazed around. With mild demeanor, and with downcast eye, Saran, advancing, humbly made reply; -” A wretch, escaping from the tribes of men, Seeks an asylum in the Patriarchs’ glen; As through the forest’s breathless gloom I strayed, TUp sprang the breeze in this delicious shade; Then, while I sate beneath the rustling tree, I waked this pipe to wildest minstrelsey, Child of my fancy, framed with Jubal’s art, To breathe at will the fatulness of my heart; Fairest of women! if the clamor rude Hath scared the quiet of the solitude, Forg,ive the innocent olfence, and tell, Howv far beyond these woods the righteous dwell.” Thouigh changed his voice, his look and stature changed, In air an I garb, in all but love estranged, Still in the youthful exile Zillah sought A dear lost friend. for ever near her thought! I I i I ll i i I’HE

WORLD 205 Yet answered af,.aiti Her heart rniglit be iii:lst,iliell, (,,i’ beti,i.yed. -“Not far from hence tlle ftithftil i-ice reside Pilgrim! to whom I tliv’f(,(tsters guide? Alike to all, if tho,,,t ,in alien be, ,)Iy father’s home irivite., thee: follow me.” She spoke with such a tholight divining look, Color his lip, and power his tongue forsook; At length, in hesitating tone, and low, -“Enoch,” said he, “the friend of God, I hrow. To him I bear a message full of fear; I may not rest till be i,ouclisafe to hear.” He paused; his cheeli with red confusion “urned; Kindiiess tbrc;ugh her relentinz breast returned: -11

Behold tLe I)ath,” she cried, and led the way; Ere long the vale unbosot-ned to the (lay: -11 Yonder, where two embracing oaks are seen, Arched o’er a cottage roof, that peeps between, Dwells Enoch; Stranger 1, peace attend thee there, My fatlier’s sheep deinr-tnd his daugliter’s care.” CANTO THIRD. i

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THE HARP WITH A SABBAT’H- TONE. In wistfidl silence, eyed those walls decayved, Between whose chinks the lively lizzard played; The moss clad timbers, loose and lapsed awry, Threatening ere long in wider wreck to lie; The firactured roof, through which the sun-beams shone, With rank, unflowering verdure overgrown; The prostrate fragments of the wicker door, And reptile traces on the damp green floor. This mournful spectacle while Javan viewed, Life’s earliest scenes and trials were renewed? O’er his lark riind, the light of years gone by Gleame I like the iimeteors of a northern sky. H mov, (I his lips, i ut str )ve ir vain to spt ak, A few slow tears strayed Oown liis cold wan cheee, Till fr,m his breast a sigh convulsive sprung, And’ O my Mother!” trembled from his tongue. That name, thotugh but a murmur, that dear name Touched every kind affection into flame; Despondency assumed a milder form, A rt, (‘f comfort darted through the storm; “0 God! be merciful to me!” he said, Arose, a(nd straight to Enoch’s dwvelling sped. “cbrent n)t my spirit with lthee,” Enoch said, ”

When from the mother’s grave the orphan fled? Others believed thee slain by beasts of blood, Or self-devoted to the strangling flood, (Too plainly in thy grief-bewildered mien, By every eye, a breaking heart was seen;) I mourned in secret thine apostacy, Nor ceased to intercede, with Heaven for thee. Strong was my faith, in dreams or waking thought, Oft as thine imnage o’er my mind was brought, I deemed thee living by this conscious sign, The deep comimunion of my soul with thine. This day a voice, tha t thrill ed my b reast with fear, (Methought’twas Adam’s) whispered in mine ear, -‘ Enoch! ere thrice the morning meet the sun, Thy joy shall be fulfilled, thy rest begun.‘While yet those tones were murmuring in air, I turned to look,-but saw no speaker there: Thought I not then of thee, my long-lost joy? Leaped not my heart abroad to meet my boy? Yes! and while still I sate beneath the tree, Resolving what the signal meant to me, I spied thee coming, and with eager feet Ran, the returning fugitive to greet: Nor less the welcome art thou, since I know By this high warning, that from earth I go; My days are numbered; peace on thine attend! The trial comes-be faithful to the end.” Enoch, who sate, to taste the freshening breeze, Beneath the slhadow of hi s cottage trees, Beheld the youth approaching; and his eye, Instructed by the light of prophecy, Knew from afar, beneath the stranger’s air, The orphan object of his tenderest care; Forth, with a father’s joy, the holy man To meet the poor returning pilgrim ran, Fell on his neck, and kissed him, wept and cried, “My son! my son!”-but Javan shrunk aside; The patriarch raised, embraced him, oft withdrew His head to gaze, then wept and clasped anew. The mourner bowed with agony of shame Clung round his knees, and called upon his name. -”

Father! behold a supplicant in me, A sinner in the sight of Heaven and thee; Yet for thy former love, may Javan live; 0, for the mother’s sake, the son forgive!The meanest office and the lowest seat, In Enoch’s house be mine, at Enoch’s feet.” ” O live the years of Adam!” cried the youth; “Yet seem thy words to breathe prophetic truth: Sire! while I roamed the world, a transient guest, From sunrise to the ocean of the west, I found that sin, where’er the foot of man Nature’s primeval wilderness o’er ran, Had tracked his steps, and through advancing tine Urged the deluded race from crime to crime, Till wrath and strife in fiatricidal war, Gathered the force of nations from afar, To deal and suffer death’s unheeded blow, As if the curse on Adam were too slow. Even now a host, like locusts on their way, That desolate the earth and dim the day, Led by a giant-kino, whose arm hath broke Remotest realms to wear his iron yok% Hover o’er Eden, resolute to close His final triumph o’er his latest foes; A feeble band, that in their covert lie, Like cowering doves beneath his falcon’s elm That easy and ignoble conquest won, There yet remains one fouler deed undone. Oft have I heard the tyrant, in his ire, Devote this glen to massacre and fire, And swear to root, from earth’s dishonored face, The last least relic of the faithful race; Thenceforth he hopes, on God’s terrestrial throne To rule the nether universe alone. Wherefore, O sire!

when evening shuts the sky, Fly with thy kindred, from destruction fly: Far to the south, unpeopled wilds of wood Skirt the dark borders of Euphrates’ flood; There shall the patriarchs find secure repose, Till Eden rest, forsaken of her foes.” “Come to my home, my bosom, and my rest, Not as a stranger, and wayfaring guest; My bread of peace, my cup of blessings share, Child of my faith! and answer to my prayer! O I have wept through many a night for thee, And watched through many a day, this day to see.

Crowned is the hope of my desiring heart, I am resigne,l, and ready to depart: With joy I hail my course of nature run, Since I have seen thy face, my son! my son!” So sayinc, Enoch led to his aibode The trembling penitent along the road That through the garden’s gay enclosure wound; ‘Midst fruits and flowers the patriarch’s spouse they found, Plucking the purple clusters from the vine, To crown the cup of unfermented wine. She camne to meet them;-but in strange surmnise Stopped. and on Javan fixed her earnest eyes; He kneeled to greet her hand with wonted grace Ah! then she knew himn!-as he bowed his face, His mother’s features in a glimpse she caught, And the son’s image rushed upon her thought; Pale she recoiled with momentary fright, As if a spirit had risen before her sight; Returning, with a heart too full to speak She poured a flood of tears upon his cheek, then laughed for gladness-but her laugh was wild; -” Where hast thou been, my own, my orphan child? Child of my soul! bequeathed in death to me, By her who had no other wealth than thee!’ She cried, and with a mother’s love caressed The youth who wept in silence on her breast. At Javan’s speech the matron’s cheek grew pale, Her courage, not her faith, began to fail; Ev%e’s youngest daughter she; the silent tear AVitnessedl her patience, bht betrayed her few. Then answerel Enoch, with a smile serene, T hat s!he,l celestial beauty o’er his mien This hie ith a wim ilt of affection o’er, Thyv passe-t within the hospitabl)le door; There on a gr’tssy couch, with joy o’ercoiie, Pensive w;ith awe, wit!, veneration dumb. I I I I 206 Javan reclined, while kneeling at his seat, The humble patriarch washed the traveller’s feet. Quickly the sl)ouse her plenteous table spread With homely viands, milk and fruits and bread. Ere long the guest grown innocently bold, With simple eloquence his story told; His sins, his follies, frankly were revealed, And nothing but his nameless love concealed. -11 While thus,” he cried, 11 I proved the world a snare, Pleasure a serpent, fame a cloud in air; While with the sons of men my footsteps trod, My home, my heart wt,s with the,ons oi’ God.”

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THE WORlLD BEFORE’t IEL FLOOD. Here is mine earthly habitation; here I wait till my Redeemer shall appear; Death and the face of manl I dare not shun, Cod is m v retfuge, and his will be done.” -,, Thou knowest our place of sacrifice and prayer, Javan! for thou welt wont to worship there: Built by our father’s venerable hands; On the same spot our ancient altar stands, Where, driven from Eden’s hallowed groves, he found A home on earth’s uneonsecrated ground; Whence too, his pilgrimage of trial o’er, He reached the rest which sin can break no more. Oft hast thou heard our eldei patriarchs tell How Adam oince b y disobedience fell; oo Would that my tongue we re gifted to display The terror ai,d the glory of that day, IThen, eized and stricken, by ti,e hal d of ])gath, TIhe first transgressor yielde(d upi) his breath! Nigh threescore years with interchanging light, The host of heaven have measured day and night. Since we belheld the -,round fiom which he rose, On his returning dust in silence close. The mnttron checked her unbecoming sigh, A^d wiped the drop that trembled in her eye. Javan, with shame and self-abasement blushed, lBut every care at Enoch’s smile was hushed: He felt the power of truth; his heart o’erflowed, And in his look sublime devotion glowed. Westwar l the patriar-ch tu;‘ned his tranquil face; ” T.te Sui,” sa d hlie, “hati well nigh run his race; I to the yearly sacrifice repair, Our brethren meet me at the place of prayer.” “,I follow; O my father! I am thine Thy God, thy people, and thine altar mine!” Exclaimned oh the y outh, on highest thoughts intent, And forth with Enoch through the valley went.

“With him his noblest sons mi_,lit not com-pare, In godlike feature and ImIajestic ai’; Not out of weakness i(;sc l:.is gi-.iI.il f-:ime, Perfect from his Cr-eator’s lhanoti h,e, camie; And( as in form excellin;g, s(, i inif The – Sire of’ )Nan traniscenle(d ll t,allrilind: A soul was in his eye, and in his slpeecl A dialect of heaven no art couil(d reach; For oft of old to him, the evening breeze Had born the voice ol God amoni the liree; Angels were wont their songs with his to blend, And talk witl him ats their f’amili cnd f’icnd. But deep remnor-se for that inmstetioust, cringe, Whose dire conitagion through elal’sintig time, Diffused the curse of’ deatth b)eyon(d control, Had wrought such self abase mint in his soal, That he, whose honors were appl)roached byr none, Was yet the meekest man beneath the suI. From sin, as fcin the serpent that betray-ed Eve’s early innocence, lie shrunk ofi’; i 1; Vice he rebuiked with so a uste a li-own, He seemed to bring an instant jlgment down; Yet while lie cetid, compiluncti{:ts teals would start And yearning tenderness dissolve his heart; The guilt of all his race became his own, He suflered as if hle had sinned alone. Within our glen to tilial love endeared, Abroad for wisdom, truth and justice feared, He walked so humbly in the sight of all, The vilest ne’er reproached him with his fall. Children were his dielight;-tthey ran to meet His soothing hand, and clasp his honored feet; While’inidst their fearless sports suprem,‘y blest, He grew in heart a child among the rest; Yet as a Parent,.naught beneath the sky Touched him so quickly as an intant’s eye; Joy from its smile of happiness he caught, Its flash of rate sent horror through his thought, His smitten conscience felt as fierce a pain, As if he fell from innocence again. Deep was that valle, girt with rock and wood; In rural groups the scattered hamlet stood; rFents, arbors, cottages, adorned the scene, Gardenls and fields, and shepherds’ walks between; rhrough all, a streamnlet, from its mountain-source, e%cn but by stealth, pursued its willowy course. WVhen first the mingling sons of God and man The demon sacrifice of war heigan, Self-exiledl here, tihe fimily of Seth Renounced a world of violence and death Faithfiul alone amidst the fiithliless found,* And innocent while inuidei cursed the ground. Here, in retirement from profane mankind, They worshipped God with purity of mind, Fed their small flocks, and tilled their narrow soil, Like parent Adamn, with submissive toil, -Adam whose eyes their pious hands had closed, Vihose bones beneath their quiet turf reposed. No alen like this unstained with human blood, Could youthful nature boast before the flood; Far less shall earth, now hastening to decay, A scene of sweeter loneliness display, kWhere naught was heard but sounds of peace and love, Nor seen but woods around, and heaven above. Yet not in cold and unconcerned content, Their years in that delicious range were spent; Oft from their haunts the fervent patriarchs broke, In strong afflection to their kindred spoke, Waith tears and prayers reproved their growing crimrnes, Or told the impending judgments of the times. In vain; the world despised the warning word, With scorn belied it, or with mockery heard, Forbade the zealous monitors to roam, And stoned, or chased them to their forest home. There, from the depth of s(olitude, their sighs Pleaded with Heaven in ceaseless sacrifice, And long did righteous Heaven the guilty spare, Won by the holy violence of prayer. “One morn I tracked him on his lonely way, Pale as the gleam of slow-awakening day; With feeble step hlie clim b,d von eraggy height, Thence fixed on distant Paradise his sight; He gazedwl an while in silent thought profound, Then falling prostrate on the dewy ground, He poured his spirit in a flood of prayer, Bewailed his anci ent crine with self-despair, And claimed the pledge of reconciling grace, The promised Seed, the S avior of his race. WreStling with God, as Nature’s vigor faile d, His faith grew stronger and his plea prevailed; The prayer fronm agony to ral)tuire rose. And sweet as angel accents fell the,lose, I stood to greet him; when he raised his head, Divine expression o’er his visage speread, His presence was so saintly to behocl,d, He seemed in sinless Paradise grown old. “-‘ This dav,’ said he,’ in Time’s star-lighted roar, Renews the anguish of that mortal wotiod On me inflicted, when the serpent’s tongue My spouse wil! his begiiiling falsehood stun,. Yet sharper pangs of unavailing ivo Those sires in secrecy were doomed to ki, w; Oft by the world’s alluring snares misled, Their youth from that sequestered valley fled, Joined the wild herd, increased the godless crew, And left the virtuous remnant weak and few.

Rnocn relates to Javan the Circumstances of the Death of Adam, including his appointment of an annual Sacrifice, on the Day of his Tranbgression and Fall in Paradise. Trus through the valley while they held their walk, Enoch of former datys began to talk. -“So spake the Seraph Abdiel, faithful found Ainong the faithless, faithful only he.” I’ARZADISE LOST, Book V. 207 CANTO FOURTH.

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THE HARP WlTII A SAB!I 'i’[t TONE. _.1 _..’.. _…............. -‘ And art thou here my Life! my Love!’ he cried, ‘ Faithful in death to this congenial side? Thus let me bind thee to my breaking heart, One dear, one bitter moment, ere we part. -‘ Leave me not, Adam! leave me not below; With thee I tarry, or with thee I go.’ She said, and yielding to his faint embrace, Clung round his neck, and wrept upon his face. Alarming recollection soon returned, His fevered frame with growing anguish burned: Ah! then, as nature’s tenderest impulse wrought, With fond solicitude of love she sought To sooth his limbs upon their grassy bed, And make the pillow easy to his head; She wiped his reeking temples with her hair; She shook the leaves to stir the sleeping air; Moistened his lips with kisses: with her breath Vainly essayed to quell the fire of death, That ran and revelled through his swollen veins With quicker pulses, and severer pains.

“The sun, in summer inajesty on high, Darted his fierce effulgence down the sky; Yet dimmed and blunted were the dazzling rays, His orb expanded through a dreary haze, And, circled with a red portentouls zone, He looked in sickly horror firom his throne; The vital air was still; the torrid heat Oppressed our hearts, that labored hard to bea,t. When higher noon had shruni k the lessening shade, Thence to his home our father we conveyed, And stretched him, pillowed with his latest slreaves, On a.

fresh couch of green and fi’agrant leaves. Here, though his suflerings through the glen were known We chose to watch his (lying bed alone, Eve, Seth, and I. In vain he sighed for rest, And oft his meek complainin!,s thus expressed: -‘Blow on me, Wind! I faint with heat! O bring Delicious water from the deepest springz; Your sunless shadow o’er my limbs diffrt,se, Ye cedars! wash me cold with mnidnigh t1 dews. -Cheer me, my friends! with looks of kindnes cheer: Whisper a woerd of comfor t i n mine e ar; Those sorrowing faces fill my soul with gloom; This silence is the silence of the tomb. Thither I hasten; help me fn my way; O sing to sooth me, and to strengthien, pray!’ We sang to sooth hill-hopeless was the song; We prayed to strengthen him he grew not strong. In vain from every herb, and frpit, and flower, Of cordial sweetness, or of healing power, We pressed the virtue; no terrestrial balsa Naturiie’s (I issolving agony could calm. Thus as the day declined,‘the fell disease Eclipsed the light of life by slow degrees: Yet while his pangs grew sharper, more resigned, More self-collected, grew the suflerer’s mind; Patient of heart, though racked at every pore, The righteous penalty of sin he bore; Not his the fortitude that mocks at pains, But that which feels them most, and yet sustains. “Tis just,‘tis mercit’ul,’ w( heard him say; ‘ Yet wherefore hath he tur-nedl his lhce away? I see him not; I heal hint not; I c. al; My God! my God! support me, or I fall.’ “c Ee noon, returning to his bower, I found Our father laboring in his harvest grou nd, (For v,et he tilled a little plot of soil. Patient and pleased with voluntary tc) E But O how changed from him, whose morning eye Outshone the star, that told the sun was nigh! Loose in his feeble grasp the sickle shook; I maktred the ghiastly dolour of his look, Andri ran to help him; but his latest strength Failed;-prone upon his sheaves he fell at length: I strove to raise him; sight and sense were fled, Nerveless his linb., andl baclkward swayed his head. Seth pas-ed; I called him, and we bore our Sire To neighbo)ring shades from noon’s afflictive fire: Ere len~ he’woke to feeling, with a sigh, And hlil unclosed his hesitatin.g eye; Strangely and timidly he peered around, L,ike imen in dreams whom sudden lights co)nfound: -‘ Is this a new Creation?-Have I passed The bitterness of death?’-He looked aghast Then sorrowful;-No: men and trees appear; ‘Tis not a inew Creation,-ppain is here: From Sin’s dolminion is there no release? Lard! let thy servant noWv depart in peace.’ Hurried remembrance crowding o’er his soul, He knew us; tears of consternation stole Down his pale cheeks:‘ Seth Where is Eve? How could the spouse her dying consort leave?’ ” Eve look-ed that moment from their cottage-dor In quest of Adamn, where he toiled before; He was not there; she called him by his name; Sweet to his ear the well-known accents came; -‘ Here am I,’

answered he in tone so weak, That we who held him scarcely heard him speak; But, r’esolttely bent to rise, in vain He struggled till he swooned away with pain. Eve called again, and turning tow’rd the shade, Helpless as infancy, beheld him laid. ” The sun went down, anmid an angry glare Of flushing clouds, that crimsoned all tl.e air; The winds brake loose; the forest boug hs were torn, And dark aloof the eddying foliage bori e; Cattle to shelter scudded in afli-ight; The florid evening vanished into night: Then burst the hurricane upon the vale In peals of thunder, and thick-volleyed hail; Prone rushing rain with torrents whelmed the land, Our cot amid a river seemed to stand; Around its base, the foamy-crested streams Flashed through the darkness to the lightning’s gleams, With smonstrous throes an earthquake heaved the grund The rocks were renit, the mountains trembled round Never since nature into being came, Had such mysterious motion shook her frame, “She sprang, as smitten with a mortal wound, Forward, and cast herself upon the ground At Adam’s feet; half-rising, in despair, Him from our arms she wildly strove to tear; Repelled by gentle violence, she pressed His powerless hand to her convulsive breast, And kneeling, bending (oer him, full of fears, Wa-rm on his bosom showered her silent tears, Light to his eyes at that refreshment came, They opened on her in a transient flame; I I II i i i I Thou-h years of grace tlirou Since my transgression, this Infirmities without. and fears F-oretell the consummating st The hour, the place, the form But God, who lent me life, w Then, lest I sinl as suddenly As quiell,,ened into being by h Once more I climbed these ro An,l but once more, to view To bid von garden of &light The eartlil3- Paradise from w This mantle, Enoch!

which I To mark the (lay ofpenitence These skins, the covering of When conscious of departed i Naked and t)-embling from m A hand of niet-ev o’er my vile Enc,c’i! this mantle thus vou At mN, dismission I bequeath Wear it in sad memorial on ti And yeai-lv at mine earliest a k lamb iinm,,tctil.,tte, whose bl In siga of wrath removed and So be the sins of all my race ,So on their be-ads may peace -Thus sl),ke our Sire, and d Wit’ti strengthened heart, and 0 Javan! when we parted at I lo-el him -ts I never loved

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T’HE WK’i, El) BE:ORE TIlE FL’OOD. We thought, engulfed in f{oos, or wral-It in fire, The world itself would I( ish with our sire. ! She gave no answer; motionless and cold, It fell like clay from my relaxing hold; Alarmed, I lifted up the locks of gray That hid her cheek; her soul had passed away; A beauteous corse she graced her partner’s side, Love bound their lives, and death could not divide. “Amid this war of elements, within More dreadftil gr-ew the sacrifice of sinl, Whose victimn on his bed of torture lay, Breathing the slow remains of life away. Erewhile, victorious faith sublimer rose Beneath the pressure of collected woes: But now his spirit wavered, went and came, Like the loose vapor of departing flame, Till at the point, when comfort seemed to die For ever in his fixed unclosing eye, Bright through the smouldering ashes of the man, The saint brake forth, and Adam thus began: THE burying-place of the.patriarcls.-The sacrifice on the annive sary of the fall of Adam.-Enoch’s prophecy. “I‘0 ye, that shudder at this awful strife, This wrestling agony of death and life, Thinkl not that He, ou whom my soul is cast, Will leave me thus ibrsaken to the last; Nature’s infirmity aloneyou see; My chains are breaking, I slNl1 soon be free; Though firm in God the spirit holds her trust, The flesh is frail, and trembles into dust. Horror and anguish seize me;‘tis the hour Of darkness, and I mourn beneath its power; The tempter plies me with his direst art, I feel the serpent coiling round my heart; He stirs the wound he once inflicted there, Instils the deadening poison of despair, Belies the truth of God(‘s delaying grace, And bids me curse my Maker to his face. -I will not curse him though his grace delay; I will not cease to trust him, though he slay; Full on his promised mercy I rely, For God hatl spoken-God, who can not lie. -THOU, of my faith the author and the end! Mine early, late, and everlasting friend! The joy, that once thy presence gave, restore Ere I am summoned hence, and seen no more: Do)wn to the dust returns this earthly fiame, Receive may spirit, Lord! from whom it came; Rebuke the tempter, show thy power to save, O let thy glory light me to the grave, That these, who witness my departing breath, May learn to triumph in the grasp of death.’ ” And here,” said Enoch, with dejected eye, “,Behold the grave, in which our parents lie.”

They stopped, and o’er the turf-enclosure wept, Where, side by side, the first-created slept: It seemed as if a voice, with still small sound, Heard in their bosoms, issued fromn that mound:“From earth we came, and we returned to earth; Descendants! spare the dust that gave you birth; Though death, the pain for our transgression due, By s ad inh eritance we lef t t o you, 0 let our children bless us in our grave, And man forgive the wrong that God forgave!” Thence to the a lta r Enoch turned his face, But Javan lingered in that burying-place, A sce ne sequestered from the haunts of men, The loveliest nook of all that l ovely glen, Whe re weary pi lgrims fo und the ir last repose: Th e l ittl e h eap s were r ang ed in com ely rows, With walks between, by friends and kindred trod. Who dressed with duteous hand s e ach hallowed so: No sculptured nonuGtoent was taught to breat he. His praises, w hom the wormt devoured beneath; The high, the low, the mighty, an d the fair, Equal in death, were undistinguished there; Yet not a hillock mouldered near that spot, By one dishonored or by all forgot; To some warm heart the poorest dust was dear, Froin some kind eye the meanest claimed a tear. And oft the living by affection led, Were wont to walk in spirit with their dead,’ Where no dark cypress cast a doleful gloom, No blighting yew shed poison o’er the tomb, But, white and red with intermingling flowers, The graves looked beautiful in sun and showers. Green myrtles fenced it, and beyond their bound, Ran the clear rill with ever-murmuring sound; ‘Twas not a scene for grief to nourish care, It breathed of hope, and moved the heart to prayer. “He closed his eyelids with a tranquil smile, And seemed to rest in silent prayer awhile: Around his couch with filial awe we kneeled, When suddenly a light from heaven revealed A spirit, that stood within the unopened door; The sword of God in his right hand he bore; His countenance was lightning, and his vest Like snow at sunrise on the mountain’s crest, Yet so benignly beautiful his form, His presence stilled the fury of the storm; At once the winds retire, the waters cease; His look was love, his salutation’Peace!’ “Our mother first beheld him, sore amazed, But terror greY.,to transport, while she gazed: -‘‘Tis he, the Prince of Seraphim, who drove Our banished feet from Eden’s happy grove;* Adam, my life, my spouse, awake!’ she cried! ‘Return to Paradise; behold thy guide; O let me follow in this dear embrace!’, She sunk, and on his bosom hid her face.

Adam looked up, his visage changed its hue, Transformed into an angel’s at to view: ‘ I come!’ he cried, with faith’s full triumph fired, And in a sigh of ecstacy expired. The light was vanished, and the vision fled; We stood alone, the living with the dead; The ruddy embers, glimmering round the room, Displayed the corse amid the solemn gloom; But o’er the scene a holy calm reposed, The gate of heaven had opened there, and closed. Why lingered Javan in that lone retreat? The shrine of her that bare him drew his feet; Trembling he sought it, fearing to behold A bed of thistles, or unsightly mould; But lo! the turf, which his own hands had piled, With choicest flowers, and richest verdure smiled; By all the glen, his mother’s couch of rest, In his default was visited and blest. He kneeled, he kissed it, full of love and wo; His heart was where his treasure lay, below; And long he tarried, ere, with heavenward eyes, He rose and hastened to the sacrifice. Already on a neighboring mount, tha t stood Apart am id th e valley, g ir t with wood, Whose open summit, rising o’er the trees, Caught the cool fragrance of the evening-breeze, The patriarchal worshippers were met; The lamb was brought, the wood in order set On Adain’s rustic alta r, moss-o’ergrown, An unwroll lht mass of earth-embedded stont,, Icons know,Nn and hallowed, where, for man’s offence, Tile earth first drank the blood of innocence, Wlhen Geo,l liir,self ordained the typic rite To Edca’s exiles, raeting cn their flight, “Gentle I shook faithful arm still lsped her lifeless o use: G,ently I shook it, from her traince to rous9e; i i i I I 204 “Trembling astonishment of grief we felt, Till nature’s sympathies began to melt; We wept in stillness through the long dark night: -And 0, how welcome was the morning light!” CANTO FIFTH. – Paradise Lost, Book XI. v. 2’S.

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THE ItiA1P 't’T[ A S1\1itA’?it TONE. Foremost, amid the group, was Enoch seen, Known by his humble port and heavenly mien; On him the priest’s mysterious office lay, Fcr’twas the eve of man’s transgression-dlay. And him had Adam, with expiring breath, Ordained to offer yearly, from his death, A victim on that mountain, whence the skies Had first inhaled the fumes of sacrifice. In Adam’s coat of skins arrayed he stands, Spreading to heaven his supplicating hands, Ere from his robe the deadly steel he drew To smite the victim sporting in his view Behind him Seth, in majesty confest, The world’s great elder, towered above the rest. Serenely shone his sweet and solemn eye, Like the sun reigning in the western sky; Though nine slow centuries by stealth had shed Gray hairs, the crown of glory, on his head, In hardy health he reared his front sublime, Like the green aloe in perennial prime, When full of years it shoots forth all its bloom, And glads the forest through the inmost gloom; So, in the blossom of a good old age, Flourished amid his sons that peerless sage. C 2.1 on epi e the pile the ofi’red victin lary, Ami(S the stillness ot exdliril w ng dN a uh; The eyes of a ll, that wattched in vain to view Th e wonte d sign, distraetedly withdrew, Fear clipt their breath, their doubling pulses raiser, And e ach by stealth upon his n eighbor gazed; From heart to heart a st range cont agion ran, A shuddering instinct crowded man to man; Even Seth with secret consternation shook, And cast on Enoch an imploring look, Enoch, in whose sublime, unearthly mien, No change of hue, no cloud of care was seen, Full on the mute assembly turned his face, Clear as the sun prepared to run his race; He spoke; his words, with awful warning fraught, Rallied and fixed the scattered powers of thought. ” Men, brethren, fathers! wherefore do ye fear! Hath God departed from us? God is here; Present in everv heart, with sovereign power, He tries, he proves his people in this hour; Naked as light to his i-searching eye, The thoughts that wrong, the doubts that tempt him lie Yet slow to anger, nmercilfu as just, He knows our frame, remembers we are dust, And spares our weakness: in his truth believe, Hope against hope, and ask till ye receive. What, though no flame -n Adam’s altar burn, No signal of acceptance yet return, God is not man, who to our father sware, All times, in every place, to answer prayer; He can not change; though heaven and earth decay, The word of God shall never pass away. Around him, in august succession,‘stood The fathers of the world before the flood:Enos; whoI taught mankind, on solemn days, In sacred groves, to meet for prayer and praise, And warned idolaters to lift their eye, From sun and stars, to Him who made the sky:Canaan and Malaliel; of whom alone, Their age, of all that once they were, is kliown:Jared; who full of hope beyond the tomb, Hallowed his ospring from the mother’s womb,* And heaven received the sots that parent gave, He walled with God, and overstept the grave, -A mighty pilgrim in the vale of tears, Born to the troubles of a thousand years, Methuselah, whose feet unhalting ran To the last circle of the life of man:Lamechli; from infancy inured to toil, To wring slowv blessings from the accursed soil, Ere yet to dress his vineyards, reap his corn, And comfort him in care, was Noah born,t Who in a later age, by signal grace, Survived to renovate the human race; Both worlds, by sad reversion, were his due, The orphan of the old, the father of the new. These, with their families, on either hand, Aliens and exiles in their native land, The few, who loved.

their Maker from their youth, And worshipped God in spirit and in truth; These stood with Enoch: All had fixed their eyes On him, and on the lamb of sacrifice. For now with trembling hand he shed the blood, And placed the slaughtered victim on the wood; Then kneeling, as the sun went down, he laid His hand upon the hallowed pyre and prayed. “Maker of heaven and earth! supreme o’er a-ll That live, and move, and breathe, on thee we call; Our father sinned and suffered; we, who bear Our father’s image, his transgression share’; Humbled for his offences and our own, Thou, who art holy, wise, and just alone, Accept, with free confession of our guilt, This victim slain, this blood devoutly spilt, While through the veil of sacrifice we see Thy mercy smniling, and look up to thee; O grant forgiveness; power and grace are thine; God of salvation! cause thy face to shine; Hear us in heaven! fulfil our soul’s desire, God of our father!

answer now with fire.” A pause, a dreary pause ensued: then cried The holy man-” On either hand divide; The feeble fly; with me the valiant stay; Choose now your portion;, whom will ye obey, God or your fears? His counsel, or your own?” ” The LORD; the LORD; for HE Is GOD ALONE!”

Exclaimed at once, with consentaneous choice, The whole assembly, heart, and soul, and voice. Then light from heaven with sudden beauty came, Pure on the altar blazed the unkindled flame, And upward to their glorious source returned, The sacred fires in which the victim burned; While through the evening gloom, to distant eyes, Morn o’er the patriarchs’

mountain seemed to rise. They rose; as if his soul had passed away, Prostrate before the altar Enoch lay, Lntranced so deeply, all believed him dead: At length he breathed, he moved, he raised his hewein To heav en in ec stasy he turned his eyes; -With such a look the dead in Christ shall rise, When the last trumpet calls them from the dust, To join the resurrection of the just: Yea, and from eal}ly grossness sio refined, (As if thie sotll 1a left the flesh behind, Hie rose; no light fiom heaven a round him shone, No fire descended from the eternal throne; ; The namie of Enoch, thie s’fl or.ure,l, is der’ived from chance, t,, t And he called his name Noah. saying, This same shall comfofrt j,o crncerinn ouTr work, and tail of oir hands, because of the ,roui:d which tie Lird hathl cursed. G EN. V. 29. I 210 11 But mark the season: from the rising sun, Westward, the race of Cain the world o’errun; Their monarch, Mightiest of the sons of men, Hath sworn dest.iiction to the Patriarch’s Glen; Hither he carnage strews his path: Who will aw,,i’t i lie giant in his wrath? Or who will tale the wings of silent night, And seek deliverance from his sword by flight? Thus saith the Lord: Ye weak of faith and heart I Who dare not trust the living God, depart;The angel of his presence leads your way, Your lives are safe, and given you as a prey: But ye, who, unappalled at earthly barm, Lean on the strength of his Almighty arm, Prepared for life or death, with firm accord., Stand still and see the glory of the Lord.” Awe-str”clc the congre,-ation kneeled zir, And worshipped with Their faces to the groti.. The peace of God, beyond expression sweet.

Filled every spirit humbled at his feet, And love, joy, wonder, deeply mingling ther&, Drew from the heart unutterable prayer..

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TrHE‘‘01~I) BiFO R IE Titi0E FLOOD. en r,’ s{i the l-i:iiest! WVho can tell thy fame? Theih dcuf shall hear it while the dumb proclaim; INow [bid the blind behol(il their Savior’s light, The lamne go forth rejoicing in thy might; Cleanse with a touch yon kneeling leper’s skin; Cheer this pale penitent, forgive her sin; O, for that mother’s faith, her daugih te r spare; Restore the maniac to a father’s prayer; Pity the tears those mournful sisters shed, And BnE THE RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD! ” What scene s is thi s? Am id inv olving gloorn, The mgoontlight lingers on a lotlely tomb; No noise disturbs the g arden’s hallowed bound, But t he watch w alkingo thetheir midnight round: All! who lies here, with icfarsed and bloodless mie n, In whom no form or comelin ess is seen; His livid li mbs with nails and scourges torn, His side transo)ierced, his temples wreathed with thuor n I ‘Tis It-t, the man of sorrows! He who bore Our sin, and chastisement; his toils are o’er; On earth erew.hile a suflering life he led, Here lhath he found a place t o lay his head; Ranked with transgressors he rel gned his breath, But with the rich he made his be(]

in death. Sweet is the grave where angels watch and weep, Sweet is the grave, and sanctified his sleep; Rest, 0 my spirit! by this martyred form, This wreck, that stink beneath the Almighty storm, Wvhen floods of wrath, that weighed the world to hell. On him alone, in righteous vengeance fell; While men derided, demons urged his woes, And God forsook him-till the awful close Then, in triumphant agony, he cried, -~‘Tis finished!’-bowed his sacred head and died. Death, as lie struck that noblest victim, found His sting was lost for ever in the wound; The grave, that holds his corse, her richest prize, Shall yield him back, victorious, to the skies. He lives: ye barls of steel! ye gates of brass! Give way and let the kiing of glory pass; He lives: ye golden portals of the spheres! Open, the son of righteousness appears. But, ah! ny spirit faints beneath the blaze, That breaks and brightens o’er the latter days, When every ton,te his trophies shall proclaim, And every knee shall worship at his name; For he shall reign with undivided power, To earth’s last bounds, to natuire’s final hour. “‘Tis done: again the conquering chief appears In the dread vision of dissolving years; His vesture dipped in blood, his eyes of flame, The WORD OF GoD his everlasting name;” Throned in mi(d-heaven, with clouds of glory spread, He sits in judgment on the quiche and dead: Strong to deliver; saints! your songs prepare; Rush from your tombs to meet him in the air: But terrible in vengeance; sinners! bowt Your haughty heads, the grave protects not now; He, who alone in mortal conflict trod The mighty wine-press of the wrath of God, Shall fill the cup of trembling to his foes, The unmingled cup of inexhausted woes; Tile proud shall drink it in that dreadful day, While earth dissolves, anad heaven is rolled array.” Y et w ore a m ortal sejLi-ict. uirilt stood T’he gr(eat Evangelist b(:lk.,;‘e thte fl(ood; On hilin the vision cf the Almglighty bloke, .Anld flture tirm-eis were present while he spoke.’ ” The Saints shall sufler; righteousness shall fail, aler all the world iniquity prevail; (;iants, in fierce contempt of man and God, hiall ruse the nations with an iron rod; On every mountain idol groves shall rise, Aad darken heaven with human sacrifice; F,,t God the Avenger comes-a judgment-day, A loodI shall sweep his enemies away. li]J.w few, whose eyes shall then have seen the sun, -One righteous family, and only oneS ntred from that wolecn of nature, shall beholn ache new creation rising from the old! “O, that the world of wickedness, destroyed, Mi:‘t lie for ever without form and void! 01, that the earth, to innocence restored, Mig,ht flourish as the g,arden of the Lord! It awill not be: among the sons of men, Thie giant-spilit shall go forth again, From clime to clime shall kindle murderous rage, And spread the plagues of sin from age to age; Yet shall the God of mercy, from above, Extetnd the golden sceptre of his love And win the rebels to his righteous sway, Till every mouth confess, and heart obey. “Amid( ti-e visions of ascending years, What mighlty chief, what conqueror appears;f t His garments rolled in blood, his eyes of flame, And on his thigh the unutterable name? + -‘ Tis I, that bring deliverance; strong to save, I rlucked( the prey from death, and spoiled the grave.’ -Wherefore, 0 warrior! are thy garments red, Lile those whose feet amidn the vintage tread? -‘ I trod the wine-press of the field alone; I looked around for succor; there was none; Therefore my wrath sustained me while I fought, Aiil( mine own arin my saint’s salvation wrought,’ -Thus may thine arin for evermore prevail; Thus may thy foes, 0 Lord! for ever fail Captive by thee captivity be led; Seed of the woman! bruise the serpent’s head Redeemer! promised since the world began, Bow thte high heavens and condescend to man. “Hail to the day-spring; dawvning, from afar, Brighlt in the east I see his natal star: Prisoniers of hope! lift up your joyful eyes; WTelcomne the king of glory from the skies: Whio is the king of glory? Mark his birth; In deep humility he stoops to earth, Assumes a servant’s form, a pilgrim’s lot, Comes to his own, his own receive him not, Thouvh angel-cioirs his peaceful advent greet, And Gentile sages worship at his feet. “Fair as that sovereign plant, whose scions shioot W’ith healing verdure, an iinmmnortal fruit, The tree of life, beside the stream that laves The fields of paradise with gladdening waves; Behold himn rise from infancy to youth, The father’s image, full of grace and truth; Tried, tempted, proved in secret, till the hour, When, girt with meekness, but arrayed with poweb, Foirth in the spirit of the Lord, at length, Lilce the sun shining in meridian strength, HIe goes: to preach good tidings to the poor; To heal the wounds that nature can not cure: To bind the broken-hearted; to control Disease and death; to raise the sinking soul; Unbar the dungeon, set the captive free, Proclaimii the joyous year of liberty, Anal firim the depth of undiscovered night, Brin, life and immortality to light. Here ceased the pro phe t: Fr om the altar br oke The last dim wreaths of fire-illumined smoke; Darkness had fallen around; but o’er the streams The moon, new risen, diffused her brightening bearnh; Homeward, with tears, the worshippers returned, Yet while they wept, their hearts within them burned. .ravan’s second Interview with Zillah. ie visits the various Dwelliigs scattered throughout the Glen, and in the Evening sings to his ITarp, amidst the assen0s2led liliat)itants:Address t, Twili,, ght;.Tubal’s Sog of the Creation: thie Power of Afu,ie exemplified. SPENT with t-he toils of that eventfil (lay, All Nihlrt in dream. ss slumber Jatane,n lay; *I tein. xi x. 1I. t udilae.

verse 14- lI “How beanteos on the mountains are thy feet, Thy form how comely, anal thy voice how sweet, i I I 2ii CANTO SIXTH. – I Nurnbers.

XKiv, 4, t I,,,a. Ixiii.1-6. t Rev. xix. 12.

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THE HARP WITH A SABBATH TONE. But early springing from his bed of leaves, Waked by the songs of swallows on the eaves, From Enoch’s cottage in the cool gray hour, He wandered forth to Zillah’s woodland bower; There, in his former covert, on the ground, The frame of his forsaken harp he found; He smote the boss; the convex orb, unstrung, Instant with sweet reverberation rung; The minstrel smiled, at that sonorous stroke, To final the spell of harmony unbroke; Trickling with dew, he bore it to the cell; There, as with leaves, he dried the sculptured she. He thought of Zillah, and resolved too late To plead his constancy, and know his fate. Had not thine instantaneous presence wrung, By swift surprise, the secret from my tongue. Yet hath aflection language of her own, And mine in everything but words was shown In ehildhood, as the bird ot’ n atue re fre e, My song was gladness, when I sung to thee: In youth, whene’er I mourned a bosom flame, And praised a maiden whom I durst not name, Couldst thou not then my 1iidden thought divine? Didst thou not feel that I was wholly thine? When for vain glory I forsook thee here, Dear as thou wert, unutterably deal’, From virtue, truth, and innocence, estranged, To thee, thee only, was my heart unchanged; And as I loved without a hope before, Without a hope I loved thee yet the more. At length, when, weary of the ways of men, Refuge I sought in this maternal glen, Thy sweet remembrance drew me from afar, And Zillah’s beauty was my leading star. Here when I found thee, fear itself grew bold, Alethouglht my tale of lone already told; But soon thine eyes the dream of folly broke, And I from bliss, as they from slumber, woke; My heart, my tongue, were chilled to instant stone, I durst not speak thy name,.nor give my own. When thou wert vanished, horror and affright Seized me, my sins uprose before my sight; Like fiends they rushed upon me; but despair Wrung from expiring faith a broken prayer; Strength came; the path to Enoch’s bower I trod; He saw me, met me, led me back to God. 0 Zillah! while I sought my Maker’s gram, And flesh and spirit failed before his face, The tempting image from my breast I drove, It was no season then for earthly love.” She from the hour, when, in a pilgrim’s guise, Javan returned, a stranger to her eyes, Not to her heart-from anguish knew no rest, Love, pride, resentment, struggling in her breast. All day she strove.to hide her misery, In vain;-a mother’s eye was quick to see, Slow to rebuke a daughter’s bashful fears, And Zillah’s mother only chid with tears: Night came, but Javan came not with the night; Light vanished, Hope departed with the light: Her lonely couch concealed her sleepless woes, But with the morning star the maiden rose.

The soft refreshing breeze, the orient beams, The dew, the mrist unrolling from the streams, The light, the joy, the music of the hour, Stole on her spirit with resistless power, With headlong sweetness soothed her fevered brain, And woke the pulse of tenderness again. Thus while she wandered with unconscious feet, Absent in thought, she reached her sylvan seat: The youth descried her not amidst the wood, Till, like a vision, at hi: side she stood. Their eyes encountered, both at once exclaimed, ‘ Javan!” and “Zillah!”each the other named; rhose sounds were life or death to either heart; He rose; she turned in terror to depart; He caught her hand:” 0 do not, do not flee!” -It was a moment of eternity, And now or never must he plight his vow, Win or abandon her for ever now. “‘For earthly love it i s no seas on now,” Exclaimed the maiden with reproachful brow, And eyes through teals of tenderness that shone, And voice, half peace, half anger in its tone; “Freely thy past unkindness I forgive; Content to perish here, so Jayan live: The tyrant’s menace to our tribe we know; The patriarchs never seek, nor shun a foe; Thou, while thou may’st, from swift destruction fly; I and my father’s house resolve to die.” “Stay;-hear me, Zillah!-every power above, Heaven, earth, thyself, bear witness to my love! Thee have I loved from earliest iniancy, Loved with supreme affection only thee. Long in these shades my timid passion grew, Through every change, in every trial true; I loved thee through the world in dumb despair, Loved thee, that I might love no other fair; Guilty, yet faithful still, to thee I fly, Receive me, love me, Zillah! or I die.” “With thee and with thy father’s house, to bear Death or captivity, is Javan’s prayer; Remorse for ever be the recreant’s lot; If I forsake thee now, I love thee not.” Thus while he vowed, a gentle answer sprung To Zillah’s’

lips, but died upon her tongue; Trembling she turned, and hastened to the rock, Beyond those woods, that hid her folded flock, Whose bleatings reached her ear with loud com~%int Of her delay; she loosed them from restrairt; Then bounding headlong forth with antic glee, They roamed in all the joy of liberty. Javan beside her walked, as in a dream, Nor more of love renewed the fruitless theme. Thus Javan’s lips, so long in silence sealed, With sudden vehemence his soul revealed; Zillah, meanwhile, recovered power to speak, While deadly paleness overcast her cheek: -” Say not,‘I love thee!’-Witness every tree Around this bower, thy cruel scorn of me! Could Javan love me through the world, yet leave Her whom he loved, for hopeless years, to grieve? Returning could he find her here alone, Yet pass her by, unknowing, as unknown? All day was she forsaken, or forgot?

Did Javan seek her at her father’s cot? That cot of old so much his soul’s delight, His mother’s seemed not fairer in his sight:O No; Javan mocks me; none could love so well, 80 long, so painfully,-and never tell.” “Love owns no law,” rejoined the pleading youth, “Except obedience to eternal truth; Deep streams are silent; from the generous breast, The dearest feelings are the last confest: Erewhile I strove in vain to )reak my peace, Nlow I couldl talk of love, and never cease: Still hal myn tremblini passion been concealed; Still but in pamrables by stealth revealed, i I i II .t 1 2 Forthwith from home, to home, throughout tl; The friends whom once he knew he sought a.s. Each hailed the stranger welcome at his boail, As lost but found, as dead to life restored. From Eden’s camp no tidings came; the dav In awful expectation passed a-%v,-iy.

At eve his harp the fond enthusiast strung, On Adam’s mount, and to the patriarchs sung; While youth and age, an eager throng, admire, The mingling music of the voice and lyre. I love thee, Twiliht! as thy shadows roll, The calm of evening steals upon rn3, son], Sublimely tender, solemnly serene, Still as the hour, eneb,,intin!Z ns the scene. I love thee, rwiii foi- tliv gle,ims impart Their deit, their (lyir,, influence to my heart, ll’hen o’er the harp of tliotibt thy passing wild Awa,i Y.,ig -,ill tbr music of the miyi(l,

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THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD. And joy and sorrow, as the spirit burns, And hope and memory sweep the chords by turns, While contemplation, on seraphic wings, ,~ounts with the flame of sacrifice, and sings. flwilight!

I love thee; let thy glooms increase Till every feeling, every pulse is peace; Slow from the sky the light of day declines, Clearer within the dawn of glory shines, Revealing, in the hour of nature’s rest, A world of wonders in the Poet’s breast: Deeper, 0 Twilight! then thy shadows roll, An awful vision opens on my soul. Veiled a sad wreck of grandeur and of grace, Limbs worn and wounded, a majestic face, Deep-ploughlied by Time, and ghastly pale with woes, That goaded t ill rem orse to madness rose; Haunted by phantoms, he had fled his home, With savage beasts in solitude to roam;. Wild as the waves, and wandering as the wind, No art could tame him, and no chains could bind: Already seven disastrous years had shed Mildew and blast on his unsheltered head; His brain was smitten by the sun at noon, His heart was withered by the cold night-moon. “On such an evening, so divinely calm, The woods all melody, the breezes balm, Down in a vale, where lucid waters strayed, Anrid mountain cedars stretched their downward,hade, Jubal the prince o’ scItg (in youth unklnowr.), Retired to commune with his harp alone; For still hlie nursed it, like a secret thought, Long cherished and to late perfection wrought,-O And still with cunning hand, and curious ear, Enriched, ennobled, and enlarged its sphere, Till he had Lompassed, in that magic round, A soul of harmnony, a heaven of sound, Then sang the miinstrel, in his laurel bower, Of nature’s origin, and music’s power. -‘ He spl)ake, and it was done;-eternal night, At God’s command, awakened into light; He called the elements, Earth, Ocean, Air, He called them when they were not, and they were: He looked through space, and kindling o’er the sky, Sun, moon, and stars, came forth to meet his eye: His spirit moved upon the desert earth, And suiden life through all things warmed to birth; Man from the dust he raised to rule the whole; He breathed, and man became a living soul: Through Eden’s groves the Lord of nature trod, Upright and pure, the image of his God.

Thus were the heavens and all their host displayed, In wisdom thus were earth’s foundations laid; The glorious scene a holy sabbath closed, Amidst his works the omnipotent reposed: And while hlie viewed and blessed them from his seat; All worlds, all beings worshipped at his feet: The morning stars in choral concert sang, The rolling deep with hallelujahs rang, Adoring angels from their orbs rejoice, The voice of music was creation’s voice. ” Slowly recoverl ing from that trance profound, Bewildered, touched, tr ansported with the sound, Cain viewed himself, the bard, the earth, the sky, While wonder flashed and ftided in his eye, And reason by alternate plhrensy crost, Now seemed restored, and now for ever lost. So shines the moon, by glimpses, through her shrouds, When windy darkness rides upon the clouds, Till through the blue, serene, and silent night, She reigns in full tranquillity of light. Jubal, with eager hope, beheld the chase Of strange emotions hurrying o’er his face, And waked his noblest numbers, to control The tide and tempest of the maniac’s soul; Through many a maze of melody they flew, They rose like incense, they distilled like dew, Poured through the sufibrer’s breast delicious balm, Arid soothed remembrance till remorse grew calm, Till Cain forsook the solitary wild, Led by the minstrel like a weaned child. 0! had you seen him to his home restored, How young and old ran forth to meet their lord; How friends and kindred on his neck did fall, Weeping aloud, while Cain outwept them all: But hush! thenceforward when recoiling care Lowered on his brow, and saddened to despair, The lyre of Jubal, with divinest art, Repelled the demon, and revived his heart. Thus song, the breath of heaven, had power to bind In chains of harmony the mightiest mind; Thus music’s empire in the soul bew-n, The first-born poet ruled the first-born man.” “‘Alone alongn the lyre of nature sighed The master-chord, to which no chord replied; For man, while bliss and beauty reigned around, For man alone, no fellowship was found, No fond companion, in whose dearer breast, His heart, repining in his own, might rest; For, born to love, the heart delights to roam, A kindred bosom is its happiest home. On earth’s green lap, the father of mankind, In mild dejection, thoughtfully reclined; Soft o’er his eyes a sealing slumber crept, And fancy soothed him while reflection slept. Then God-who thus would makle his counsel known, Counsel that willed not man to dwell alone, Created woman with a smile of grace, And left the smile that made her on her face. The patriarch’s eyelids opened on his bride, -The mnorn of beauty risen from his side! He gazed with new-born rapture on her charms, And love’s first whispers won her to his arms. Then, tuned through all the chords supremely sweet, Ex:‘ltilig n.tutr fci nd her lyre conmplete, And from the key of each harmonious sphere, Struck music worthy of her Maker’s ear.’ While Javan sung, the shadows fell around, i The moving glow-worm brightened on the ground. HIe ceased: the mute assembly rose in t ears; Delight and wonder were chastised with fears; That heavenly harmony, unheard before, Awoke the feeling,” Who shall hear it more?” The sun had set in glory on their sight, For them in vain might morn restore the liglht; Though self(devote(d, through each mortal frame, At thought of death, a cold, sick shuddering came, Natture’s infirmity;but faith was given, The flame that lifts the sacrifice to heaven: Through doubt and darkness then, beyond the skies Eternal prospects opened on their eyes; Alreadly seemed the immortal spirit free, And deathl was sw,tiiowed up in victory. ” Here JSibal paused; for grim before him lay, Couche’l like a lion watching for his prey, With blo(1d- ee ev e of fiscinating fire, Fi.,l I i.e the.,zin se rpent’s on the lyre, Ai-.,.f,l f run ilhat ththe oloom appeared, At’f,:-I. I a liv har Alrean; dwhose te rific bearli, Ai! h1,. {if lna di head led hair, Line tCaglc’s I~lumi~aye, ruin~edl bly the air, 213 11’Twas Cain, the sire of nations:-Jubal knew His kindred looks, and treinblingly withdrew; He, darting like the blaze of sudden fire, Leaped o’er the space between, and grasped the lyre ‘00onelc Witt, life,lie st.-uggl,.ng Bard would part, And ere the fiend could tear it from his heart, He hurled his hand, with one tremendous stroke, O’er all the strings; whence in a whirlwind broke Stich tones of terror, dissonance, despair, As till that hour had never jarred in air. Astonished into marble at the shock, Backward stood Cain, unconscious as a rock, Cold, breathless, motionless through all his fi-ame; But soon his visage quickened into flame, When Jubal’s hand the crashing jargon changed To inclting hai-mony, and nimbly ranged From chord to chord, ascending sweet and clear, Then rolling down in thunder on the ear; With power the pulse of anguish to restrain, And charm the evil sl)iilt from the brain.

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‘rTile HARP WITI-I A SABBATH rONE. Curst from the earth that dr;ank his blood, with toil Thine hand shall plough in vain her barren soil An exile and a wanderer thou shalt be; A brother’s eye shall never look on thee.’

TqIe Pat -iarclis and tiher Farmilies carried assay (aptive by a De tacliment fron tie Army of the Invaders -‘i-e vomb of Abel. His Murder by Caiin oesc-ibed.-1’lie ()rigin of tie Giants.-Ther Infancy and early Adventu-es of their King.-‘-The Leader of their liost eicampecin Eden. THF flocks and herds throughout the glen reposed; No human eyelid there in slumber closed; None, save the infant’s on the mother’s breast;With arms of love caressing and carest, She, while her elder offspring, round her clung, Each eye intent on hers, and mute each tongue, The voice of death in every murmnur heard, And felt his touch in every liib that stirred. At midnight, down the forest hills, a train Of eager warriors, from the host of Cain, Burst on the stillness of the scene:-they sp)read In bands, to clutch the victims ere they fled; Of flight unmir.nlful, at their summons, rose Those victims, meekly yielded to their foes; Though woman wept to leave her home behind, The weak were comforted, the strong resigned, And ere the moon, descending o’er the vale, Grew, at the bright approach of norning, pale, Collected thus, the patriarchal clan, With strengthened confidence, their march began, Since not in ashes were their dwellings laid, And death, though threatened still, was still dela-yed. Struck with their felrless innocence, they savwl Their fierce assatilants checkedl with sacred awe; The foe became a phalanx of d(lefence, And brought them, like a guard of anzels, thence. A vista-path, that through the forest led, (By Jovrian shunned when from the camp he fled,) Thie pilgrims tracele], till on the mountain’s height; They met the siun, new risen in glorious light; Empurpled( mists a-lon the landscape rolled, And all the orient flamed with clouds of gold. ” The shuddering culprit answered in despair, -‘ Greater the punishment than flesh can bear.’ -‘ Yet shalt thou bear it; on thy br’ow revealed, Thus be thy sentence and thy safeguard sealed.’

Silently, swiftly as the lightning’s blast, A hand of fire athwart his ternl)les passed: He ran, as in the terror of a dream, To quench his burning anguish in the stream; But bending o’er the brink, the swelling wave Back to the eye his branded viscose gave; As soon on murdered Abel dutrst he look; Yet power to fly his palsi.:.l limbs forsook; There turned to stone for his paresumiiptuous crime, A monument of wrath to latest time. Alight Cain hav e stood; but mercy raised his head In prayer for help,-his strength returned,-he fled. That mound of myrtles, o’er their favorite child, Eve planted, and the hand of Adanm piled; Yon mossy stone, above his ashes raised, His altar once, with Abel’s offering blazed, When God well pleased beheld the flames arise, And smiled acceptance on the sacrificeo ” Enoch to Javan, walking at hi s side, Tlhus held discourse apar t: the soutih replied “Relieved from toil, thoutgh Cain is gone to rest, GAnd the tu rf flowers.on his disbtnrethened breast, Among his race the murdering spirit r eigns, Bu t riots fiercest in the giants’ veins.

-Sprung from false leagues, when monstrous lov  com bined The sons of God and daughters of mankind, Selfstyled the progeny of heaven and earth, Eden first gave the world’s oppressors birth: Thence far away, beneath the rising moon, Or where the shadow vanishes at noon, The adulterous mothers from the sires withdrew: -Nurst in luxuriant climes their offspring grew: Till, as in Stature o’er mankind they towered, And giant strength all mortal strength o’erpowered, To heaven the proud blasphemers raised their eyes, And scorned the ta,rdy vengeance of the skies; On earth invincible, they sternly broke Love’s willing bonds, and nature’s kindred yoke, Mad for dominion with remorseless sway, Compelled their reptile brethren to obey, And doomed their human herds, with thankless tol, Like brutes, to grow and perish on the soil. Their sole inheritance, through lingering years, The bread of misery and the cup of tears, The tasks of oxen, with the hire of slaves, Dishonored lives, and desecrated graves. Here, while they haltedl, on their knees they raise To Go(l the sacrifice of prayer and praise; -” Glory to thee, for every blessing shed, In days of peace, on our protected head; Glory to thee, for fortitucle to bear The wrath of man, rejoicing o’er despair; Glory to thee, wvhatever ill befall, For foith on thy victoriotus name to call; Thine own eternal purposes fulfil; We comne, O God! to suffer all thy will.” Refreshed and rested, on their course they went Ere the clouds melted from the firmament; Odlors abroad the winds of morning breathe, Andl fresh with dew the herbage sprang beneath: Down from the hills, that gently sloped away To the broad river shining into day, They passed; along the brink the path they kept, AWhere high aloof o’eraehinq willows wept, Whose silvery foliage glistened in the beam, An(] floating shadows fringed the chequered stream. Adjacent rose a myrtle-planted mound, Richose spiry top, a granite friagment crowned; Tinctured with many colored moss, the stone, Rich as a cloud of summer evening, shone Amidst encircling verdure, that arrayed The beauteous hillock with a cope of shade. ” When war, that self inflicted scourge of man, His boldest crime and bitterest curse,-began; As lions fierce, as forest cedars tall, And terrible as torrents in their fall, Headlong friom rocks, through vales and vineyards linrlot These men of prey laid waste the eastern world. They taught their tributary hordes to wield The sword, red-flaming, through the death-strown fitld, With strenuous arm the uprooted rock to throw, Glance the light arrow from the bounding bow, Whirl the broad shield to meet the darted stroke, And stand to combat like the unyielding oak. Then eye from eye with fell suspicion turned In kindred breasts unnatural hatred burned Brother met brother in the lists of strife, The son lay lurking for the father’s life; With rapids instinct, menl who never krnew Each other-‘s face before, each other slew; All tribes, all nations learned the fatal art, And every hlan awns armed to 1)ierce a heart. Nor man ahimne the,,iqnts’ miqht subdued; -The Camel, weane(d from quiiet solitude, Crazed ron4i their camps, or sloanw alon, the roads, Mi;!st marching io, es, bore the servile load. “Javan!” said Enoch,’ on this spot began The fatal curse;-man perished here by man; The earliest death a son of Adam died WaVs mnurder, and that murder fratricide! Here Abel fell, a corse alone this shore; Here Cain’s recoiling footsteps reelred witll bore: Horror upraised his locks, unloosed his knees; He heard a voice; he hid among the trees; -‘ Where is thy brother’-From the whirlwind came The voice of God, amidst enfolding flame: -‘ Am I my brother’s keeper!’-hoar-se andl low, Cain muttered from the copse,-‘ that I should, know?’ -‘ What hast thou done?-vor veneoanee to the slie, G An! from the dust the blood of Abel cries: I I I i I I 214

CANTO SEVENTH.

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TIHE WORLD BEFOREI’ THIE FLOOD. His limbs were sinewy strength; commanding grace, And dauntless spirit sparkled in his face; His arm could pluck the lion from his prey, And hold the horned rhinoceros at bay, His feet o’er highest hills pursue the hind, Or tire the ostrich buoyant on the wind.

With flying forelock and dishevelled mane, rhey caught the wild steed prancing o’er the plain, For war or pastime reigned his fiery foree; Fleet as the wind he stretched along the comuse. Or loudly neighing at the trumpet’s sound, With hoofs of thunder smote the indented ground. The enormous elephant obeyed their will, And, tamed to cruelty with direst skill, Roared for the battle, when he felt the goad, And his proud lord his sinewy neck bestrode, Through crashing ranks resistless havoc bore, And writhed his trunk, and bathed his tusks in gore. ” Yet’twas the stripling’s chief delight to brave The river’s wrath, and wrestle with the wave; When torrent rains had swoln the furious tide, Light on the foamy surge he loved to ride; When calm and clear the stream was wont to flow, Fearless he dived to search the caves below. His childhood’s story, often told, had wrought Sublimest hopes in his aspiring thought. -Once on a cedar, from its mountain throne Plucked by the tempest, forth he sailed alone, And seached the gulf; with eye of eaget fire, And flushing cheek, he watched the shores retire, T i ll sky and water wide aroun d wer e s prea d; WStraight tothe sun he s thought his voyage led, With shouts of transport hail ed it s setting light, And followed all the long and lone ly night: But e r ae te mor ning-s tar expired, he found His strande d ba rk on ce more on earth ly ground. Tears, wrung from secret shame, suffused his eyes When in the east he saw the sun arise: Pride quickly checked them; young ambition burned For bolder enterprise, as he returned. ”

Through snares and deaths pursuing,fame and power He scorned his flock from that adventurous hour, And, leagued with monsters of congenial birth, Began to scourge and subjugate the earth. Meanwhile the sons of Cain, who tilled the soil, By noble arts had learned to lighten toil; Wisely their scattered knowledge he combined; Yet had a hundred years matured his mind, Ere with the strength that laid the forest low, And skill that made the iron fiurnace glow, His genius launched the keel, and swayed the helm (His throne and sceptre on the watery realm), While from the tent of his expanded sail, He eyed the heavens and flew before the gale, The first of men, whose courage knew to guide The bounding vessel through the refluent tide. Then swore the giant in his pride of soul, To range the universe from pole to pole, Rule the remotest nations with his nod, To live a hero, and to die a god. ”’ Thus while the giants trampled friends and foes, Among their tribe a mighty chieftain rose; His birth mysterious, but traditions tell What strange events his infancy befell. ” A goatherd fed his flock on many a steep, Where Eden’s rivers swell the southern deep; A melancholy man, who dwelt alone, Yet far abroad his evil fame was known, The first of woman born, that might presume To wake the dead bones mouldering in the tomb, And, from the gulf of uncreated night, Call phantoms of futurity to light. ‘Twas said his voice could stay the falling flood, Eclipse the sun, and turn the moon to blood, Roll back the planets on their golden cars, And from the firmament unfixed the stars. Spirits of fire and air, of sea and land, Came at his call, and flew at his command; His spells so potent, that his changing breath Opened or shut the gates of life and death, O’er nature’s powers he claimied supreme control, And held communion with all nature’s soul: The name and place of every herb he knew, Its healing balsam, or pernicious dew: The meanest reptile, and the noblest birth Of ocean’s caverns, or the living, earth, Obeyed his mandate:-Lord of all the rest, Man more than all his hidden arTconfessed, Cringed to his face, consutlted, and revered His oracles,detested him and feared. ” Once by the river, in a waking dream, He stood to watch the ever-running stream, In which, reflected upward to his eyes, He giddily looked down upon the skies, For thus he feigned in his ecstatic mood, To summon (ldivinttion from the flood. His steady v iew, a floating object crossed; His eve pursued it till the sight was lost.An outcast infant in a fracile bark! The river whirled the willow-woven ark Down toward the deep; the tide returning bore The little voyazer unharmed to shore; Him in his cradle-shipl) securely bound With swathing skins at eve the goatherd found. Nurst by that foster-sire, austere and rude, Midst rocks and glens, in savage solitude, Among the kids, the rescued foundling grew, Nutrition from whose shaggy dams he drew, Till baby-curls his broader temples crowned, And torrid suns his flexile limbs embrowned: Then as he sprang from green to florid age, And rose to giant stature, stage by stage, Ile roamed the valleys with his browsing flock, And leapt in joy of youth from rock to rock, Climbed the sharp precipice’s steepest breast, To seize the eagle brooding on her nest, And rent his way throug h ma tted w ood s, to tear T he skulkin g p an ther from his hidden lair. A trodden serpent, horrible and vast, Sprang on th e h eedless rover as he passed; f,:mb locked o’er limb, with many a straitening fold O orbs inextricably involved, he rolled On earth in vengreance, broke the twisted toils, Straizled the Iiissinz fiend, and wore the spoils. WVith har,lv exercise, andn crurtel art, To nerve the friamne, an petrif tihe heart, The wizard itrainel his pupil, from a span, To thrice the bulkl and majestv of man. T he scene changes to a mountain, on the summit of which, 0e neath the shade of ancient trees, the giants are assembled round their king.-A nminstrel sings the monarch’s praises, and describes the destruction of the remnant of the force of his enemies, in an assault, by land and water, on their encampment, between the for est on the eastern plain of Eden and the river to the west.The captive patriarchs are presented before the king and his chieftain& I 213 “This is the king that wars in Eden: now, Fulfilled at length he deems his early vow. His foot hath overrun the -xvorld-his hand Smitten to dust the pride of every land: The patriarch’s last, beneath the impious rod, He dooms to perish or abjure their God. -0 Gol of truth!

rebuke the tyrant’s rage, Aud save the remnant of thine heritage.” When Javan ceased, they stood upon the height, Where fir.74 he rested on his lonely flight, Whence to the sacred mountain far away, The land of Eden in perspective law. ‘Twas noon; they tarried there, till milder hours Woke with light airs the breath of evening flowers. CANTO EIGHTH. THF,P.F, is a livin_g spirit in the lyre, A breath of miiqic, and a sotil of fire; It special,, a I-,inguage to the world unknown; It sp,,iks tti,it lan!zii,t,,e to the bard alone: Wliile -,vqrble,l symphonies ez,-trance Iii8 cars, That spii-it’s voice in every tone he heirs;

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THE HARP WI’ITH A SABBAT‘‘H TONE. ‘Tis his the mystic meaning to rehearse, To utter oracles in glowing verse, Heroic themes fiom age to age prolong, And make the dead in nature live in song. Through graven rocks the warrior’s deeds proclaim, And mountains, hewn to statues, wear his name; Though shrined in adamant, his relics lie Beneath a pyramid, that scales the sky; All that the hand hath fashioned shall decay; All that the eye admires shall pass away; The mouldering rocks, the hero’s hope shall fail, Earthquakes shall heave the mountains to the vale, The shrine of adamant betray its trust, And the proud pyramid resolve to dust; The lyre alone immortal famne secures, For song alene tbrougl’ nattre’s leiang- end-sres; I ransf used like life, fr,,rm breas t br e ust t it glows, From sire to son by sure succession flows, Spr eads i ts unc eas ing flight from clime to lime, ‘Outstripping death u )on the wings of time. From Eden’s sutdit, with obdura te pride, R ed from afar the b attle-scene he e yed, Where lat e he cr u shed, with one remorseless blow, Fhc;Im~.t nt his I,.st alI n-,IIest t.e, At nand ne viewed the trophies of his toils, Herds, flocks, and steeds, the world’s collected spoih; Below, his legions marched in war array, Unstained with blood in that unequal fray: -A hundred tribes, whose sons their arms had born i Without contention, from the field at morn, Their bands dividing, when the fight was won, Darkened the region toward the slanting gun, Like clouds, whose shadows o’er the landscape sail, -While to their camp, that filled the northe, 1 vale, A waving sea of tents immensely spread, The trumpet summoned, and the banners led. With these a train of captives, sad and slow, Moved to a death of shamiie, or life of wo, A death on altars hateful to the skies, Or life in chains, a slower sacrifice. Fair smiled the face of nature; all serene And lovely Evening tranquillized the scene; The furies of the fight were gone to rest, The cloudless sun grew broader down the west, The hills beneath him melted from the sight, Receding through the heaven of purple light; Along the plain the maze of rivers rolled, And verdant shadows gleamed in waves of gold. :N boul of ne lyre! whose magic power can raise Inspiring visions of departed days; Or, with the glimpses of mysterious rhyme, Dawn on the dreams of unawakened time; Soul of the lyre! instruct thy bard to sing The latest triumph of the giant-king, Who sees this day his orb of glory filled: -In what creative numbers shall I build, With what exalted strains (f music crown, His everlasting pillar of renown? Though, like the rainbow, by a wondrous birth, He sprang to light, the joy of heaven and earth; Though, like the rainbow-for he can not dieHis form shall pass unseen into the sky; Say, shall the hero share the coward’s lot, Vanish from earth, ingloriously forgot? No! the divinity that rules the lyre, And clothes these lips with eloquence of fire, Commands the song to rise in quenchless flame, And light the world for ever with his fame.” Thus on a mountain’s venerable head, Where trees, coeval with creation, spread Their massy-twisted branches, green and gray, Mature below, their tops in dry decay, A bard of Jubal’s lineage proudly sung, Then stayed awhile the raptures of his tongue: A shout of horrible applause that rent The echoing hills, and answering firmament, Burst from the giants-where, in barbarous state, Flushed with new wine, around their king they sate A chieftain each who, on his brazen car, Had led a host of meaner men to war; And now from recent fight on Eden’s plain, Where fell their foe’n helpless conflict slain, Victoriously returned, beneath the trees They rest from toil, carousing at their ease. Thus while the tyrant cast his haughty eye O’er the broad landscape and incumbent sky, His heart exulting whispered ” All is mine,” And heard a voice from all things answer “Thine.’ Such was the matchless chief, whose name of yore Filled the wide world; his name is known no more: 0 that for ever from the rolls of fanme, Like his, had perished every conqueror’s name! Then had mankind been spared, in after times, Their greatest sufferinas and their greatest crimes. The hero scourges not his age alone, His curse to late posterity is known He slays his thousands with his living breath, His tens of thousands by his fanme in death. Achilles quenched not all his wrath on Greece, Through Homer’s song its miseries never cease; Like Phoebus’ shafts the bright contagion brings Plagues on the people for the feuds of kings. ‘Twas not in vain the son of Philip sighed For worlds to conquer-o’er the western tide, His spirit, in the Spaniard’s form, o’erthrew Realms, that the Macedonian never knew. The steel of Brutus struck not Caesar dead Caesar in other lands hath reared his head, And fought, of friends and foes, on many a plain, His millions, captured, fugitive, and slain; Yet seldom suffered, where his country died, A Roman vengeance for his parricide. Adjacent, where the mountain’s spacious breast, Opened in airy grandeur to the west, Huge piles of fragrant cedars on the ground, As altars blazed, while victims bled around, To gods, whose worship vanished with the flood, -Divinities of brass, and stone, and wood, By man himself in his own image made; The fond creator to the creature prayed; And he, who from the forest or the rock Hewed the rough mass, adored the shapen block; Then seemed his flocks ignoble in his eyes, His choicest herds too mean for sacrifice, He poured his brethren’s bl ood upon the pyre, And passed his sons to demons through the fire. The sun was sunk; the sacrificial p~yres From smouldering ashes breathed their last blue fires; The snmiling star that lights the world to rest, Walked in the rosy gardens of the west, Like Eve erewhile, through Eden’s blooming bowers, A lovelier star ami am he ave n o f flowers. Now in the freshness to the fallinz shade, Again the minstrel to the monarch played. -” Where is the youth renowned? the youth whose vkto; Was wont to make the listening camp rejoice, When to his harp in’

many a peerless strain, He sang the wonders of the giant’s reign; Exalted o’er the vassal chiefs, behold Their sovereign, east in nature’s mightiest mould; Beneath an oak, whose woven boughs displayed A verdant canopy of light and shade, Throned on a rocle the giant-kiTng appears, In the fill manhood of five hundred years; Hlis robe, the spoils of lions, by his might D)ragged from their den, or slain in chase or fight; I I I I i I 2 i (i His raven locks unblanched by withering time, Amply dishevelled o’er his brow sublime; His dark eyes, flushed with restless radiance, gleam Like broken moonlight rippling on the stream. Grandeur of soul, which nothing might appal, And nothing satisfy if less than aii, Had stamped upon his air, his form, his face, The character of calni and awful grace; But direst cruelty, by guile represt, Lurked in the dark -voleaDO of his breast, In silence brooding, like the secret power, That springs the earthquake at the midnight hour. i i I ii i i iI I

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THE WVORILD BE’FOItE’I’t1E FLOOD. 0 where is Javan?” Thus the bard renewed His lay, and with a rival’s transport viewed The cloud of sudden anger, that o’ercame The tyrant’s countenance, at Javan’s name; Javan, whose song was once his soul’s delight, Now doomed a traitor recreant by his flight.

The envious minstrel smiled; then boldly ran His prelude o’er the chords, and thus began. “‘Twas on the morn that faithless Javan fled, To yonder plain the king of nations led His countless hosts, and stretched their wide array Along the woods, within whose shelter lay The sons of Eden: * these, with secret pride, In ambush thus the invincible defied: -‘ Girt with the forest, wherefore should we fear? The.iaiit’s sword sb-ll never reach is here: Behind, tLe river rolis its deep defence; The giant’s hand shall never pluck ius hence.’ Vain boast of fools; who to that hand prepare For their own lives the inevitable snare: His legions smote the standards of the wood, And with their prostrate strength controlled the flood; Lopt off their boughs, and jointed beam to beam, The pines and oaks were launched upon the stream, A hundred rafts. Yet still within a zone Of tangled coppices-a waste, o’ergrown WVith briers and thorns-the dauntless victims lie, Scorn to surrender, and prepare to die. The second sun went down; the monarch’s plan Was perfected; the dire assault began. He, with his chiefs, i n br azen a imor, stood Unmoved, to meet the maniacs from the wood. Dark as a thunder-cloud their phalanx came, But spilled like lightning, into forms of flame; Soon as in purer air their heads they raised To taste the breath of heaven, their garments blazed; Then blind, distracted, weaponless, yet flushed With dreadful valor, on their foes they rushed, The giants met them midway on the plain; ‘Twas but the struggle of a moment;slain, They fell; their relics to the flames returned As offerings to the immortal gods were burned; And never did the light of morning rise Upon the clouds of such a sacrifice.” Abruptly here the minst re l ceas ed to sing, Ai’d evwry fa:e was turi ed.I)on tle kin,; He, while the stoutest hearts recoiled with fear, And giants trembled their own deeds to hear, Unmoved and unrelenting, in his mind, Deeds of more impious enterprise designed: A dire conception labored in his breast; His eye was sternly pointed to the west, Where stood the Mount of Paradise sublime, Whose guarded top, since man’s presumptuous crime, By noon, a dusky cloud appeared to rise, But blazed a beacon through nocturnal skies. As 2Etna, viewed from ocean far away, Slumbers in blue revolving smoke by day, Till darkness, with terrific splendor, shows The eternal fires that crest the eternal snows;’ So where the cherubim in vision turned Their flaming swords, the summit lowered or burned. And now conspicuous through the twilight gloom, The glancing beams the distant hills illume, And, as the shadows deepen o’er the ground, Scatter a red and wavering lustre round. ‘ Marshalled by twilight, his obedient bands Engirt the wood, with torches in their hands; The signal given, they shoot them through the air; The blazing brands in rapid volleys glare, Descending through the gloom with spangled light, As if the stars were falling through the night. Along the withered grass the wild-fire flew, Higher and hotter with obstruction grew: The green wood hissed; from crackling thickets broke Light glancitii flame, and heavy rolling smoke; Till all the breadth of forest seemed to rise In raging conflagration to the skies. Fresh o’er our heads the winds propitious blow, But roll the fierce combustion on the foe. Awhile they paused of every hope berett, Choice of destruction all their refuge left; If from the flames they fled, behind them lay, The river roaring to receive his prey; If’through the stream they sought the farther strand, Our crafts were moored to meet them ere they land; With triple death environed thus they stood, Till nearer peril drove them to the flood. Safe on a hill, where sweetest moonlight slept, As o’er the changing scene my watch I kept, I heard their shrieks of agony; I hear Those shrieks still ring in my tormented ear; I saw themn leap the gulf with headlong fright; O that mine eyes could now forget that sight! They sank in multitude; but prompt to save, Our warriors snatched the stragolers from the wave, And on their rafts a noble harvest bore Of rescued heroes, captive, to the shore “One little troop their lessening ground maintained, Till space to perish in alone remained; Thlen with a shout that rent the echoing air, More like the shout of victory than despair, Wedged in a solid phalanx, man by man, Right throub_h the scorching wilderness they ran, Where half-extinct the smouldering fuel glowed, And levelled copses strewed the open road. Unharmed as spirits while they seemed to pass, Their lighted features flared like molten brass; Around the fliames in writhing volumes spread, Thwarted their path, or mingled o’er their head; Beneath their feet the firtes to ashes turned, But in their wake with mounting fury burned. Our host recoiled from that aniazing sight; Scarcely the king himself restrained their flight; *‘Vide Canto I., p. 2, and Canto Ill., p.. 2 * So rge nel sen e la Sicilia pr ica Monte s,,perbo al cielo, Che d’atro inceindio incoron,ato ha il cr,ine Sparso il tergo e di neve, e fatta amica Latmbe la flamina il gielo, E tra di.creti ardor duran le brine.-I. TesTI t Jo crains Dieu, cher Abner, et n’ai point d’autre cIainte.-RAcGI a 217 Awhile the monarch, fearlessly amazed. With jealous anger on the glory gazed; Already bad his arm in battle hurled His thunders round the subjugated world Lord of the nether universe, his pride Was reined, while Paradise his power defied. An upland isle, by mefting streams embraced, It towered to heaven amid a sandy waste; Below, impenetrable woods displayed Depths of mysterious solitude and shade; Above, with adamantine bulwarlis crowned, Primeval rocks in hoary masses frowned; O’er all were seen the cherubim of li,bt, Like pillared flames am id the falling night; So high it rose, so bright the mountain shone, It seemed the footstool of Jehovah’s throne. The giant panted with intense desire To scale those heights, and storm the walls of fire, His ardent soul in eestacy of thought, Even now with Michael and his angels fought, And saw the seraphim like meteors driven Before his banners thro.ugh the gatcs of heaven, While he secure the glorious aarden trod, And swayed his seeptre from the Mount of God. When suddenly the bard had ceased to sing, While all the chieftains gazed upon their king, Whose changing looks a rising storm bespoke, Ere from his lips the dread explosion broke, The trumpets sounded, and before his face Were led the captives of the patriarch’s race, -A lovely and a venerable band Of young and old. amid their foes they stand Unawed they see the fiety trial near; The feared their God and knew no other fear.t

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‘ilL ea t1 \ il’’{ I S sy’i;A’i’i’ONE. To light the dus}’ Scn,,, rei l elnrdt fires,k Of pine and ce’ttal, bltzed ini loflty lrr l s; While from the east the moon \vith doobtful gleams Nowv tipped the hills, now glanced athwart the streams; Till, darting through the cloutids her beauteous eye, She opened all the temple of tile sky. ‘ I.e giants, closing in a narrower ring, By turns surveyed the prisoners and the king. Javani stood forth; to all the youthl was known, And every eye was fixed on himn alone. “0 I h ve wronged theet, Joayan!-Let us be Espoused in death:-No, 1 will d ie foi thee. -Tyr ant! b ehol d t hy victim; on nmy head Be all the bitterness o f vengen c ie shed, But spar e the inno cent; let Javan live Whose crime was love:-Can Javan too forgive Love’s slightest, fondest weakness, maiden-shame, -It was not pride,;-that hid my bosom-flame? And wilt thou mourn the poor transgressor’s death, Who says, I I love thee,’ with her latest breath? And when thou thinkst of days and years gone by, Avill thoughts of Zillah sometimes swell thine eye? If ever thou hast cherished in thine heart Visions of hope, in which I bore a part; If ever thou hast longed with me to share One home-born joy, one home-endearing care; If thou didst ever love me;-speak the word, Which late with feigned indiflerency I heard; Tell me, thou lovest me still;-haste, Javan, mark, How high those ruffians pile the fazots,-hark, How the flames crackle,-see, how fierce they glare, Like fiery serpents hissing through the air; Farewell; I fear them not-Now seize me, bind These willing limbs,-ye can not touch the mind; Unawed, I stand on nature’s failing brink: -Nay look not on me, Javan, lest I shrink; Give me thy prayers, but turn away thine eye, That I may lift my soul to heaven, and die.” Fre k-ii’s (i rnaton to sacrifice thle patriarchs and their familcs tic his dell-os. Ils seite[ce on.lavan. Zillah’s didtres.’. T’Iikt s’erI preten,ds to declare the secret of the birt. I:, tle ki-,,,nd pr,,i.,ses his dviiication. Enoch appears. A GL.c.lt of joy, at that expected siglt, Shot o,‘er the ionarch’s brow with baleful light: “Beehold,”’ thouit h e,’ thle great decisive hour; Ere morno, these sons of Gol shall prove my power: Olferedl by i, their blood shall be the price Of demon-ai-d to coo lur Par-ldise.” Tliius white he tlirettene(l, Javan. cauglht his view, Anr,d instantlyl his i-isaze changed its line; Inflramed with rage past utterance, he frowned, He gnasheil his tethl, and wildly glared around, As one who saw a siecti-e i.n the air. And (tlrst not look opon it, nor forbear; Still on the yotith, his eye whierever cast, Abhorrently returned and fixed at last: ‘; Slaves smnite the traitor; be his limbs consigned To flames, his ashles scattered to the -wind!” He cried in a tone so vehemient, so loud, Instinctively recoiled the shuddering crowd; And ere the guards to seize their victim rushed, The youth was pleading,-every Breath was hushed; Pale, but undauntedly, he faced his foes; Warmn as hlie spoke his kindling spirit rose; Well pleased, on him the patriarch-fathers smiled, And every mother loved him as her child. Thus Zilla h raved in passionate dist ress, Till phrensy softened into tenderness; Sorrow and love, with intermingling grace, Terror and beauty, lightened o’er her face; Her voice, her eye, in every soul was felt, And giant-hearts were moved, unwont to melt. Javan, in wonder, pity, and delight, Almost forgot his being, at the sight; That bending form, those suppliant accents, seem, The strange illusion of a lover’s dream; And while she clung upon his arm, he found His limbs, his lips, as by enchantment, bound; IT., dare not touch her, lest the charm should break, He dare not move, lest he.imself should wake. “Monarch! to thee no traitor, here I stand; These are my brethren, this my native land; My native land, by sword and fire consumed, My brethren, captive, and to death foredoomed; To these indeed a Rebel in my youth, A fugitive apostate from the truth, Too late repentant, I confess my crime, And mourn o’er lost irrevocable time. -When firom thy camp by conscience urged to fleA, I planned no wrong, I laid no snare for thee: Did I provolke these sons of inuocence, Against thine armns, to rise in vain defence? No; I conjured them, ere this threatened hour. In sheltering forests to escape thy power; Firm in their rectitude, they scorned to fly; Thy foes they were not,thliey resolved to die. Yet think not thouti, amidIst thy warlike bands, They lie beyond redemption in thine hands: The Go4l in whom they trust may help them still, They know he c(tl deliver, anil HE WILL: Whether by life, or death, afflict them not, On his decree, not thine, they rest their lot. For me, unwortlhy with the just to share Death or deliverance, this is Javan’s prayer; Mercy, 0 God! to these it life be shown, l die rejoicing, if I die alone.” But when she ceased to speak and he to hear, The silence startled him;-cold, shivering fear Crept o’er hi s nerves;in tho ught he cas t his eve Back on the world, and heaved a bitter sigh, Thus from life’s sweetest pleasures to be torn, Just when he seemed to new existence born, And cease to feel, when feeling ceased to be A fever of protracted misery, And cease to love, when love no more was pain, ‘Twas but a pang of transient weakness:“Vain Are all thy sorrows,” falteringly he said; “Already I am numbered with the dead; But long and blissfully may Zillah live! -And canst thou Javan’s cruel scorn forgive? And wilt thou mourn the poor transgressor’s death, Who says’ I love thee,’ with his latest breath? And when thou thinkest of days and years gone by, Will thoughts of Javan sometime. swell thine eye?

Ah! while I withered in thy chilling frown, ‘Twas easy then to lay life’s burden down; When singly sentenced to these flames, my mind Gloried in leaving all I loved behind; How hast thou triumphed o’er me in this hour!

One look has crushed my sotil’s collected power; Thy scorn I might endure, thy pride defy, But 0 thy kindness makes it hard to die!” “Thou shalt not (lie alone;” a voice replied, A well-known voice-‘twas Zillal at his side; She, while he spake, with eagerness to hear, Step after step, unconsciously drew near; Her bosom with severe compunction wrung, Pleased or alarmed, on every word she hung. He turned his face;witls agonizing air, In all the desolation of d(lespair, She sto,l:; hier hadis to heaven uplift and elaspOt Thiein siulldenly inl~,ose,] his armn slie grasped, An I thu~s, in wil apostroples of we, r’ate’,l her grief,vhiie tears refused to flow. “Then we will die together.” c Zillah! no, Thoui shalt not perish; let me, let me go; Belhol(d thy parents; calm thy father’s fears: Thy mother weeps; canst thou resist her tears?” ” Away with folly!” in tremendous tone,s Exel. idle.l a voice, more horrid than the aroan Of f:tmished tiere leaping on his prey; Cro,iie(e at the monarich’s fetet the speaker lay; But starting ur,, in his fi’rcciou,s mniPn Thait m.onarchl’s ancient fost:‘asire was seen. I i I 2”,Q I – CA.,NTO Nl,’VTH.

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THE WORLD B.1,Tt;0E’i’ l” FLOOD. The goatherd he who snatched him from the flood, The sorcerer, who nursed him up to blood; Who still, his evil genius felly bent On one bold purpose, went wlihere’cr he went; That purpose, long in his own bosom sealed, Ripe for fulfilment now, he thus revealed. Full in the midst he rushed; alarmed, aghast, Giants and captives trembled a.s he passed, For scarcely seemed he of the sons of earth; Unchronicled the hour that gave him birth; Though shrunk his cheek, his temples deeply ploughed, Keen was his vulture-eye, his strength unbowed; Swarthy his features; venerably gray, His beard dishevelled o’er his bosom lay: Bald was his front; but, white as snow behind, His ample locks were scattered to the wind; Naked he stood, save round his loins a zone Of shagged fur, and o’er his shoulders thrown A serpent’s skin, that crossed his breast, and round His body thrice in g’.ttering volumes wound.

He, like his s ie the stn, in traisierit clouds, Has veiled (di.inilt fiDo i(,rls siiroiids, Too pure to shine till tlt. s( his foes are slain, And conquierled is;:tolis e iath c]r(3wn(‘ ( iq i eign. Haste, heal) the llillen ceda,irs on thie pyre, And give the victims living’ to the fires; Shall he, in whom tley a inl]y ltrst, withstand Your sovereign,i’s wra-th, or l,luck tlhem from his hand! We dare him;-if’ he savets his servwtnts now, To him let eelr Inee inl nat.:!e boll For HE is GOI)”at that iii(Ist axwrful na.e, A spasm of htr r(,r witlhcc ptl ) }:is fiiare; Even as he st(,cowl and localsok, he stands, With heavei-te,f:, i~;n!, t lJl cleched hands, And lilps half-at enevl. are f- om slis br-east To blot tlhe llftltl}y, t~ y li)rce r’ l:re’st; For not ill Ikigncd:t:sl:.cticn, ts!,(./k:a’. He pracliscti,.Il dftccit ty i>)),n‘, l(, r e, A fi’ost alas c, l.is nes and ill! is v-ins A fire eonsumitiG with i~)fs n,i pains; ConDscious, tlh,vxlc rr(o!i~,l:., his lin,s were grown; Alive to <,'. ri tjl ulix; in s',n,. All gazed with horror:-deep unuttered thought In every muscle of his visage wrought; His eye as if his eye could see the air, Was fixed; up-writhing rose his horrent hair; His limbs grew dislocate, convulsed his frame; Deep from his chest mysterious noises came, Now purring, hissing, barking, then they swelled To hideous dissonance; he shrieked, he yelled, As if the legion-fiend his soul possessed, And a whole hell were worrying in his breast, Then down he dashed himself on earth, and rolled In agony, till powerless, stiff, and cold, With face upturned to heaven, and arms outspread, A ghastly spectacle he lay as dead; The living too stood round, like forms of death, And every pulse was hushed, and every breath. In silent c-xl cc!.lti,., s!,,: m:,,z(,!, The 1,-.inig alla (}Ii ft;,i:(s II-t,(,:arcort:aed; Awhile no se(. A s i )‘a”:;, sa e t!,cial’ h the woods, The win.-l dcel,ll~l:f,!’.,inT:;.? ):e (ta’hing floods At length, aswit’s s(); l s t ee,:lst tile scne, W~here th’t tf’l:;e proi }}..t s t:,w,(8d;is frantic Lien. W\hert~ I~lui.! fljm(‘s t‘f:,f1 z:’.l.-.‘ot1 altars burned, En(ch stv!((l fi,~l; aoe lini ,ill (T.CANTO TENTH. 11 THE Lord is jealous:-He, who reigns on high, Upholds the earth, and spreads abroad the sky; His voice the rnoon and stars by ni!zht obey, He sends the sun his servant forth by day: From him all bein,-s came, on hii-n depend, To him return their author, sovereign, end, Who sliall destroy when be would save?,or stand, When he destrovs, the stroke of his right-nand With none his name and power will be divide, For HE is GOD, and there is none beside. The %viz-ir(I heard Iiis sentence; nor i-e.-nained, A moment Ion,-cr; frcm his trance tincbained, I Dan. v.

1-31 t Job iv 12-21

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Tt-IE HARi W\T’l’tl’ A S:\t’BAT1I TONE. He plunged into the woods;-the prophet then Turned, and took up his parable again. One wilderness of wate rs rolls in view, Arid hliqaven anal ocean stear one turbid hue; Still stream unbroken torrents from the skies, Higher beneath the inundations rise; A lurid twilight glares athwart the scene, Now thunders poal, faint lightnings flash between. -Methinks I see a distant vessel ride, A lonely object on the shoreless tidee; Within whose ark the innocent have found Safety, while stayed destruction ravens round; Thus, in the hour of vengeance, God who knows His servants, spares them, while he smites his foes “The proud shall perish:-Monarch! know thy doom; Thy bones shall lack the shelter of a tomb; Not in the battle-field thine eyes shall close, Slain upon thousands of thy slaughtered foes; Not on the throne of empire, nor the bed Of weary nature, thou shalt bow thine head: Death lurks in ambush; death, without a name, Shall pluck thee from thy pinnacle of fame; At eve, rejoicing o’er thy finished toil, Thy soul shall deemn the universe her spoil; The dawn shall see thy carcase cast away, The wolves, at sunrise, slumber on their prey. Cut from the living, whither dost thou go? Hall s is loved to m:net thee frrm be’ow: The Rings thy sword had slain, the nmighty dead, Start fritomt their thrones at thy descending tread; They ask in scorn,-‘ Destroyer! is it thus? Art thou,-thou too,-become like one of us? Torn from the feast of music, wine, and mirth, The worms thy covering, and thy couch the earth: How art thou fallen from thine ethereal height, Son of the morning! sunk in endless night: How art thou fta!len, who saidst, in pride of soul, I will ascend above the starry pole,. Thence rule the adoring nations with my nod, And set my throne above the mount of God. Sphlt in the dust, thy blood pollutes the ground; Sought by the eyes that feared thee, yet not f(nd, Thy chieftains pause, they turn thy relics o’er, Then pass thee by,-for thou art known no more.

Hail to thine advent! potentate, in hell, Unfear’ed, unflattered, undistinguished dwel l; On earth thy fierce ambition knew no rest, A worm, a flame for ever in thy breast; Here feel the rage of unconsuming fire, Intense, eternal, impotent desire; Here lie, the deathless worm’s unwasting prey, In chains of darkness till the judgment-day.’ “Eastward I turn;-o’er all the deluged lands, Unshaken yet, a mighty mountain stands, Wvhere Seth, of old, his flock to pasture led, Apd watched the stars at midnight. from its head; Ar, island r.-ow, its dark majestic form Scowls through the thickest ravage of the stornm; While on its top, the monu iment of fame, Built by thy murderers to adorn thy name, Defies the shock;-a thousand cubits high, The sloping pyramid ascends the sky.

Thither, their latest refuge in distress, ‘Like hunted wolves, the rallying giants press; Round the broad base of that stupendous tower. The shuddering fugitives collect their power, Cling to the dizzy cliff, o’er ocean Dend, And howl with terror as the deeps ascend. The mountain’s strong foundations still endure, The heights repel the surge.-Awhlde secure And cheered with frantic hope, thy votaries climb The fabric, rising step by step sublime. Beyond the clouds they see the summit glow In heaven’s pure daylight o’er the gloom below; There too thy worshipped image shines like fire, In the full glory of thy fabled sire. They hail the omen, and with heart and voice, Call on thy name, and in thy smile rejoice; False omen! on thy name in vain they call; Fools in their joy;-a moment and they fall. Rent by an earthquake of the buried plain, And shaken by the whole disrupted main, The mountain trembles on its failing base, It slides, it stoops, it rushes from its place: From all the giants burst one drowning cry; Hark!‘tis thy namne-they curse it as they die; Sheer to the lowest gulf’ the pile is hurled, The last sad wreck of a devoted world. “Thus while the dead thy fearful welcome sing, Thy living slaves bewail their vanished king. Then, though thy reign with infamy expire, Fulfilled in death shall be thy vain desire; The traitors, reeking with thy blood, shall swear, They saw their sovereign ravished through the air, And point thy star revolving o’er the night, A baleful cornet with portentous light, ‘Midst clouds and storms, denouncing from afar Famnine and havoc, pestilence and war. Temples, not tombs, thy monuments shall be, And altars blaze on hills and groves to thee; A pyramid shall consecrate thy crimes, Thy name and honors to succeeding times; There shall thine image hold the hilghest place Among the gods of man’s revolted race! Thus when the patriarch ceased, and every eat Still listened in suspense of hope and fear, Sublime, ineffable, angelic grace Beamed in his meek and venerable face; And sudden glory, streaming round his head, O’er all his robes with lambent lustre spread; His earthly features grew divinely bright, His essence seemed transforming into light. Brief silence, like the pause between the flash, At midnight, and the following thunder-crash, Ensued:-Anon, with universal cry, The giants rushed upon the prophet ”

Die!” The king leapt foremost from his throne;-he drew His battle-sword, as on his mark he flew; With aim unerring, and tempestuous sound, The blade,lo.qcended deep along the round; The foe was fled, and, self-o’erwhelmed, his strengtlt Hurled to the earth his Atlantean length; But ere his chiefs could stretch the helping arm, He sprang upon his feet in pale alarm; Headlong and blind with rage he searched around, But Enoch walked with God and uas lot feoudl. ” That race shall perish:-men and giants, all Thy kindred and thy worshippers shall fall. The babe, whose life with yesterday began, May spring to youth, and ripen into man, But ere his locks are tinged with fading gray, This world of sinners shall be swept away. Jehovah lifts his standard to the skies, Swift at the signal winds and vapors rise; The sun in sackcloth veils his face at noon,The stars are quenched, and turned to blood the moon, Heaven’s fountains open, clouds dissolving roll In mingled cataracts from pole to pole. Earth’s central sluices burst, the hills upturn, In rapid whirlpools down the gulf are borne; The voice, that taught the deep his bounds to know, ‘ Thus far, 0 sea! nor farther shalt thou go,‘Sends forth the floods, commissioned to devour, With boundless license and resistless power; They own no impulse but the tempest’s sway, Nor find a limit but the light of day. Yet where the captives stood, in holy awe, Rapt on the wines of cherubim, they saw Their sainted sire ascen,dint through the night; He turned his face to bless them ir his flight, The guilty share a:-un k beniversal rwa ve, The iuilty sixare a universal grave; I I i 220 11 So fall trans-ressors:-Tyrant! now fulfil Thy secret purposes, thine utmost will; Here crown thy triumphs:-life or death decree, The weakest here disdains thy power and thee.”

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TIIE WORLD BEFORE. lTIE FLOOD. Roused by the trumpet, that shall wake the dead, The torpid foe i n consternation f l ed: The giants headlong in the uproar ran, The king himself the foremost of the van, Nor e’er his rushing squadron led to fight With swifter onset than he led that flight. Homeward the panic-stricken le,ions flew; Their arms, their vpstments, from their li mbs the y t hrew; O’er shields an d h elms the reinless cam el s trode, And gold and purple strewed the desert road. When through the Assyrian army, like a blast, At midnight the destroying angel passed, The tyrant that defied the living God, Precipitately thus his steps retrod; Even by the way he came, to his own land, Returned to perish by his offsl)rinz’s hand.* So fled the g’iant-monareh,;-but unknown The hand that smote his life;-he died alone; Amidst the tumult treacherously slain; At morn his chieftains sought their lord in vain, Then, reckless of the harvest of their toils, Their camp, their captives, all their-treasured spoils, Renewed their flight o’er eastern hills afar, With life alone eseapin.z fromn that war, In which their kin  had hfailed his realm complete, The world’s last province bowred beneath his feet. As when the waters of the flood declined, Rolling tumultuously before the wind, The proud waves shrunk from low to lower beds, And high the hills and higher raised their heads, Till ocean lay, enchase(d with rock and strand, As in the hollow of the Almighity’s hand, While earth with wrecks magnificent was strewed, And stillness reigned o’er nature’s solitude. -Thus in a storm of horror and dismay, All night the giant army sped away; Thus on a lone’jf, sald, and silent scene, The morning rose in majesty serene. Then vanished:-Javan caught the prophet’s eye, And snatched his mantle falling from the sky; O’er him the spirit of the prophet came, Like rushing wind awakening hidden flame: “Where is the God of Enoch now?’ he cried;’* “Captives, come forth! despisers, shrink aside.” He spake, and bursting through the giant-throng, Smote with the mantle as he moved along; A power invisible their rage controlled Hither and thither as he turned they rolled; Unawed, unharmed the ransomed prisoners passed Through ranks of foes astonished and aghast: Close in the youth’s conducting steps they trod; -So Israel marched when Moses raised his rod, And led their host, enfranchised, through the wave, The people’s safeguard, the pursuers’ grave. Thus from the wolves this little flock was torn, And sheltering in the mountain-caves till morn, They joined to sing, in strains of full delight, Songs of deliverance through the dreary night. The giants’ phrensy, when they lost their prey, No tongue of man or angel might portray; First on their idol gods their vengeance turned, Those gods on their own altar-piles they burned; Then, at their sovereign’s mandate, sallied forth To rouse their host to combat, from the north; Eager to risk their uttermost emprise, Perish ere morn, or reign in paradise. Now the slow tempest, that so long had lowered, Keen in their faces sleet and hailstones showered, The winds blew loud, the waters roared around, An earthquake rocked the azonizing ground; Red in the west the b)urning mount. arrayed With tenfold terror by incuimbent sha(le, (For moon and stars were rapt in dunnest gloo m,) Glared like a torch amidst creation’s tomb: So Sinai’s rocks were kindled when they felt Their Maker’s footstep, and began to melt; Darkness was his pavilion, w-hence he came, High in the brightness of descending flame, While storm, and.whirlwind(, and the trumpet’s blast, Proclaimed his law in thunder, as he passed. The giants reached their camp:-the night’s alarms Meanwhile had startled all their slaves to arms; They grasped their weapons as from sleep they sprang, From tent to tent the brazen clangor rang; The hail, the earthquake, the mysterious light Unnerved their strength, o’erwhelmed them with affright.

“Warriors! to battle;-summon all your powers; Warriors! to conquest;-paradise is ours;” Exclaimed their monarch!-not an arm was raised, In vacancy of thought, like men amazed, And lost amidst confounding dreams, they st,oc,. With palsied eyes, and horror-frozen blood. The giants’ rage to instant madness grew; The king and chiefs on their own legions flew, Denouncing vengeance;-then had all the plain Been heaped with myriads by their leaders slain, But ere a sword could fall,-by whirlwinds driven, In mighty volumes, through the vault of heaven, From Eden’s summit, o’er the camp accurst, The darting fires with noon-day splendor burst; And fearful grew the scene above, below, With sights of mystery, and sounds of wo. The embattled cherubim appeared on high, And coursers, wins ed wit h lieghtning, swept the skyn Chariots, whose wheels with living instinct rolled, Spirits of unimaginable mould, Powers, such as dwell in heaven’s serenest light, Too pure, too terrible for mortal sight, From depth of midnight suddenly revealed, In arms, against the giants took the field. On such a riost Elisha’s servant gazed, When all the mountain round the prophet blazed; f With such a host, when war in heaven was wrought, Michael against the prince of darkness fought. Ear ly, and joyfil, o’el the dewy trass, Straight to their glen the ransomed patriarchs pass; As doves released their parent-dwelling find, They fly for life, nor cast a look behind; < And when they reached the dear sequestered spot, Enoch alone of all their train "w vas i7ot." With them the bard, who from the world withdrew, Javan, from folly and ambition flew; Though poor his lot, within that nar row bound, Friendship and home, and faithful love he found; There did his wanderings and afflictions cease, His youth "-&s penitence, his age was peace. Meanwhile the scattered tribes of Eden's plain Turned to their desolated fields again, And joined their brethren, ca,ptives once in fight, But left to freedom in that dreadful flight: Thenceforth redeemed from war's unnumbered woe Rich with the spoils of their retreated foes, By giant tyranny no more oppr est. The people flourished, and ihe land had rest. MR. JA^IES

MONTGOsIErtyv is by birth a’Scotcliinan, and X,a born on the 4th of November, 1771, at Irvine, a small seal.ort town in Ayrshire, Scotland. He was the eldest soni ofa ao ravian minister, by whom he was removed to Gracehill, in th, county of Antrim, Ireland, in the year 1776; and afterward placed at the early a,,e of six years in the seminary of ti,, united Mloravian brethren, at Fulneck, near Leeds, in Yo,-k. shire. It may be almost said, that at this early period ot ]Mr Montgomery’s life he was for ever separated from his parents. since, previous to their departure as missionaries for the West Indies, where his mother died in 1789, and his father in 1790, he resided with them but for three months in the year l784. fIlow happy thle parents of Mr. Montgomery had bo,n in placing their son, a-rctmstaaced as they vwepre, under the pi-t. da2ne and ttl,ii t1”,tle,;r e.rf.-n d a. tgo.r,vn ] can nowN, be e-s,silv poreored fromn te rt shalt it has prodiiicd For, n-t,,it::P t: t.:~t ^ vry reader of ATr 5.TontT,,r v ““Anph (El., h..) t~ook the mantle,f E~j-li tiahtat fell fromn him and smote the waters inf Jorcla,) and said.-Where is the roid God of E;lij,h?-aiin ohen he also,, had smitten the waters, th ey parte hither and thither and Elisha went over.”-2 Kin,s ii. 11. t’Kings iv. 17

221 – 2 NOTES.

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A SABBATH TONE. bad to experience the severity of another. He gave in his npaper, as he thuougt, ii a correct mainner, the particu)ars of a riot that took place in the streets of Sheffield, and in which two men were shot by the military. His statement ofthe cir cumstances, however, gave offence to a magistrate in the neighborhood, wholpreterred a bill of indictment against Mr Montgomery; and notwithstanding that the latter had a great many witnesses w ho verified his account of the transaction in the Iris, he was found guilty at Doncaster Sessions, in Janu ary 1796, and sentenced to pay a fine of thirty pounds, and su fer another imprisonment in York Castle, for the space of six months. He found his constitution greatly implaired in consequence of these two imprisonnments, and immediately after his last liberation, he repaired to Scarborough for the benefit of his health. It may be said that this was the first time for him to behold the sea as a poet, and the delight which the sight of it afforded his mind was not greater than the health restored to, his body.

His visits thither were consequently repeated, and it was one of these which gave birth to his poeni on the Ocean. written in the summer of 1805.

Ii 1757, he published his Prison ” Amusements,” and in 1806, produced the volume containing the ” Wanderer of Switzerland.” His time was now chiefly occupied in editing his paper, and no work of considerable magnitude appeared fronm his pen until the year 1809, when his West Indies was published in quarto, with superb embellishments. Three years after the appearance of thi s last-mention1 o he nded poem he pr od uce d ” The World before the Flood,” which is to stamp his fame for ever as a superior poet. It has been frequently, and perhaps justly, observed, that the delight which beautiful poetry affords, is obtained too often to the prejudice of moral feelings and precepts, which are better calculated to ennoble the human mind. But had we not Milton, Fenelon, Klopstock, and even the divine writers themselves, to show the fallacy of this bold accusation. brought against the most powerful language and effort of man, the poems of Montgomery alone would form a compilation of Croots so able and so manifest in themselves, as to be fiully sufficient for composing a refutation at once unanswer. ble and undoubted. Every line of his poetry invites to a lore of virtue and’ all that is amiable in our nature; while it fills the sotl at the same time with the sweet luxury of pure, yet delightffl enjoyment, and creates within us an admiration and esteem for that art under which so many great and happy powers have been put forth.

The ” World before the Flood,” is by far Mr. Montgomery’s best poem. It is divided into ten cantos, written in the heroic couplet, and has for the foundation of its story, the inva: sion of Eden by the descendants of Cain. The author’s intro. ductory note says: No place having been found, in Asia, to correspond exactly with the Mosaic description of the site of Paradise, the Author of the following Poem has disregarded both the learned and the absurd hypotheses on the subject, and at once imagining an inaccessible tract of land, at the confluence of four rivers, which after their junction take the name of the largest, and become the Euphrates of the ancient world, he has placed ” the happy garden” there. Milton’s noble fiction of the Mount of Paradise being removed by the deluge, and pushed w ork s m ay trace in them t he effect s of a mind naturally i lvrtuous and religious, we can not withhold from believing that i he is in a g reat measure indebted to the education he has re ceiveid f or h is wvell-ear e sd fame as a mo ral poet. He began to vrite sacre d poetry when he was no older than ten years andl report ev-eni goes so far as to say, that he had composed :it t;is telnller hage, two volumes of’ such poetry. On finishing p;o stTitded in the seminary of the p’voravian brethren, which monts.d th ni years, h e vas placed by his friends as an ap pr,tio of – gith.a very w orth y man of his own persuasion, who l<; a retail shep at Airfield, near Wakefield. This was a frtine in no fi ppn:t er calculclted to suit the genius of Mont t ser,v hi* ustn aid not be erg mtander the articles of apprenticeship, I inr l;ief lhis t plster bat the en d of a year and a half, with only m!erev se;!antgse eind s ixpence in his p ocke t, bu t big with the ewlct le of reaching London, whi wch now his y outhful imagi- btto mrtra ilyed as the patron c ity of l earning and ta le nt. ti is fltnble In,Ens, however, did not allow him to proce e d as Otr as he expected, and he found hi mself c o nstrained on the ti'tHai d tyo, to ent er int o an employm ent at Wath, near Rother *:an, AdElichi wa~s not dissimilar to that he had left behind him hat:gIiri 3i. previous to his departure from this latter place, Ace i~,d i,~2;.t l;'r wit h his employer i n which, abesides testi ploymentl iis i stsiness of mind, he promised to be heard from m. oems i he t r;ec mdeds. ti e n ow fulfilled his promise, and re tlikely at t ie sarme time a cha rac ter o cend i to resomend him to beg;,n nr tore otnew rister. Hi s t upright co ht nduct and virtuous of tis oot only ga ined hin this froo n his l ate employer and thie rest of t he Ilorav i an brethren, but al so the promise of an e-t bihisb co net wtnore co t inenial to his wishes, if he would return. This, ho e n er, he decltned, candidly confessing the cause of his rnmelancholy, biut concealing the ambitious motives w hich promipted him to tithldraw fro m the ir benf evole nt protection. It w bas h is p resent tmaster, with whom he remained onlr twelve months. that many years afterward, in the most ca amitous period of Mlontgomtiery's life, sought him out amidst his misfirtunes not for thIe purpo se o f offerin g con solation o nly, but to serve him substantially by everymeans in his power. The interview which tooki pl ace between the old man a nd his for- mer servant, the evenie in previous to his trial at Doncaster, w ill ever live in the memory of him tho can forget an injury but no t a windteso No father could have evinced a greater affection for a d-rlingp son; the tears he s hed waere honorable to his feelings, and were the best testimony to the conduct and integarity of James Montg om ery. On leaving Wath, he foun d means to introduce himself toa Ir. Harrison, a bookse ller, in London, in con sequence ofr having sent him, pre vious to his tdeparture, a volume of manu-a script poems. T h is gentleman gave rIr. Mnontgomnery em- ploymen t in h is shop,- bu t n ot tndertl aing the publication ofw his poems. he recomm ende d the poe t to the stsliy of prose, as likely to be more prof itable than poetry. AIr. Montgomery bepa n now to perceive tha t Lonolo ni w as not so much the land of promotion as h e f i eene d it to be; and having had at the end o' eight month s a mdisunderst,adenlimi ith rIr. Harrison, which s accomipatt ie d with the misfortun e of not being able eto dispos e of ani eas tern tale in prose, he returned to his forruer emplovynent in Yorkshire. 'le removed(l in 179.2 to Sheffield], and engaged himself with 5Tr.'.nles the publisher ofa very popula;:r newspaper, at that tillme kwn by the title of the Sheffield Register. Mr. Montgelnoer y becaoe a ofsefLl corresp onde nt to this paper, and giot e, so far the gool l opinion and alffectio pn of Mr. ('ales and his fGmily, that they vied with each other in demonstrating their respect and reg,ird for him. In 179X, when MIr.

Gales left E nzl'm( to avoid a political prosecution, M\t,:nt,-omery, with the assistance of a literary gentleman, with whom he had not been Aden personally acquainted, became the publisher of the Register, which title he changed for that of the Iris. Hr, was not, however, long in his new profession before he fell twice into the hands of Justice, anl underwent each time the penaylty of fine and imprisonment. 1tis first crime was to Elave printed at song, composed by an Irish cle rgyman, at the entr.-aty of a man wxhom he had never seen b~efore. tie waats tri,d For this Et the Quarter Sessions of 1795v, aind foulnd guilty q/‘p?,’,‘iv.i,..g ~ but this verdict being tantamnount to an acquitInl, it seas refused by the court, and the juryr were sent to rer:c-n.ider tbr another houlr, when they gavein a generatl verdict of’ z;/-!,/. The sentence, which wuas al fine of twenty pounds a;:-t t,ree months imnprisonmnent in York Castle. Oulr readersI m~tv tl,inlk that wve are forgetting ourselves in this part of~

5Ir. M\ontgomery’s biogralphy, and are leadiing them back toi samoa rf~mote and,( barbarous agfe;* but such a trial dlid tatke1 p!.3c,,t’t no’ earlier a period than thirty or forty years ago.! Dulring his confinement, an active friend super~intended his bnsiness, and on resumringr his editorial duties he commenced ~ a series of’ essays, entitled,!/re [[lisper et which, notwithstauld! ingr ttmt they were written in haste tor his paper> contained a o,erv cons,.d,.ratble shatre of ~enuine humo r.’, Though l-e wa’;s very at)xiolls not to i.,ave it in the power ofi the l -.x to fined him gu’Ilty of an oftbnlee a seco nd time. it was not howvever longf after uuderg~oing h s first penal1ty, that he and the re converted into a b arren isle, implies such a change ini the water-courses as will, poetically at least, account for the difference between the senpe of this story and the present face of the country, at the point where the T igris and the Et – phrates meet. On the easter n side o f thes e waters, the Authoe supposes the descendbantso t h r ihe of the Vodtcoier children of Adam to dwell, poss es sing the land of aEden: th e rest of the world having been gradually co lonized by emigrants from these, ir peopled by the posterity of Cain.’ In process of time, aft.;r the sons of (God had formed connexionis with the daughters of men, and there were giants in the ea:rth, the latter assumed to be lords and rulers over mankind, till among themselves arose one, excelling all his brethren in knowledge and power, who became their king, and by their aid, in the course of a long life, subdued all the inhabited earth, except the land of Eden. This land, at the head of a nighty army, principally composed of the descendants of Cain, lie has invaded and conquered, even to the banks of Euphrates, at the openiing of the action of the poem. It is only necessary to add, that for the sake of distinction, the invaders are frequently denominated from Cain, as a the host of (,ain,”-”’ the force of Cain,””

the camp of Cain,”. and the remnant of the defenders of ,den are, in like mnanner, denominated fromty Eden.-The Jews have an ancient tradition, that some of the giants, at the (deluige, fled to the top of’ a high mountain, and escaped the ruin that involved the rest of their kindred. In the tenth Canto of the preceding poem a hinit is borrowed from this trotdition, bItt is made to yield to the superior authority of Scrip thre testimony. i I i i i I THE HARP WITH 222 11 Down the great rive, to the Opening gulf,”

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AN EXCELLENT POEM L-ONGING OF A BLESSED HEART, WHICH, LOATHING THE WORLD, DuTH LONG TO BE WITH CHRIST. BY NICHOLAS BRETON, GEN-E.E..AN. Printed at London, A. D. 1601. WHiAT life hath he that never thinks of love? And what such love but hath a special liking? And what such liklin but will seek to prove The best to find the comfort of his seeking? But whllile fond tlhoughts in Folly’s pack are peeking, Better conceited wits may easily find, The truest wealth that may enrich the mind. Biut since the difference’twixt the good and bad Is easily seen in notes of their delights; And that those dktes are needful to be had, Te) see whose eyes are of the clearest siahts; Whose are the (lays, and whose may be the nights; Froin the poor crutch unto the princely crown, I will the difference, as I find, set down. ‘he worldly prince longs to increase his state, To) conquler kinzdoms, and to wear their crowns, A foreign power by forces to abate, To make but footstools of their fairest towns; An,lI hlates the spirits of those home-miade clowns, Thait will not venture life for victory: But yet fo)riets that God should have the glory. The worldly merchant ventureth far and near; And shuns nor land no r sea to make a gain; Thinks neither travel, care, nor cost too dear, If that his profit coutntervail his pain, Wvhile so his mindl is on the getting vein, That if his ship do safely come on shore, Gold is his god, an(d he desires no more. The worldly courtier learns to crouch and creep, Speak fair, wait closse, observe his time and place, And wake an(l watch and scarcely catch a sleep, Till he have got into somf-e favor’s grace, And will all cunning in his course embrace, That may unto tautfh on ity adv ance: But if he think on God, it is a chance. rhewo,rldly counsellor doth beat his brains, Herw to a(lvise his sovereign for the best, And in his place doth take continual pains To keep his prince in such a pleasing rest, That hlie may still be leining on his breast, Thinlkinz his hap unto a heaven so wrought; But yet perhaps God is not in his thought. The sold,ier he delizlhteth a-ll in arms, To see his colors in the fieldi displayed; An(]

longs to see the issue of those harms, That may reveal an enenmy’dismayed, A fort defeate i, or a tow n betrayed; Anc!,till to be in action day and night, B!ut little thinks on God in all the fight. The worldly farmer fills his barns with corn, And plloughs, an( sows and dits, and delves, and hedges Looks to his cattle, ill not lose a horn, Fells (lown his woodi n(il falls iunito his wedges, And grinds his axes, ait l sloth mend their e(lges, And dearly sells that he lood cheap liath bought; But all this while, Go(l is not in his tlhought. The sailor. he doth hv his ompa ss stand, An(i -, tchs his anlchor anil dothli hoist his sailed And1 lo gs for nothinz hut t() toaet (,n land, Tht t hI hle many a s1t orm htis sti:‘t i0 y to co)nfutision. I 11 I’ URON THP The worldly lawyer studieth right -tnd wrong; But bow he judgeth, there the question lies: For, if yoq looli for what his love doth lon!z, It is the -profit of his plea dotli rise: There is the worldly lawyer’s p,-i-i-a(lise! He neither longs the i-l,, ht or wrong to see, But to be fing’ring of the golden fee. The cosmographer doth the world sui-vev, The hills and dales, the noo’Kg -,in(].crooks, The woods, the I)Iains, t!ie’the by-way, The seas, the rin,ers, and the little brooks: All these be finds within his compact boolis; And with his needle maes his measure even; But all this while he doth not think of heaven Thl astronomer stands starin- on the sky, And will not have -t thought beneath a star; But by his speculation doth espy A world of wonder, coining from a-far; And tells of times an(I natures, peace and war: Of Mars his,w,)r(l, -in(I Mercury his rod; But all this while lie little thinlis on God.

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‘-2E 1l t RP\ WITr A SABBA’r[I TONE. That Virtue hath from her fair eyes remnoving; These are the passions of Corrulption’s proving: But they that love and long tor God, his sight, In worldly trifles never take delight.

224 The worlilly pIreacher talks Of sacraments, and holy iry~ Meanwhile he longs but for t That should preserve his ptur Because he loves no worldly For many a preacher that Shows by his life, God live The prince, anointed with the oil of grace, Who sits with Mercy, in the seat of peace, Will long to see his Savior in the face, And all his right into his hands rel ease; (Whose only sight would make all sorrow cease), And lay both crown and kingdom at his feet, But of his presence to enjoy the sweet. The worldly physician, that in sick:ess tries The nature of the herbs and minerals, And in his simples and his compounds spies, Which way to make the patients’ funerals, Or profit by his cures in generals; Longs but t o see h ow lon a they may endure; But scarcely thinks on God in all the care. The chancellor with heavenly grace inspired, Where-wisdom guides the lineaments of wit, Although he hath to honor’s place aspired, His heart doth show it longs not after it; His love desires a higher mark to hit: For while he leaneth on his prince’s breast, His longing is, but with his God to rest. The worldly musician, that doth tune his voice, Unto such notes as mnusic’s skill hath set; Whose heart doth in the harnmory rejoice, Where pleasing consorts are most kindly met: But still perhaps his spirit doth forget, In all his hymns, and songs, and sweetest lays, To think of God, or of his worthy praise. The courtier, that is once in God his grace, Whatever countenance in the court he bears, His heart aspireth to a better place; Which humble love doth long for with those to Which all to naught the pride of pleasure wes t And never rests until his God he sees, With whom his soul in love doth long to bt The politician hath a world of plots, In which his spirit hath special spies; Ties, and unties a thousand sundry knots, In which the substance of his study lies; And many tricks his close experience tries, How to deceive the world with many a wile; But never thinks on God in all the while. The traveller delighteth in the view Of change and choice of sundry kind of creatures; To ma:rk the habits, and to note the hue Of far born people and their sundry natures, Their shapes, their speech, their gaits, their looks, their features, Amid longs abroad to make his life’s abode: Yet haply never longs to be with God. ‘he painter in his colors takes delight, And near the life to mnake the livelihood; While only shadows do deceive the sight, That take such pleasure in a piece of wood; But doth not long for’;fat same living food, Which neither eye hath seen, nor heart conceived, The God of truth, that never soul deceived. The scholar that begins with Christ his cross, And seeks good speed but in the Holy Ghost, Finds by his book that silver is but dross, And all his labor in his study lost; Where faith, of mercy, can not sweetly boast And love doth long for any other bliss, Than what in God, and in his graces is, The lover, he, but on his lady thinketh, And how to catch her in a kind content; And looks, and leers, and trolls the eye, and winketh; And seeks how thoughts in silence may be sent; And longs to see the end of his intent: And thinks himself a king, to get a kiss; But where is God in all these thoughts of his? A nd such a poet, as the psalmist was, Who had no mind but on his master’s love, Whose muses did the world in music pass, That only sung but of the soul’s behove, In giving glory to the Go(] above, Would all world’s fictions wholly lay aside, And only long but with the Lord to bide. Thl’ artificer that hath a work to do, And brings his hand unto his head’s device, Longs till he see what it will come unto, And how his pains hath profit in the price, And having cast it over twice or thrice, Jovs in his heart: but scarcely hath a thought, To thank his God, that him the cunning taught The cosmographer, that by r ules o f gtrace Surveys the city of the heavenly saini-, Will never long for any earthly place, That either pen prescribes, or painter paints; But in the faith that never fails, nor faints, Will long to see in heaven’s Jerusalem The gracious God of glorious diadem. The churl that sits and champs upon his chaff, And will not stir a foot from his barn floor, Except it be among his bags to laugh, He can the poor so with his purse devour, Longs but to use the poison of his power T’ enrich himself, to brine a world to naught; Shows that God never dwells within his thought. The true astronomer that sees the sun, And knows that God, from whom it takes his light, And in the course tne moon and stars do run, Finds the true guider of the day and night, Longs but to see his only blessed sight, Who sun, and mnoon, and stars their brightness givei And in whose face all brightness, glory, lives. As for those beggarly conditions, Of basest trades, that like to miry hogs, Do show their spirit’s dispositions, In digging with their noses under lo,gs For slime and worms, or like to ravening dogs, Longs but for that which doth the belly fill, Most of themn think on God against their will. The mariner that of t hath past the seas, And in his perils seen the power of God, Whose only mercy doth the storms appease, And brings the ship unto his wisi-ed road, Will never long on earth to make abode; But in the heavens to see that blessed hand, That at his beck so rules both sea and land. These are the worl(llirrgs, and their world’s delights, Whose lon!ing, Cod knows, is not worth the loving: These are the objects of those evil sights, I The soldier that hath fought the spirit’s figh Will put off war, and lon:,- to live in peace; And not in discord, but concord delight, While gracious kindness makes all quarrels cWhile patience cloth all passions so appease, That he shall find that soldier only blest, Whose faith, in God, doth set his soul at.re The lawyer that hath read the laws of God, And in his heart is touched with his love, And knows the sniart of the supernal rod, Will one day work, for silly souls’Abeliove, Who have their comfort in the heavens above Will leave all golden fees to see the grace, That mercy’s justice shows in Jesus’ face.

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SABBV’lTH TONE. 225 Now to the tenure of that longing time, That loving sl)illlts thiink too long will last; The maid new hqatried, in her pregnant prime, Longs till the tine of fbrty weeks be past, And blameth timne he nmakes no greater haste; Till ill lher arns she sweetly have received Her comforts fruit, within lher womb conceived The!ie-ch;:i!t tiht lI’itii (art within his mind, How much the sdii’s g uil thie flesh surmounts, And bv his ftlitt ill nerco’s l ove doth find The jovful sum of suchI a soul’s accounts, As to salvation of the whole amounts; Will leave the world but on Christ’s face to loolk, Which all the faithful make their living book. The farmer that hath feat his neighbor’s need, And found how God and charity are one; And knows there is a better kind of feed, ‘han grass, or corn, or flesh, or blood, or bone, W’ill wish himself from his world’s treasure gone, Ul)on those joys to feed in mercy’s bliss, Where Christ his presence is heaven’s paradise. lhe truie physician that doth know the natures And dispositions of each element, And kno’ws that God created hath all creatures Beneath, and eke above the firmament, And over all hath only government, Will only long that glorious God to know, That gives the sickness and dotli cure it so. Penelope, at her dear love’s departing, In sober kindness did conceal her care; Though in her heart she had that inward smarting, That Time’s continuan ce after di d declare; Where constant love did show, witlhout compare, A perfect passion of true virtues vain, Longing but for Ulysses home again. The soul’s musician that doth find the ground Of truest music, but in God his grace, Will think all singing but an idle sound, Where God his praise hath not the highest place, And only lones to see that blessed tIee, Which makles the virgins, saints, and angels, sing An hallelujah to their heavenly king. The preacher, that dotl in his soul believe The word of God, which to the world he teacheth, And in his spirit inwardly doth grieve, He can not live so heavenly as he preacheth, While faith no further than to mercy reacheth; Wou ld wish in soul to leave his benefice, To make himself to Christ a sacrifice. How many years the story doth set dow n, In wlhichl she felt the gall of absence, grief: When constant faith on foul effects did frown, Which sought to be to charity a thief, Of nature’s beauty the true honor chief: Long languiiishing in absence, cruel hell; But when she saw his presence all is well. But if I may, in holy lines begin, To speak of Josep h, and his longing love Unto his brethlren, but to Benjamin To note the passion Nature did approve, Which did such tears in his affection move, That well fiora thence the proverb sweet might spring, The love of brethren is a blessed thing. Well may I see the notes of Nature’s grief, In absence of the object of affection; And longing for the substance of relief, In presence find the life ot’ love’s perfection, While eye and heart are led by one direction; Yet all this while I do not truly prove The blessed longing of the spirit’s love. lhe politician that hath plotted much In worldly matters, greatly to his gain; Will find, if God do once his spirit touch, Zaceheus’ heart will have another vein To (limb aloft, and to come down again; A Id leave aill plots to come but to that place, Wiere he might see sweet Jesus in the face. The artificer that hath a work in hand, And feels the grace of God within his heart; And by the same doth surely understand, How God alone perfecteth every part, And only is the giver of all art, Will gladly leave his work and long to be, Where he might Christ his soul’s work-master see. The painter that doth paint a dainty image So near the life, as may be to the sane, And makes an ass unto an owl do homage, While shadows bring the senses out of frame, If God his heart once with his love inflame, His pictures all will under foot be trod, And lie will long but for the living God. The traveller that walks the world about, Anrd sees the glorious works of God on high; If God his grace once kindly find him out, And unto heaven do lift his humble eye, His soul in ftith will such perfections spy, That leaving all that he on earth can see, His love will long but with the Lord to be. When Mary Magdalen, so fulll of sin, As mad e her heart a harbor of ill thought, Felt once th e grace of God to enter in, And drive them out that her destructio n sought; Her soul was then to Jesus’ love so wrou ght, As that with tears in true affect did prove The pleasing longing of the spirit’s love. In grief she went all wee ping to his grave, Longing to see him or alive or dead; And would not cease until her love might have Her longed fruit, on which her spirit fed, One blessed crumb of that sweet heavenly bread Of angels’ food, but of her Lord a sight, Whose heavenly presence proved her soul’s delight. Midas did long for nothing else but gold, And he was kindly choked for his choice; Such longing love dotlh with too many hold, Which only do in worldly dross rejoice. But did they hearken to the heavenly voice, Their diamonds should not so for dross be sold, And they would long for God and not for gold. The churl:hat never chaunc’t upon a thought Ot’charity, nor what belongs thereto; If God his grace have once his spirit brought, To feel what good the faithful almers do, The love of Christ will so his spirit woo, That he will leave barns, corn, and bags of coin, And land and life, with Jesus’ love to join. Thus from the prince unto the poorest state, Who seems to live as void of treason’s sense, If God once come, who never comes too late, And touch the soul with his sweet quintessence OfI merey’s gracious glorious patience, His sogl will leave whate ver it doth love, And long to live but wmith the Lord above.

Zaccheus, too long, longed f or such dross, Till Jesus came, his spirit’s further joy; And then he found his vain did yield but loss, While sin in conscience bred the soul’s annoy, And unto heaven the world was but a toy; He left it all and climbed up a tree, To show his longing how but Christ to see. And well he longed that so his love received, Who sweetly saw, and kindly called him down: His stature low, but his lov’e high conceived, Who so was graced by Merey’s glorious crown, As having cause upon his sins to frown; Forgave the worlds that did (leseirve damnation, And filled his house with glory of salvation. i i ‘H A .i Thus forty weeks she labors all in love, And at the last doth travail all in pain: But shortly after dotb such comfort prove, As glads her heart, and makes all Rhole again; So in her infant’s pretty smiling vein Pleasing herself, that all her gr’ef is gone, When she may have licr babe to look upon. I I i i I

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THE HARP WITH A SABBATH TONE. A blessing longing of a blessed love! Would so all souls did love, and so did long; And in their longing might so sweetly prove The gracious ground of such a glorious song, As kills all sin that doth the spirit wrong; And sing with Simreon at his Savior’s sight, ” On now my soul depart in peace, delight!” Oh blessed Simeon, blessed was thy love. And thy love’s longing for thy Savior so, Who wrought so sweetly for thy soul’s behove, As from thy prayers would not let thee go, Till to thy love he did his presence show, Which made thee sing, when sorrom 3 all d i cea. e, ‘~ Lord, let thy servant now depart in peace!” :’ For I, according to thy word, have seen The glorious substance of my soul’s salvation; Thy word, in whom my trust hath ever been, And now hath found my comfort’s confirmation!” Thus did he make a joyful declaration Of that sweet sight of his sweet Savior’s face, That was the glory of his spirit’s grace. How many years he all in prayer spent, For the beholding of his blessed love! What was the issue of his hope’s event, And how his prayers did prevail above, That so his God did unto mercy move, As to his arms to send his only Son, The story doth of all th’

Apostles run! He was well called, good Simeon, for that grace, That God hath given the spirit of his love; That love that longed but in his Savior’s face, To see the blessing of his soul’s behove, And blessed prayer, that did truly prove A blessed soul, that could not prayer cease, Till Christ his presence came to give it peace. So should all souls their love’s chief longing have, All souls I mean of every Christian heart, Thllat seek or hope both heart and soul to save From hell, damnation, and supernal smart; This is the love that, in the living part Of mercy’s power, shall find that blessedness, That is the spirit’s only happiness.

Nor can love look to limit out a time, But now and then and evermore attend; For he shall never to that comfort climb, That will not all his life in prayer spend, Until he see his Savior in the end: In whose sweet face doth all and only rest The heavenly joy that makes the spirit blest.

OTHER POEMS BY VARIOUS AUTHORS Blest be the spirit that so longs and loves, As did Zaccheus and good Simeon: And from his faithful prayer never moves, Until he find his life to look upon, And in such love is all so over-gone, That in such joy his heart and spirit dwells, As having Christ, it cares for nothing else. Oh blessed Christ, the essence of all bliss, All blessed souls love’s longings’ chief delight! What heart can think how that soul blessed is, That ever hath his Savior in his sight? The sunny day that never hath a night? Oh that my spirit might so ever pray, That I might live to see that blessed day. The day that only springeth from on high, That high daylight wherein the heavens do live; The life that loves but to behold that eye, Which doth the glory of all brightness give, And from th’ enlight’ned doth all darkness drive: Where saints do see, and angels know to be A brighter light, than saints or angels see. In this light’s love, oh, let me ever live! And let my soul have never other love, But all the pleasures of the world to give, The smallest spark of such a joy to prove, And ever pray unto my Gol above, To grant my humble soul goo,l Sineon’s grace, In love to see my Savior in thie face. I I 226 0 face more fair than fairness can contain: 0 eye more bright than brightness can declare: 0 light more pure-than passion can explain: 0 life more blest than may with bliss compare: 0 heaven ofheavens where such perfections are I Let my soul live to love, to long, to be Ever in prayer, but to look on thee! But, oh unworthy eye of such a sight; And all unworthy heart of such a love; Unworthy love, to long for such a li,-ht; Unworthy longing such a life to prove; TTnworthy li’e, so high a suit to mo-ve! Thu all u iwort’iy of,. o higi a gr,- ce’ How shall I see iny Sa.,ior ii, the i.ice? All by the prayer of true penitence, Where f-,iith in tears attendeth grace’s time, My soul doth hope in merey’s patience, My heart all cleansed from my sinful crime, To see the springing of Aurora’s prime, In those bright beams of that sweet blessed sun Of my dear God, in whom all bliss begun. And that my soul mav such a blessing see, Let my heart pray, and praying never cease, Till heart and soul may both together be, Blest in thy sight all sorrows doth release; And with good Simeon then depart in peace I Oh then: but then, and only ever then, Blest be my soul, sweet Jesus say Amen. STANZAS. WHAT are all the channs of eartl% All its pride, its treasures, worth, With no partner at your side, Thoughts and feelings to divide? Therefore God, with gracious plan, Saw, and said, and showed that man Ne’er was made to live aloneTherefore marriage first was known. But without Divine communion, What is Nature’s tenderest union; ‘Tis no portion for the soul, Joy to fix, or grief control. Where no heavenly love is found, There can human long abound? Iron there, the silken chain, ‘Tis mere doubleness of pain! Still may heavenly love secure Human ties more sweet and pure: So these human ties shall prove Means to aid that holier love. Then, your trial done, from this School and type of perfect bliss, Te, rejoicing, in the skies, To the marriage-feast shall rise! GRINFI HOME. WH’F.RF, burns the loved hearth bri,-‘t-test, Cheering the social breast? Where beats the fond.heart lightest Its humble hopes possessed? Where is the smile of sadness, Of meek-eyed patience born, Worth more than those of gladness, Which mirtli’s bri,ht cheelf adorn I Pleasure is mirlied by fleetness To tli,)s.e wlio ever roam, While!,-rief itself li-is selectness At home, dear horr.,r.

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.A 8 A SAiB1’Il’tf’ONE. “ruHE HARP WITIr There blend the ties that strengthe(n Our hearts in hours of grief, The silver links that lengthen Joy’s visits, when most brief; These eyes in all their splendor Are vocal to the heart, And glances, gay and tender, Fresh eloquence impart! Then dost thou sigh for pleasure? Oh do not wildly roam! But seek that hidden treasure At home, {Sear hlme. All seemed enchalntmncrit in the flowery3 dell, Yet all was solemn silence-no glad’,rill Of children’s voices, breathing forth the spell Of hope and early life-all, all was still; And yet’twas summer’s bright unclouded noon, When May’s pale flowers gave place to those of June; ‘Midst which the roving bee ranged forth at will; At intervals was heard tihe cuckoo’s tone. By mimic schoolboy gayly made his own. Lo! on the ear pealed forth another sound, And slow and time-paced came the funeral tread, t nd o[ e, th( bier with fresh-blown roses crowned As though pale silk waved o’er the youthful dead; Yet ill did the dark pall aIccord with flowers, And the bright sun of June’s unclouded hours; While heavy sighs proclaimed all joy was fled From him, the childless father-who gazed on Scenes which brought memories of the loved and gone. Does pare religion charm thee Far more than aught below?

Wouldst thou that she should arm thee Against the hour of wo? Think not she dwelleth only In temples made for prayer; For home itself is lonely, Unless her smiles be there. The devotee may falter, The bigot blindly roam; If worshipless her altar At home, dear home! There the green oak in civil triumph bore The torn remains of the once favorite kite; And the rose-tree displayed a beauteous store Of rosy flowers, which, budding, joyed the sight: And sideways spread a mound of unmown grass, O’er which such bounding feet were used to pass; All these seemed shrouded in eternal night, Since from their view the father could but borrow Thoughts of past joy, to deepea present sorrow. L ove over it presideth, With meek and watchful awe; Its daily service guideth, And shows its perfect law. tf there thy faith shall fail thee If there no shrine be found, What can thy prayers avail thee, With kneeling crowds around? Do leave thy gift unoffered Beneath Religion’s dome; knd be her first-fruits proffered At home, dear home! The bell ceased tolling-and the solemn tread Of slow receding footsteps died away, Till all was gloom-or thinking on the dead, WThe village children had forgot their play; They missed their loved companion-he who’d chase Their fleetest footsteps oft, and win the race; Sadness and silence marked the weary day; E’en mothers fearfully looked on the bloom Of their loved boys-and thought upon the tomb. WHERE ARE THEY? t R Fathers! where are they? and where The prophets? From this mortal scene, G one with the dream of things that were, As if they ne’er had been. E yond the wanderings of the morn, Beyond the portals of the day, Unto a land whence none return, Our Fathers-where are they? “BRING me my babe,”

she softly cried, “‘Oh! let me, ere this mortal strife Is ended, yet again behold The treasure I have bought with life.” ‘Twas brought! her heart sweet welcome gave Unto the-almost -orphan, while Its open eyes were turned on hers, To hail with an unconscious smile. Some moments in her arms she held, Then laid it on the milkless breast, That should have nourishment supplied, And pillowed it to rest. The vanished comnet, long deemed lost, And absent for a thousand years, Again, amid the starry host, From darkness reappears. Seas ebb and flow upon the shore, Moons wax when they have waned away, But they who go to come no more Our Fathers-where are they? Her heart, as though the warm embrace Had a new life imparted, heaved With greater force; and Fancy’s power, A wreath of fond endearments weaved To crown the hapless child; but now The struggle shook her weakened frame, Her limbs grew cold-pulsation stopped; And o’er her eyes death’s dimness came: In faltering accents she exclaimed ” My sweet one,‘tis for thee I die!” Then some few treasured drops of life, Shed from each smiling eye. Thou sun that light’st the boundless skies, Where are the earth’s departed gone? Ye stars, to your all-seeing eyes, Is the great secret known? Ye breathe not of their place of rest, But roll in silence on your way, And the lorn echoes of the breast Still answers-” Where are they?“I, JOHN MALCOLM. One long but broken sigh here loosed Her soul; yet still the tears she shed At parting, dwelt upon her cheek, Like dews that bows the snow-drop’s head I And still affection’s dying glance Upon her feature’s left its traceFast frozen, as we sometimes see A wavelet on a river’s face. As though, in love with that rich smile, Death, fearful of the least delay, Had grasped her in his mighty arms, Before it passed away. IT was a lonely hamlet, where the trees Waved, in green beauty, o’er the whitewashed cot: Deepening the shade, as the light summer breeze Clustered the boughs, so beams of sun came not; enratlh smniled cottage flowers-‘midst all a brook; Ran hurryin- off to a sequestered nook; Then h’irstinz forth beside a rose-wreathed grot, Mlirrorel its I)eauties-for to it were given, To mix tha flyovers of earth. antl] clouds of heaven. I I 27 B. BARTON. THE DYING MOTHER. THE VILLAGE FLTNERAL.

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THE HIARP WITH A SABBAT’rl-l TONE. When joys have lost their bloom and breath, And life i tsel f is vapid; Why as we reach the Falls of Death, Feel we its tide more rapid? THE vesper time draws nigh, The pale moon trembles in the horizon fair, tad stars are speaking in the quiet sky; It is hour of prayer. It may be strange yet who would change Time’s course to slower speeding? When one by one our friends are gone, And left our bosoms bleeding. Bend, bend the heart and knee, For day’s long toil and trouble now are past; Whom should we seek at this still hour but thee, Father! at last. Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And these of youth, a seeming length, Proportioned to their sweetness. T. CAMPBFLJ It may be, in the day, Our hearts too busy and too worldly grown, Sometimes forget thy love-mistrust thy sway: This hour is all thine own. And if some falling tears, When pleading for the loved one far away, And cherished in our heart’s deep core for years, Should force their way; Thou wilt forgive, for thoui Wert one of us, and earthly grief didst share; Pardon our sorrows, and accept our vow Now at the time of prayc-. NAY, tell me not, my dearest, That time has dimmed thine eye; Still, still my path thou eheerest, As in days that are gone bv. Say not thy cheek is faded, By sorrows, cares, and fears; That thy brow is somewhat shaded By the clouds of other years. If Time much more had taken, I could forgive each theft, While thy heart remained unshaken, And its love for me was left. May holy angels keep Watch through the dark night, while we be at rest; Send peaceful dreamings to our quiet sleep, Of them-the lost-the blest. Should this night be our last Of earthly watching, and of earthly care, Then may we wake in heaven, all sorrow past, And praise thee there. I, too, am something older, Than when I met with thee; But hearts become no colder, If they are what hearts should be.

Thy own has never altered, A s years hav e o’er me p ast; Thy love has never faltered, When my brow has been o’ercast. Then tell me-not of changes, In cheek, or brow, or hair; The love such loss estranges, Must be lighter far than air. STANZAS. WHEN on her Maker’s bosom The new-born earth was laid, And nature’s opening blossom Its fairest bloom displayed; When all with fruit and flowers The laughing soil was drest, And Eden’s fragrant bowers Received their human guest: No sin his face defiling, The Heir of nature stood, And God, benignly smiling, Beheld that all was good!

Though morning’s early splendor May rapture’s thrill impart, The vesper hour, more tender, Sinks deeper in the heart. Though spring be gay with roses, And summer skies are clear, Yet auttimn’s hand encloses The rich harvest of the year. E’en age’s wintry weather, Inspires no thought of gloom, In hearts that share together, Hopes of bliss beyond the tomb. Yet, in that hour of blessing, A single want was knownA wish, the heart distressing, For Adam was alone! Oh God of pure affection! By men and saints adored, Who gavest thy protection To Cana’s nuptial board; May such thy bounties ever To wedded love be shown; Aud no rude hand dissever Whom Thou hast linked in one. BIsHoP HEBER. DEFAR messenger of truth divine, Upon whose heart imprest, Thy people like the jewels shine, As when of old the mystic sign Appeared on Aaron’s breast. A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NrW

YEAR. THE more we live, more brief appear, Our life’s succeeding stages; A day to childhood seems a year, And years like passing ages. Oft ox the sacred wings of prayer, Thy name has risen above, That He, who made our souls his care, Himself might heavenly influence share, Strong in the work of love. The gladsome current of our youth, Ere passion yet disorders, Steals, lingering, like a river smooth, Along its grassy borders. Though not for earthly good we sought (Thy Lord that need would knowv), Yet, that thy service for him wrouliht Might be waith choicest blessings fraught. To srp oc. h “hv pa,th below. But as the care-worn cheek grows wan, And sorrow’ s shafts fly thicker, Ye stars that measure life to man! Why seem your courses quicker I I 28 FVENING HYMN. LOVE ENDURING, hTow THE PASTORIS

MARRIAGE. 11 A good wife is from the Lord

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THE HARP’ WITH A SABBATH TONE. The gracious answer, Lord! we hail, And mark the treasure given, A solace through the gloomy vale, A comforter when griefs assail, A wife-the boon of Heaven. Little streams have flowers a-many, Beautiful and fair as any; Typha strong, and green bur-reed; Willow-herb, with cotton-seed; Arrow-head, with eye of jet, And the water-violet; There the flowering rush you meet. And the plumy meadow-sweet; And in places, deep and stilly, Marble-like, the water-lily.

0 may the solemn nuptial vow Be registered on high; And with our joyous strains below, May angel notes accordant flow, To bless the sacred tie.

Little streams, their voices cheery Sound forth welcomes to the weary.

Flowing on from dair to day, Without stint and without stay. Here, upon their flowery bank, In the old times pilgrims drank; Here have seen, as now, pass by Kingfisher and dragon-fly; Those bright things that have their dwelling Where the little streams are welling. Now, hand in hand, a favored pair, May they thine altar raise; Together, Lord! thy favor share; And that which thou hast given to prayer, Oh may it end in praise! MEEX

Chlarity! to thee we’re told is given In.rms of holiest proof, the countless faults Of m I to hide; and, in the sight of Heaven To ender him beloved. Then, in the assaults Of fiticest passions, when we’re urged along With unrelenting fury to pursue Some fallen enemy, whose wilful wrong Hath caused our hatred, let us pause and view HIS meek example, who the precept gave; For think not Charity sincerely shown By ostentatious homage at the throne Of our own vainness! Let us humbly save The poor from want, and secretly give rest Unto the weary desolate:-‘twill please Heaven best ON thee, blest youth a fathler’s hand confers The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew; Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers  Thine be the joys to firm attachment due. ETHERaEAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!

Dust thou despise the earth, where cares abound; Or, while thy wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest, upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will Those quivering wings.omposed, and music still! A s on s he mov es, with hesitating cra ce, She wins assurance from thy soothing voice; And, with a look, the pencil could not trace, Smiles through her blushes, and confirms the choice To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain, (‘Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond), Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain; Yet might’st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing, All independent of the leafy Spring. Leave to the nightingale the shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine, Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with rapture more divine: ‘Ibpe of the wise, who soar-but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home!

WORDSWORTH O’er her fair f ace what s oft emotions play! What lights and shades in sweet confusion blend I Soon shall they fly, glad harbingers of day, And settled sunshine on her soul descend! Ah soon thine own confessed, ecstatic thought? That hand shall strew thy summer path with flowers I And those blue eyes, with modest lustre fraught, Gild the calm current of domestic hours! ROGERsi. LITTLE streams, in light and shadow Flowing through the pasture meadow; Flowing by the green way-side; Through the forest dim and wide; Through the hamlet still and small; By the cottage; by the hall; By the ruined abbey still: Turning, here and there, a mill; Bearing tribute to the river; Little streams, I love you ever! No image of creative fancy thou, But an imbodying of truth and loveFond sharer of my joys and sorrows-how Thou art such unsubstantial forms above.

-Most hollow-hearted, and most ignorant F)f gentle Love’s best happiness, are they Who rail against our state; by Heaven, and cant Apart,‘tis one of purest joy. I pray That we may not, through stubborn will perverse, Changing, ourselves, God’s blessing to a curse, Divert the stream of muitua.l delig-ht: But that it flow serenely, clear and hright, ATissing foiul (lisconteit’s (lark, shallow wa’e, n thiaAn assions whirling edie, to the grave. Summer music is their flowing; Flowering plants in them are growing Happy life is in them all, Creatures innocent and small; Little birds come (]o w n to drink Fearless on their leafy brink! Noble trees besid(e them Prow, Gloo:n-iinz thein \w,ilh bran!ches low, Ancd b)etween the su -sltnain g In their little wavres are dancing. 229 CHARITY. Down in vwlleys green and lowly, Murmuring not and gliding slowly; Up in mountain hollows wild, Fretting like a peevish cliil(l; Through the hamlet, where all day In their waves the children play, Running west, or running east, Doing good to man and beast; Always giving, weary never, Little streams, I love vou ever LINES TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGF THE SKY-LARK. Spare the fine tremors of her feeling,, frame! To thee she turns, forgive those falling tears! To thee she turns, with surest, tenderest claim Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears At each response the sacred rite requires, From her full bosom bursts thl unbidden sigh; A strange mysterious awe the scene inspires, And on her lips the trembling accents die. LITTLE STREAMS. THE POET TO HIS WIFE.

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THE HARP WIT’rI A SABBATIH TONE. THE HURRICANE. CAPRICIOUS month of smiles and tears! There’s beauty in thy varied reign: Emblem of being’s hopes and fears Its hours of joy and days of pain. A false inconstant scene is thine; C hangeful w i th light and shadow deep-b Oft-times thy clouds with pure sunshine Are painted-then in gloom they sleep. And lo! on the wings of the heavy gales. Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails; Silent and slow, and terribly strong, The mighty shadow is borne along, Like the dark eternity to come; While the world below, dismayed and dumb, Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear. Yet is there gladness in thy hours, Frail courier of a brighter sceneThoui fragrant guide to buds and flowers, To meadows fresh and pastures green! For as thy days grow few and brief; The radiant looks of spring appearWith swelling glow, and opening leaf, To deck the morning of the year. Yes, though thy light is checkered oft With drifting showers of sorrowing rainYet balmy airs and breezes soft Are lingering richly in thy train: And for thy eddying gusts will come The lay of the rejoicing bird, That tries his new and brightening plume’Midl the void sky’s recesses heard. They darken fast.-and the golden blaze Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze, And he sends through the shade a funeral rayA glare that is neither night nor day, A beam that touches with hues of death The clouds above and the earth beneath, To its covert flies the silent bird, While the hurricane’s distant voice is heard Uplifted among the mountains round, And the forests hear and answer the sound. And soon the many clouds that hang Their solemn drapery o’er the sky, Will pass, in shadowy folds away Lo! mark them now!-they break-they fly And over earth in one broad smile, Looks forth the glorious eve of dayWhile hill, and vale, and ocean-isle, Are laughing in the breath of May. Type of existence! mayst thou be The emblem of the Christian’s raceThrough all whose trials we may see The sunshine of undying grace: The calm and heaven-enkindled eye, The faith that mounts on ardent wing, That looks beyond the o’erarching sky To heaven’s undimmed and golden spring. ANoN. He is come! he is come! do ye not behold His ample robes on the wind unrolled? Giant of air! we bid thee hail!How his gray skirts toss in the whirling galeHow his huge and writhing armns are bent, To clasp the zone of the firmament, And fold, at length, in their dark embrace, From mountain to mountain, the visible space! Darker-still darker! the whirlwinds bear The dust of the plains to the middle air: And hark to the crashing, long and loud, Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud! You may trace its path by the flashes that start From the rapid wheels where’er they dart, As the fire-bolts leap to the worlds below, And flood the skies with a lurid glow. What roar is that?-‘tis the rain that breaks In torrents away from the airy lakes, Heavily poured on the shuddering ground, And shedding a nameless horror round. Ah! well-known woods, and mountains, and skies, With the very clouds!-ye are lost to my eyes: I seek ye vainly, a nd see in y our plac e The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space A whirling ocean that fills the wall Of the crystal heaven, and buries all: And I, cut off from the world, remain Alone with the terrible hurricane. tHE RETURN OF SPRING.

DEAR as the dove, whose wafting wing The green leaf ransomed from the main, Thy genial glow, returning Spring, Comes to ouir shores again; For thou hast been a wanderer long, On many a fair and foreign strand, In calm and beauty, sun and song, Passing from land to land. Thou bring’st the blossom to the bee, To earth a robe of emerald die; The leaflet to the naked tree, And rainbow in the sky; I feel thy blest, benign control The pulses of my youth restore; Opening the spring of sense and soul To love and joy once more. I will not people thy green bowers With sor-ow’s pale and spectre band, Or blend with thine the faded flowers Of memory’s distant land; Fo r thou wert sure ly nev e r givend To wake regret for pleasures gone; But, like an angel sent from heaven, To sooth creation’s groan. Then while the groves their garlandstwie Thy spirit breathes in- flower and tree, My heart shall kindle at thy shrine, And worship God in thee: And in some calm sequestered spot, Wh ile listenin,g to thy choral strain, Past griefs shall be a while forgot And pleasures bloom a-ain.

SLEEP-and while slumber weighs thine eyelids down, May no foul phantoms o’er thy pillow frown; But brightest visions deck thy tranquil bed, And angel’s wings o’ercanopy thy head. Sleep on, sweet boy! may no dark dreams arise To mar thy rosy rest-thou babe of Paradise! See where the glowing hands are closely pressed, As when from prayer he softly sunk to rest; Mark how with half-closed lips and cherub-smile He looks, as still he prayed, and slept the while; TYeo- yet thtseem as if they whispered praise For all the blessings of his halcyon days. Bid, oh, Almighty Father, God, and Friend, Religion’s glories on his steps attend! To shine through all the dreary storms of life, A splendid beacon in the world of strife; And when to Thlee recalled he sinks in death, I laMy prayer and praise still bless his parting breath I 230 APRIL. LoRiD of the winds! I feel thee nigh: I know thy breath in the burning sky! And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, For the coming of the hurricane! BRYANT. ON A SLEEPING BOY.

MALCOMB.

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TBBATIH TONE. 231 The sinless age, by conscience is enrolled, Yet mutinously knits his angry brow, And lifts his wilful hand, on mischief bent, Or turns the sacred faculty of speech To impious use-by process indirect Declares his due-while he makes known his need. -This sacred right is fruitlessly announced, This universal plea in vain addressed, To eyes and ears of parents who themselves Did, in the time of their necessity Urge it in vain; and, therefore, like a prayer That from the humblest floor ascends to heaven, It mounts to reach the state’s parental ear Who, if indeed she own a mnother’s heart, And be not most unfeelingly devoid Of gratitude to providence, will grant The unquestionable good; which, England, safe From interference of external force, May grant at leisure; without risk incurred That what in wisdom for herself she doth, Others shall e’er be able to undo. “SPEAK, Lord!” the youthful prophet fiumbly cries; “Thy servant hears!” And instant, hark! the voice divine replies, Its will declares:No other ear in all that temple’s round Receives the deep, impressive, solemn sound; The sacred tribe, the aged priest passed by, God stands revealed to youthful piety. He comes no more to rouse the outward ear At dead of night; No fearful dream his purposed act makes clear To mortal sight:But wheresoe’er man seeks to meet him, still A voice is near him, whispering of his will, And ever, as he calls on God to “speak,” That inward voice will nature’s silence break. Yes, Christian, he whose voice then spake on earth Still speaks to thee; Whether in sweetest music, warbling forth From every tree, Or in the stillness of the evening hour, Or when the tempest gathers all its power, Or when the sea its awful voice uprears, Be thine to answer, “Speak; thy servant hears.” In all thy varying portion, in the strife ‘Twixt earth and heaven, Or when sweet gleamings of a better life To thee are given, When hard the conflict, dim the distant end, No light to cheer thee, at thy side no friend, Yet, hark! e’er now, in answer to thy prayer, The voice, the voice of Love Divine is there! Look! and behol d from Calpe’s sun-burnt cifs e To the fl at margin of th e Balti c sea, Long-reverenced titles cast away as weeds Laws overturned,-and territory split; Like fields of ice rent by the polar wind And forced to join in less obnoxious shapes, W hich, er e t hey gain consistence, by a gust Of the same breath are shattered and destroyed. Meantime the sovereignty of these fair isles Remains entire and indivisible; And, if that ignorance were removed, which acts Within the compass of their several shores To breed commotion and disquietude, Each might preserve the beautiful repose Of heavenly bodies shining in their spheres. -The discipline of slavery is unknown Amongst us,-hence the more do we require The discipline of virtue; order else Can not subsist, nor confidence, nor peace. Thus, duties rising out of good possessed, And prudent caution needful to avert Impending evil, do alike require That permanent provision should be made For the whole people to be taught and trained. So shall licentiousness and black resolve Be rooted out, and virtuous habits Take their place; and genuine piety descend Like an inheritance, from age to age. WORDSW SRTH Or when the page of truth before thee spreads Its chastened light, And some reviving promise round thee sheds Hopes clear and bright, There speaks the Gospel’s Author: to that word, Favored disciple of a pitying Lord, Bend, meekly bend, a still, attentive ear: ‘Tis his to speak; with reverence thine to hear. Thankful for this, thy destined path pursue, Or dark, or bright; Till faith, while glory burst upon the view, Is lost in sight: Till then, with ever wakeful care, abide By the least whispers of thy heavenly guide; For still, when followed most, that voice shall be Strength, comfort, peace, and blessedness to thee. EMILY TAYLOR. MERCY is welcome news indeed, To those that guilty stand; Wretches, who feel the help they need. Will bless the helping hand. Who rightly would his alms dispense, Must give them to the poor; None but the wounded patient knows The comforts of a cure. RIGHT OF

THE POOR TO EDUCATION. OH! for the coming of that glorious time When prizing knowledge as her noblest wealth And but protection, this imperial realm, While she exacts allegiance, shall admit An obligation, on her part, to teach Them who are born to serve her and obey; Binding herself by statute to secure For all the children whom her soil maintains The rudiments of letters, and to inform The mind igt,uu u th uthv… Both understood, and practised,-so that none, However destitute, be left to droop By timely culture unsustained, or run Into a wild disorder; or be forced To drudge through weary life without the aid Of intellectual implements and tools; A savage horde among the civilized, A servile band among the lordly free! This right, as sacred almost as the right To exist and be supplied with sustenance And means of life, the lispina babe proclaims To be inherent in him, by Heaven’s will, For the protection of his innocence; And the rude boy-who, having overpast I I THE HARP WITH A S

THE VOICE OF GOD. MERCY. We all have sinned against our God; Exception none can boast; ‘But he that feels the beaviiest lo — Will 1,Ize il)rgiveness most. No reckoning can we rightly keep, For who the sum can know? Some souls are fifty talents deep, And some five hundred owe. But let our debts be what they may, However great or small, .ks soon as we have naught to pay, Our Lord forgives us all. ‘Tis Verfect poverty alone, That sets the soul at large; vvhile we can call one mite our own, We have no full Discharge. HART

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THE HARP WiTHf A k APEATH TONE. INVOCATION TO NIGHT. (‘OMF, with thy sweeping cl)ou(I and starry vest, Mother of counsel, and the joy which lies In feelings deep, and inwatd sympathbies, Soothing like founts of health, the wearied breast! ,o! o’er the (di. it t hills the day-star’s crest Siiiks redly burniin; and the winds arise, IMovning, with shladowvy,usts and feeble sighs Amiiid the reeds which veil the bittern’s nest! Day lath its melody and light-the sense Of mirth which sports roun,d fancy’s fairy mine; But the full powers which loftier aids dispense, To speed the soul where scenes unearthly shineSilence, and peace, and stern magnificence, knd awe, and throned solemnity, are thine! * J. F. HOLLINGS.

I marvel not in former days Ere purer light were given, That men fell down and worshipped tihe A spirit-king in heaven. But now that knowledge great and high Is kindled in man’s soul, We know thee but a glorious part Of a more glorious whole. WiH,EN shall I see a flower, Nor muse on its decay?

When shall I know one happy hour, Nor-ere it pass awayO’ercloud its happiness with tears, Because it can not last for years? When will no dread of change Darken my spirit’s trust? When will the knowledge, sad and strange That man is of the dust, While gazing on belovedl eyes, Instead of wretched, make me wise? Oh! right and majesty that reign Upon the midnight shy!Creed of my hope! I feel thy truth Wheae’er I gaze on high. MIss LAwson Nature, and flowers, and youth, Birds, and their rich, wild glee, All pleasant things in sooth, Why are they sad to me? Why in each form behold I Death? Why seems all music but his breath? Death is my life: Delight Seems of his influence born; A meteor flashing through the nighI 

A lily fenced with thorn,A wild and momentary gladness That in its elements hath madness. Not o’er halls of regal pride; Not o’er fields with carnage dyed, Where, mid shouts of triumph breathing, Fame the hero’s brow is wreathing; Not o’er cells of lettered age; Not o’er haunts of hoary sage; Not where youthful poet stealing, Woos the muse’s warm revealing; -.

troubled joy in love, And fears when fully blest,Clouds when the sky is bright above And sadness when at rest! Alas! my soul has left its ark And wanders o’er the waters dark! Not o’er wood or shadowy vale Where the lover tells his tale, And the blush-love’s fondest tokenSpeaks what words had never spoken: Not where music’s silver sound Wakes the dormant e choes round, And with charms as pure as tender Holds the heart in pleased surrender. RESTLESS spirit!-wouldst thou knotw When will close thy night of wo?(‘ease thy wanderings to and fro. Long thy heavy heart will beat With its own unholy heat, If thy fancy, wild and fleet, Like a homeless bird must fly, Searching rock, and plain, and sky,All too low, and yet too high. O’er the caglm sequestered spot, O’er the lone and lowly cot, Where, its little hands enwreathing, Childhood’s guileless prayer is breathing; While the gentle mother nigh, Points her daughter’s prayer on high, To the God whose goodness gave her, To the God whose.ove shall save her: Let her choose her tree, and rest, There renew her stolen nest,Be again the green leaves’ guest. There, awhile the Son of Light Would arrest his rapid flight, Thence would bear, to heaven ascending,, Prayers with heartfelt praises blending. Stricken spirit, there’s a tree Grows for healinz, growvs for thee; Haste then,-to its covert flee! Gladly would he soar above, With the sacrifice of love; And, throunh heaven’s expanded portal, Bear it to the throne immortal! REv. T Do Whispering oracles are rife ‘Mid its leaves to quiet strife: Spirit ‘tis the Tree of Life. MRS. FLETCHER.

I I i I I I II i I ,;j2 THE EVENING S’rA]R. It 11 i .1 il i low beautif!il the twili-ht sky, W.liose st-,ri-y worlds noiv sp.-eAt, Amid the pu.-ple (teptli, of eve, ‘Fheir glories o’er iiiy head! And there is one-a radiant onf- – Amid the rest shines lie, As if’ustrisen from his sleep, i Withia the niiglity sea. The clouds rall off in glitteri-,lg flakes Before his shinin!,- brow; So moves a ship that flings the waves In bright froam fom its prow. A LAMENT AND A REPLY. A LAMENT. Ob, mysteries of night that fill The mind with awe and love, How visibl- the power of God Is manifest above. EVENING PRAYER. SHOULD some seraph win, his flight, From the realms of cloudless light, Earth and ocean soaring over, Where would lie delight to hover? THE REPLY.

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ODES OF ANACHREON, TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE. ODE I. I sAw the smiling bard of pleasure, The minstrel of the Teian measure; ‘Twas in a vision of the night, He beam’d upon my wondering sight. I heard his voice, and warmly prest The dear enthusiast to my breast. His tresses wore a silvery dye, But beauty sparkled in his eye; Sparkled in his eyes of fire, Through the mist of soft desire. His lip exhal’d, whene’er he sigh’d, The fragrance of the racy tide; And, as with weak and reeling feet He came my cordial kiss to meet, An infant of the Cyprian band, Guided him on with tender hand. Quick from his glowing brows he drew His braid, of many a wanton hue; I took the wreath, whose inmost twine Breath’d of him and blush’d with wine I hung it o’er my thoughtless brow And ah! I feel its magic now: I feel that even his garland’s Much Can make the bosom love too much. VULCAN! hear your glorious task; I do not from your labours ask In gorgeous panoply to shine, For war was ne’er a sport of mine. No-let me have a silver bowl, Where I may cradle all my s oul; But min d that, o’er its simple frame No mimic constellations flame; Nor grave upon the swelling side, Orion, scowling o’er the tide. I care not for the glitt’ring wain, Nor yet the weeping sister train. But let the vinle luxuriant roll Its blushing tendrils round the bowl, While many a rose-lipp’d bacchant maid Is culling clusters in their shade. Let sylvan gods, in antic shapes, Wildly press the gushing grapes, And flights of Loves, in wanton play, Wing through the air their winding way; While Venus from her harbour green, Looks laughing at the joyous scene, And young Lywus by her side Sits, worthy of so bright a bride. V. SCULPTOR, wouldst thou glad my soul, Grave for me an ample bowl, Worthy to shine in hall or bower, When spring-time brings the reveller’s hour Grave it with themes of chaste design, Fit for a simple board like mine. Display not there the barbarous rites In which r eligious zeal d e lights; Nor any tale of tragi c fat e Which History shudders to relate. No-cull thy fancies fr om above, Themes of heav’n and themes of love. Let Bacchus, Jove’s ambrosial boy, Distil the grape in drops of joy, And while he smiles at every tear, Let warm-ey’d Venus, dancing near, With spirits of the genial bed, The dewy herbage deftly tread. Let love be there, without his arms, In timid nakedness of charms; And all the Graces, link’d with Love, Stray, laughing, through the shadowy grove,, While rosy boys disporting round, In circlets trip the velvet ground But ah! if there Apollo toys, I tremble for the rosy boys. VI. GIVE me the harp of epic song, Which Homer’s finger thrill’d along; But tear away the sanguine string, For war is not the theme I sing. Proclaim the laws of festal rite, I’m monarch of the board to-night; And all around shall brim as high, And quaff the tide as deep as T. And when the cluster’s mellowing dews Their warm enchanting balm infuse, Our feet shall catch th’ elastic bound, And reel us through the dance’s round. Great Bacchus! we shall sing to thee, In wild but sweet ebriety; Flashing around such sparks of thought, As Bacchus could alone have taught. Then, give the harp of elpic song, Wh ich Homer’s finger thr ill’d along; But tear away the sanguine string, For war is not the theme I sing. LISTEN to the Muse’s lyre, Master of the pencil’s fire! Sketch’d in painting’s bold display, Many a city first portray; Many a cityv, revell ing free, Full of loose festivit y. Picture then a ro3v train, Bacchants stiaying o’er the plainW Pipinz, as thev roam along, Roundelay or shepherd song, Paint me next, if painting may Such. a theme as this portray, All the eaithly heaven of love These delighted mortals prove As late I sought the spangled bowers, To cull a wreath of matin flowers, Where many an early rose was weeping, I found the urchin Cupid sleeping. I caught the boy, a goblet’s tide Was richly mantling by my side, I caught him by his downy wing, And whelm’d him in the racy spring Then drank I down the poison’d bowl, And Love now nestles in my soul. Oh yes, my soul is Cupid’s nest, I feel him fluttering in my breast. t-, – - – IV. II. Ill.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Ah, how thoughtless hast thou been! Long before the dawnd was seer, When a dream came o’er my mind, Picturing her I worship, kind, Just when I was nearly blest, Loud thy matins broke my rest! l’HI: wOOrlei tell ine every (lay T’lhat all iiry bloom hi;s past away.

“Behold,” thie pI-etty waniton’s cry, Behold this irr ith a sih,La tbh; The locks upon tl-i brows are few, Aud, like the iest,t tle’re w ithering too!’ Whether dealine has tilinri’d my hair, I’m sure I neitliei knot nor care; But this I know, and this I feel, As onward to the t(omb I steal, That still as death a,)pI)roaches nearer, The joys of life are sweeter, dearer; And had I but an hour to live, That little hour to bliss I’d give.

xi. “TELL me, gentle vouth, I pray thee, What in purchase shall I pay thee For this little waxen toy, Image of the Paphian boy?” Thus I said, the other day, To a youth who pass’d my way: ” Sir,” (he answer’d, and the while Answer’d all in Doric style,) ” Take it, for a trifle take it; ‘Twas not I who dared to make it; No, believe me,‘twas not I; Oh, it has cost me many a sigh, And I can no longer keep Little gods, who murder sleep!” ”

Here, then, here,” (I said with joy,) “,Here is silver for the boy: He shall be my bosom guest, Idol of my pious breast!” I CARE not for the idle state Of Persia’s klying, the rich, the great: I envy not the monarch’s throne, Nor wish the treasur’d gold my own. But oh! be mline the rosy wreath, Its freshness o’er my brow to breathe; Be mine the rich perfumes that flow, To cool and scent my locks of snow. To-day I’ll haste to quaff my wine, As if’to-morrowN ne’er would shine; But if to-morrow comes, why thenI’ll haste to quaff my wine again. And thus while all our days are bright, Nor time has dimm’d their bloomy light, Let us the festal hours beguile With mantling cup and cordial smile; And shed fiom each new bovwl of wine The richest drop on Bacchus’ shrine. For death may come, with brow unpleasan. May come, when least we wish him present, And beckon to the sable shore, And grimly bid us-drink no more! THEY tell how Atys, wild with love, Roams the mount and haunted grove; Cybele’s name he howl’s around, The gloomy blast returns the sound! Oft too, by Claros’ hallow’d spring, The votaries of the laurell’d king Quaff the inspiring, magic stream, And rave in wild, prophetic dream. But frenzied dreams are not for me, Great Bacchus is my deity! Full of mirth, and full of him, While floating odours round me swim, While mant?!ng bowls are f’ull supplied, And you sit blushing by my side, I will be mad and raving tooMad, my girl, with love for you! . PRAY thee, by the gods above, Give me the mighty bowl I love, And let me sing, in wild delight, I will-I will be mad to-night!”

Alcmaon once, as legends tell, Was frenzied bv the fiends of hell; Orestes too, with naked tread, Frantic pac’d the mnountain-head; And why? a minurder’d mother’s shade Haunted them still where’er they strayed. But ne’er could I a murderer be, The grape alone shall bleed by me; Yet carn I shout, with wild delight, ” I will-I will be mad to-night.” XIII. I WILL,., I will, the conflict’s past, And I’ll consent to love at last.

Cupid has long, with smiling art, Invited me to yield my he art; And I have thought that peace of mind Should not be for a smile resign’d: And so repelI’d the tender lure, And hope my heart would sleep secure. Alcides’

self, in days of yore, Imbru’d his ha’ids in youthful gore, And brandish’d, with a maniac joy, The quiver of th’ expiring boy: And Ajax, with tremendous shield, Infuriate scour (‘d the guitless field. But I, whose hands no weapon ask, No arnmour but this joyous flask; The trol)phy of w hose frantic hours Is but a scatter’d wreath of flowers, Ev’n I can si ng with wil d delight, “I sill-I will be mad to-night! ” But, slighted in his boasted charms, The angry infant flew to arms; He slung his quiver’s golden frame, He took his bow, his shafts )f flame, And proudly summon’d me’:3 yield, Or meet him on the martial field. And what did I unthinking do? I took to armns, undaunted, too; Assum’d the corslet, shield, and spear, And, like Pelides, smil’d at fear. Then (hear it, all ye powers above!) I fought with Love! I fought with Love’ And now his arrows all were shed, And I had just in terror fledWhen, heaving an indignant sigh, To see me thins unwounded fly, Hlow am I to punish thee, For the wrong thou’st done to me, Silly swallow, C,rating thin,Shall I clip that wheeling wing? Or, as Tereus did. of old, (So the fabled tale is told,) Shall 1 tear that tongue away, Tongue that utter’d st(uch a lay. I I I .234 Alli. Vill. Now, young Love, I have thee mine, Warm me with that torch of thine; Make me feel as I have felt, Or thy waxen frame shall melt: I must bui-n with warm desire Or thou, my boy-in yonder fire. xii.

IX. X.

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X= -~~ DE OF ANCEO.-~) And, having now no other dart, Hfe shot himself into my heart! My heart-alas the luckless day! Receiv’d the god, and died away. Farewell, farewell, my faithless shield! Thy lord at length is forc’d to yield. Vain, vain, is every outward care, The foe’s within. and triumphs there. O’er the ploains, or in the (]ell, On thie molr tai’ saii va(e swell, Seekiin, in) the desert w,-oo(d Gloon,y shelt,,r, Xirustict ood. Now [ lead a li,( o’f ease, Far from ru lid hIants lile these. From Anac( reon’s h-janiOd I,at Food delicious, vianls-.l street; Flutter o’er his goblet’s brim, Sip the foamy AIine wvih him. Then, when I have xwantotn’d round To his lyre’s be!,,ili,ig sound; Or wit h,ently-ovii, wings Fanni’d tile minstrel wh hile he sings. On his harp I sink in slumbers, Dreaming still of dulcet numbers CouNr me, on the summer trees, Every leaf that courts the breeze; Count me, on the foamy deep, Every wave that sinks to sleep; Then, when you have number’d these Billowy tides and leafy trees, Count me all the flames I prove, All the gentle nymphs I love. First, of pure Athenian maids Sporting in their olive shades, You may reckon just a score, Nay, I’ll grant you fifteen more. In the fam’d Corinthian grove, Where such countless wantons rove, Chains of beauties may be found, Chains, by which my heart is bound; There, indeed, are nymphs divine, Dangerous to a soul like mine. Many bloom in Lesbos’ isle; Many in Ionia smile; Rhodes a pretty swarm can boast; Caria too contains a host. Sum them all-of brown and fair You may count two thousand there.

What, you stare? I pray you, peace! More I’ll find before I cease. Have I told you all my flames, ‘Mong the amorous Syrian dames? Have [ numbered every one, Glowing under Egypt’s sun? Or the nymphs, who blushing sweet Deck the shrine of Love in Crete; Where the God, with festal play, Holds eternal holiday? Still in clusters, still remain Gades’ warm, desiring train; Still there lies a myriad more On the sable India’s shore; These, and many far remov’d, All are loving-all are lov’d! But, hast thou any sparkles warm, The lightning of he r eyes to form? Let th ee them effuse the azure rays That in Minerva’les glances blaze, Mix’d with the liquid light that lies In Cytherea’s languid eyes. O’er h er nose and cheek be shed Flushing white and soften’d r e d; Miling lin tints, as whe n there glows In snowy milk th e bashful rose. Then her lip, so rich in blisses, Sweet petitioner for kisses, Rosy nest, where lurks Persuasion, Mutely courting Love’s invasion Next, beneath the velvet chin, Whose dimple hides a Love within, Mould her neck with grace descending In a heaven of beauty ending; While countless charms, above, below, Sport and flutter round its snow. Now let a floating, lucid veil, Shadow her form, but not conceal, A charm may peep, a hue may beam, And leave the rest to Fancy’s dream.

Enough-‘tis she!‘tis all I seek; It glows, it lives, it soon will speak!

XV. TELL me, why, my sweetest dove, Thus your humid pinions move, Shedding through the air in showers Essence of the balmiest flowers? Tell me whither, whence you rove, Tell me all, my sweetest dove. Curious stranger, I belong To the bard of Teian song; With his mandate now I fly To the nymph of azure eye;She, whose eye has madden’d many, But the poet more than any. Venus, for a hymn of love, Warbled in her votive grove, (‘Twas in sooth a gentle lay,) Gave me to the bar(] away. See me now his faithful minioni.Thus with softly-gliding pinion, To his lovely girl I bear Songs of Omassion through the air Oft he blandly whispers me, Soon, my bird, I’ll set you free.” But in vain he’ll bid me fly, I shall serve him till I die. .Never could my plumes sustain Ruffling winds and chilling rain, ODES

OF tiNACREON. 2c -3 ) xiv. This is all-awav-avayYou have made m waste the day Hov,r I’ve ebatter’d! 1)rating crow Never yet did chatter so. xvf.

Ttiou whose soft and rosy hues Mimic form and soul infuse, Best ol’

I)aintei-s, come, portray The lovely n)aid that’s far away. Far away, my soul! thou art, But I’ve thy beautie, all by heart. Paint her jettv ringlets playing, Sility locks, lile teiidri’s straying; And, if I)ainting hatli the siill To make the spicv balm distil, Let every little lock exhale A sigh of perfume on the gale. Where her tresses I curly flow Darkles o’er the brow of snow, Let her forehead beam to light, Burnish’d as the ivory bright. Let her eyebrows smoothly rise Its jetty arches o’er her eyes, Each, a crescent gently gliding, Just commingling, just dividing, xvil Al’tD now with all tby pencil’s truth Portray Bathvlliis, lovely youth! Let his hair, in masses bright, Fall like floatin rays of light; A-a there the raven’s (lie confuse Witi the gol,ien sijiibeam’s hues.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Let nor wreath, vith artfui twine, The flow ing of his locks confine; B,it leave them loose to every breeze, take wht shape and course they please. rl:neeth the forehead, fair as snow, lo,t tt’ sh w a\ith manhood’s early gqtw, ! ~. g,lileless as the dews of dawn, L,. t’)e majestic brows be drawn, Of eb)on hue, enrich’d by gold, Such as dark, shiining snakes unfolo Mix in his eves the power a ike, With lov e to w in, with awe to strike Borrow from Mars his look of ire, From Venus her soft glance of fire; Blend them in such expression here, That ve by turns may hope and fear! ONE day the Mcoses twin’d the hands Of infant Love with flow’ry bands; And to celestial Beauty gave The captive infant for her slave. His mother comes, with many a toy, To ransom her beloved boy; His mother sues, but all in vain,He ne’er will leave his chains again. Even should they take his chains away, The little captive still would stay. ”

If this,” he cries,‘t a bondag-,e be Oh, who could wish for libert, Now e-~m the sunny apple seek The velvet down that spreads his cheek; And there, if art so far can go, Th’ ingenuous blush of boyhood show. While, for his mouth-but no,-in vain Would worlds its witching charm explain.

Make it the very seat, the throne, That Eloquence would claim her own; And let the lips, though silent, wear A life-look, as if words were there.

Next thou his ivory neck must trace, Moulded with soft but manly grace; Fair as the neck of Paphia’s boy, Where Paphia’s arms have hung in joy.

Give him the winged Hermes’ hand, With which he waves his snaky wand; Let Bacchus the broad chest supply, And Leda’s sons the sinewy thigh; While, through his whole transparent frame, Thou show’st the stirrings of that flame, Which kindles, when the first love-sigh Steals from the heart, unconscious why. OBSERVE when mother earth is dry, She drinks the droppings of the sky, And then the dewy cordial gives To every thirsty plant that lives. The vapours, which at evening weep, Are beverage to the swelling deep; And when the rosy sun appears, He drinks the ocean’s misty tears. The moon too quaffs her paly stream Of lustre, from the solar beam.

Then hence with all your sober thinking. Since Nature’s holy law is drinking; I’ll make the laws of nature mine, And pledge the universe in wine. But sure thy pencil, though so bright, Is envious of the eye’s delight, Or its enamour’d touch would show The shoulder, fair as sunless snow, Which now in veiling shadow lies, Remov’d firomn all but Fancy’s eyes. Nowv, for his feet-but hold-forbearI see the sun-god’s portrait there; Wlhy paint Bathyllus? when, in truth, There, in that god, thou’st sketch’d the youth. Enough-let this bright form be mine, And send the boy to Samos’ shrine; Phebus shall then Bathyllus be, Bathyllus then, the deity! XXII. THE Phrygian rock, that braves the storm, Was once a weeping matron’s form; And Progue, hapless, frantic maid, Is now a swallow in the shade. Oh! that a mirror’s form were mine, That I might catch that smile divine And like my own fond fancy be, Reflecting thee, and only thee; Or could I be the robe which holds That graceful form within its folds; Or, turn’d into a fountain, lave Thy beauties in my circling wave. Would I were perfume for thy hair, To breathe my soul in fragrance there Or, better still, the zone, that lies Close to thy breast, and feels its sighs! Or ev’n those envious pearls that show So faintly round that neck of snowYes, I would be a happy gem, Like them to hang, to fade like them What more would thy Anacreon be? Oh, any thing that touches thee; Nay, sandals for those airy feetEv’n to be trod by them were sweet! Now the star of dav is high, Fly, my girls, in pity fly, Bring me wine in brimming urns, Cool my lip, it burns, it burns! Sunn’d by the meridian fire, Panting, languid I expire. Give rme all those humid flowers, Drop them o’er my brow in showers. Scarce a breathing chaplet now Lives upon my feverish brow; Every dewy rose I wear Sheds its tears, and withers there.

But to you, my burning heart, What can now relief impart? Can brimming bowl, or flowret’s dew, Cool the flame that s-orches you? I orrEr. wish this languid lyre, This warbler of my soul’s desire, Could raise the breath of soig sublime, To men of fame in former time. But when the soaring theme I try, Along the chords my numbers die, And whisper, with dissolving tone, “Our sighs are given to) love alone Indignant at the feeble lay, I tore the panting chords away, XIX. HE-RE recline you, gentle maid, Sweet is this embowering shade; Sweet the younz, the modest trees, Ruffled by the kissing breeze; I ii I 236 Sweet the little fotiiits that Nveep, Lulliiig soft the miid to sleep; flaric! they wl-ilsi)ei- as the’v roll, Calni I,,ersuasion to the sn’ll; ‘I’ell me, tell me, is not this All a stillv scene of I)liss? Who, my.girl, would pass it by? Surely neither you nor I. XX. XXI. xlqll. XXIII.

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ODES OF ANACO Attiin’d tlher to a nobler swell, And struck again the breathing shell; In all the glow of epic fire, rTo Hercules I wakle the lyre. Blot still its faiiting sighs repeat, ‘!i’he tale of love alone is sweet!” Thien fare thee well, seductive dream. T’hat mad’st me follow Glory’s theme; For thou my lyre, and thou my heart, Shall never more in spirit part; And all that one has felt so well The othei shall as sweetly tell! WE readl he flying> courser’s name Upon his side, in marks of flame; And, by their turban’d brows alone, The warriors of the East are known But in the lover’s glowsing eyes, The inlet to his bosom lies; Through them we see the small faint mark Where Love has dropp’d his burning spark! To all that breathe the air of heaven, Some boon of strength has Nature given. In forming the majestic bull, She fenced with wreathed horns his skull; A hoof of strength she lent the steed, And wing’d the timorous hare with speed. She gave the lion fangs of terror, And o’er the ocean’s crystal mirror, Taught the unnumber’d scaly throng To trace their liquid path along; While for the umbrage of the grove, She plum’d the warbling world of love. To man she gave, in that proud hour, The boon of intellectual power. Then, what, oh woman, what, for thee, Was left in Nature’s treasury? She gave thee beauty-mightier far Than all the pomp and power of war. Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power Like woman in her conquering hour. Be thou but fair, mankind adore thee, Smile, and a world is weak before thee! As, by his Lemnian forge’s f lame. T he husband of the Paphian da me Moulded the glowing steel, to form Arrows for Cupid, thrilling warm; And Venus, as he plied his art, Shed honey round each new made da” While Love, at hand, to finish all. Tipp’d every arrow’s point with gall It chanc’d the Lord of Battles came To visit that deep cave of flame. ‘Twas from the ranks of war he rush’d His spear with many a life-drop blush’d; He saw the fiery darts, and smil’d Contemptuous at the archer-child. “What!” said the urchin, c; Dost thou smile Here, hold this little dart awhile, And thou wilt find, though swift of flight. My bolts are not so feathery light.” Mars took the shaft-and, oh, thy look, Sweet Venus, when the shaft he took!Sighing, he felt the urchin’s art, And cried, i n agony of heart, ” It is not light-I sink with pain! Take-take thy arrow back again.” ” No,” said the child, ” it must not be; Thlat little dart was made for thee! ” ONCE in each revolving year, Gentle bird!

we find thee here. When Nature wears her summer vest, Thou com’st to weave thy simple nes t; But when the chilling winter lowers, Again thou seek’st the genial bowers Of Memphis, or the shores of Nile, Where unny hours for ever smile. And thus thy pinion rests and roves,Alas! unlike the swarm of Loves, That brood within this hapless breast, And never, never change their nest! Still every year, and all the year, They fix their fated dwelling here; And some their infant plumage try, And on a tender winglet fly; While in the shell, impregn’d with fires, Still lurk a thousand more desires; Some from their tiny prisons peeping, And some in formless embryo sleeping. Thus peopled, like the vernal groves, My breast resounds with w-arbling Loves; One urchin imps the other’s feather, Then twin-desires they wing together, And fast as they thus take their flight, Still other urchins spring to light. But is there then no kindly art, To chase these Cupids from my heart; Ah, no! I fear, in sadness fear, They will for ever nestle here! xxnx. YEs-loving is a painful thrill, And not to love more painful still; But oh, it is the worst of pain, To love and not be lov’d again! Affection now has fled from earth, For fire of genius, noble birth, Nor heavenly virtue, can beguile From beauty’s cheek one favouiring smile Gold is the woman’s only theme, Gold is the woman’s only dream. Oh! never be that wretch forgivenForgive him not, indignant heaven! Whose grovelling eyes could first adore, Whose heart could p-)ant for sordid ore. Since that devoted thirst began, Man has forgot to feel for man; The pulse of social life is dead, And all its fonder feeling,s fled! War too has sullied Nature’s charms, For gold provokes the world to arms: And oh! the worst of all its arts, It rends asunder loving hearts. XXVI. THY harp may sing of Troy’s alarms, Or tell the tale of Theban arms; With other wars my song shall burn, For other wounds my harp shall mourn, ‘Twas not the crested warrior’s dart, That drank the current of my heart; Nor naval arms, nor mailed steed, llave made this vanquish’d bosom bleed; ‘TWAS in mocking dre am o f nightI fancied I had wings as light As a young bird’s, a,l flew as fleet; While Love, around whose beauteous feet. I knew not why, hung chains of lead, Pursued me, as I trembling fled; And, strange to say, as swift as thought Spite of my pinions, I was caught’ I 2.q‘7

No-‘tN,%-,is fi-om eyes-of t)]Lie, A liost of’ (Itilver’(1 Ctil)](Is fl,2v. And iioa, i-nv he-.ii-t all I)Ieedin,,, lies Beneatli that armv of tli( eves! xxvil xxiv. XXVIII. xxv. xxx.

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MIRROR LIBRARY. !:3S THE 1 What does the wanton Fancy mean By such a strange, illusive scene? I tear she whisp)ers to my breast, That yoll, sweet maid, have stol’n its rest; That though my fancy, for a while, Hath hung on many a woman’s smile, I soon dissolv’d each passing vow, And ne’er was caught by love till now! I heard the bab y’s tale of woe; I heard hee bitter night winds blow; And sighing f or his p iteous f ate, I trimm’d my lamp and op’d the gate. ‘Twas Love! the little wand’rirtg sprite, His pinion sparkled through the night. I knew him by his bow and dart; I knew him by my fluttering heart. Fondly I take him in, and raise The dying embers’ cheering blaze; Press from his dank and clinging hair The crystals of the freezing air, And in my hand and b *som lbold ~His li -tle fil gers t hrillii g colt. ARM’D w-ith hyacinthiiie rod, (krms enough for such a,odA,) C;ipid’,ade i ie wi Ig m) pace A.id try with him the rapiid race.

O’er many a torrent, wild and deep, By tangled brake and pendent steep, With wears foot I panting flew, Till my brow dropp’d with chilly dew. And now my soul, exhausted, dying, To my lip was faintly flying; And ilow I thought the spark had fled, When Cupid hover’d o’er my head, And fanning light his breezy pinion, Rescued my soul firom death’s dominion; Then said, in accents half-reproving, Why hast thou been a foe to loving. ” And now the embers’ genial ray Had warm’d his anxiousl fears away; ” I pray thee,” said the wanton child, (My bosom trembled as he. mil’d,) ,, I pray thee let me try my bow, For through the rain I’ve wanderld so, That much I fear, th e midnight shwer w Has injured its elastic power.” The fatal bow the urchin drew; Swift from the string the arrow flew; As swiftly flew as glancing flame, And to my inmost spirit came! Ad Fare thee well,” I heard him say, As laughing wild he wing’d away; ” Fare thee well, for now I know The rain has not relax’d my bow; It still can send a thrilling dart, As thou shalt own with all’ thy heart!” STEw me a fragrant bed of leaves, Where lotus with the myrtle weaves; And while in luxury’s dream I sink, Let me the balm of Bacchus drink! In this sweet hour of revelry Young Love shall my attendant beDrest for the task, with tunic round His snowy neck and shoulders bound, Him self shall hov er by my side, And minister the racy tide! XXXIV. OH thou, of all creation blest, Sweet insect, that delight’st to rest Upon the wild wood’s leafy tops, To drink the dew that morning drops, And chirp thy song wi th such a glee, That happiest kings may envy thee. Whatever decks the velvet Seld, Whate’er the circling seasons yield, Whatever buds, whatever blows, For thee it buds, for thee it grows. Nor yet art thou the peasant’s fear. To him thy friendly notes are dear, For thou art mild us matin dew; And still, when summer’s flowery hue Begins to paint the bloomy plain, We hear thy sweet prophetic strain; Thy sweet prophetic strain we hear, And bless the notes and thee revere!

The Muses love thy shrilly tone; Apollo calls thee all his own; ‘Twas he who gave that voice to thee, ‘Tis he who tunes thy minstrelsy. Oh, swift as wheels that kindling roll, Our life is hurrying to the goal: A scanty dust, to feed the wind, Is all the trace’twill leave behind. Ther.

wherefore waste the rose’s bloom Upon the cold, insensate tomb? Can flowery breeze, or odour’s breath, Affect the still, cold sense ot death?

Oh no; I ask no balm to steep With fragrant tears my bed oi sleep: But now, while every pulse is glowing, Now let me breathe the balsam flowing, Nowv let the rose,‘vith blush of fire, Upon my brow in sweets expire; And bring the nymph whose eye hath power To brighten even death’s cold hour.

Yes, Cupid! ere my shade retire, To join the blest elysian choir, With wine, and love, and social cheer, [‘11ll make my own elysium here! Unworn by age’s dim decline, The fadeless blooms of youth are thine. Melodious insect, child of earth, In wisdom mirthful, wise in mirth; Exempt from every weak decay, That withers vulgar frames away; With not a drop of blood to stain The current of thv purer vein; So blest an age is pass’d by thee, Thou seem’st-a little deity! XXXV. iWAS noon of night, when round the pole The sullen Bear is seen to roll; And mortals, wearied with the day, Are slumbering all their cares away: An infant, at that dreary hour, Came weeping to my silent bower, And wak’d me with a piteous prayer, To shield him from the midnight air. “And who art thou,” I waking cry, “That bid’st my blissful visions fly!” Ah, gentle sire!” the infant said, ” In pity take me to thy shed; Nor fear deceit: a lonely childl I wander o’er the gloomy wild. Chill drops the rain, and not a ray llumc the drear and misty way! xxxi. XXXII. xxxiii. CUPID once upon a bed Of roses laid his weary head; Luckless urchin, not to see Within the leaves a slumbering bee; The bee awak’d-with anger wild The bee awak’d, and stung the child.

Loud and piteous are his cries; To Venus quicl< he runs, be flies; Oh mother!-I am wounded through I die A,ith pain-in sooth -I do!

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-~~~~OE OF.AREN 3 Stung by some little angry thing, Some serpent on a tiny wingA bee it was-for once, I know, I heard a rustic call it so.” Thus he spoke, and she the while Heard him with a soothing smile; Then said, “My infant, if so much Thou feel the little wild-bee’s touch, How must the heart, ah, Cupid! be, The hapless heart that’s stung by thee!” Behold!-my boys a goblet bear, Whose sparkling foam lights up the air Whe e re are now he tear, the ro sigh? T o uh the wi nds th ey fly, they fly! Grasp the bowl; in nectar sinking! Man of sorrow, drown thy thinking! Say, can the tears we lend to though’ In life’s account avail us aught? Can we discern with all our lore, The path we’ve yet to journey o’er? Alas, alas, in ways so dark, ‘Tis only wine can strike a spark! Then let mle qua{Fthe foamy tide, And throtitrh the dance mean lering glide. Let iie iml ibe th! spic/ breath Of odours chaf’d to fragrant death; Or from the lips of love inhale A more ambrosial, richer gale! To hearts that court the phantom Care, Let him retire and shroud him there; While we exhaust the nectar’d bowl, And swell the choral song of soul To him, the god who loves so well The nectar’d bowl, the choral swell’ XXXVI I hoa ded t old I ossess’d the pow r To lengthen life’s too fleeting hour, And purchase from the hand of.death A little s4)an, a moment’s breath, How I would love the precious ore! And every hour should swell my store; That when death came, with shadowy pinion, To waft me to his bleak dominion; I might, by bribes, my doom delay, And bid him call some distant day. But, since, not all earth’s golden store Can buy for us one bright hour more, WVhy should we vainly mourn our fate Or sigh at life’s uncertain date? Nor wealth nor grandeur can illume The silent midnight of the tomb. No-give to others hoarded treasuresMine be the krilliant round of pleasures; The goblet rich, the board of friends, Whose social souls the goblet blends; And mine, while yet I’ve life to live, rhose joys that love alone can give. XXXVII. ‘TwAs night, and many a circling bowl Had deeply warm’d my thirsty soul; As lull’d in slumber I was laid, Bright visions o’er my fancy play’d. With maidens, blooming as the dawn, I seem’d to skim the opening lawn; Light, on tiptoe bath’d in dew, We flew, and sported as we flew! I KNOW that Heaven hath sent me here To run this mortal life’s caree r; The scenes which I have journey’d o’er, Return no more-alas! no more; And all the path I’ve yet to go, I neither know nor ask to know Away, then, wizard Care, nor think Thy fetters round this soul to link; Never can heart that feels with me Descend to be a slave to thee! And oh! before the vital thrill, Which trembles at my heart, is still, I’ll gather Joy’s luxuriant flowers, And gild with bliss my fading haurs; Bacchus shall bid my winter bloom, And Venus dance me to the tomb! Some ruddy striplings who look’d onWith cheeks, that like the wine-god’s shone, Saw me chasing, free and wild, These blooming maids, and slyly smil’d; gmil’d indeed with wanton glee, I’hough none could doubt they envied me. and still I flew-and now had caught rhe panting nymphs, and fondly thought ro gather from each rosy lip _ kiss that Jove himself might sipWhen sudden all my dream of joys, Blushing nymphs and laughing boys, k11 were gone! ” Alas!” I said, Sighing for th’ illusion fled, ” Again, sweet sleep, that scene restore, Oh! let me dream it o’er and o’er! ” WHEN S-trwprring, adorns the dewy scene, How sweet to walk the velvet green, And hear the west winrd’s gentle sighs, As o’er the scented mead it flies! How sweet to mark the pouting vine, Ready to burst in tears of wine; And with some maid, who breathes but love, To walk, at noontide, through the grove, Or sit in some cool, green recessOh, is not this true happiness? XXXVIII. LET us drain the nectar’d bowi, Let us raise the song of soul To him, the god wh3 loves so well The nectar’d bowl, the choral swell; T’he aod who taught the sons of earth T,, thrid th’e tangled dance of mirth; Him, who yvas nurs’d with infant Love, And lt’artl in the Paphian grove; ltim, that the sn-owy Queen of Charms S t,ft hais fondled in her arms. Oh’tis from him the transport flows, \,hich sweet intoxication knows; With hi i the brow foergets its bloom, And brilliant graces learn to bloom. YEs, be the glorious revel mine, Where humour sparkiles from the wine Around me, let the youthful choir Respond to my eyiliver)ing lyre; And while the red cull foams along, Mingle in soul -is wNell as song. Then, while I sit, wittj fow-ret’s crown’d, To retgulatte the o ubl aut’ s round, Let but the rny,mph, our banqijet’s pride, Be seated smilingi, by mny side, I II ODES OF ANACREON.

239 7=.7 – xxxix How I love tne festive boy, Tripping through the da’nce of joy I How I love the mellow sage, Smiling through the veil of age! And whene’er this man of years In the dance of joy appears, Snows may o’er his head be flung, But his heart-his heart is young. XL. XLI. XLII.

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MIRROR LIBRARY. And earth has not a ift or power rhat I woul(l einvy, iil that hour. Envy’-oh never let its hlirlht rouch the gay, healrts met here to-night. .bir hence be slander’s sidelong wnounds, qor harsh dispute, nor disor(‘s sourds )isturb a scene, where all should be kttuned to peace and harmonv. And eves that sparkle, eyes that weep, Must all alike be seal’d in sleep. Thlen let us never vainlv stray, In search of thorns, from pleasure’s way But wisely quaff the ro sy wave, Which Bacchus loves, wvhich Bacchus gaveAnd in thne goblet, rich anal deep, Cradle our crying wvoes to sleep Come, let us hear the harp’s gay note Jpon the breeze inspiring float, WVhile round us, kindlinog into love, Young maidens through the light dance move. lhus blest with mirth, and love, and peace, slire such a life should never cease! BEHOLD, the young, the rosy Sprit,g, Gives to the breeze her scented wing; While virgin Graces, warm with May, Fling roses o’er her dewy way. The murmuring billows of the deep Have languish’d into silent sleep; And mark! the flitting sea-birds lave Their plumes in the reflecting wave; While cranes from hoary winter fly To flutter in a kinder sky. Now the genial star of day Dissolves the murky clouds away; And cultur’d field, and winding stream, Are freshly glittering in his beam. WHILE our rosy fillets shed Freshness o’er each fervid head, With many a cup and many a smile The festal moments we beguile. And while the harp,.mpassion’d, flings Tuneful raptures from its strings, Some airy nymph, with graceful bound, Keeps measure to the music sound; Waving, in her snowy hand, The leafy Bacchanalian sand, Which, as the tripping wanton flies, Trembles all over to her sighs. A youth the while, with loosen’d hair, Floating on the listless air, Sings, to the wild harp’s tender tone, , tale of woes, alas, his own; And oh, the sadness in his sigh, As o’er his lip the accents die! Never sure on earth has been Half so bright, so blest a scene. It seems as Love himself had come To make this spot his chosen home;And Venus, oo, with all her wiles, And Bacchus, shedding rosy smiles, All, ail are here, to hail with me The Genius of Festivity! XLVII. ‘Tis true, my fading years decline, Yet can I quaff the brimming wine, As deep as any stripling fair, Whose cheeks thL flush of morning wear; And if, amidst the wanton crew, I’m call’d to A;ind the dance’s clue, Then shalt thou see this vigorous hand, Not faltering on the Bacchant’s wand, But brandishing a rosy flask, The only thyrsus e’er I’ll ask’ BUDs of roses, virgin flowers, Cull’d from Ciiu)id’s balmy bowers, In the )ow l of Bacchus steep, Till with crimsoni drops they weep.

Twine the rose, the garland twine, Everv leaf distillieg win Ae; Drinki and smrile, and learn to think That n(e were barn to smile and drink.

Reose, tlhou at the sNeetest flower That e, er din,Ik the amber shower; Rose, thout art the fondest child Of’ dimpled Sprinig, the w ood-nymph wild Even the GCods, who Nallk the sky, . \re amorous oft thv scented sig h. Cup)id, too, in Palpniain s,had-es, His hair w itlh ros;- fillet braids, When with the )‘lushin.g, sister Cipaces, The wanton wvindin d(lance he traces. Then brin_ me, showers of roses )bring, And shed them o’er me while I sing, Or while, great Bacclius, round thy bhrine, Wreathing mv browN, with rose and vine, I lead some bright nymphl through the dance, Commingling soul with every glance. WHFN my thirsty soul r steep, Everv sorrow’s luill’d to sleep. Talk of monarchs! I am then Richest, happiest, first of men; Careless o’er my cEI I singc Fancy makes me more’han king; Gives me vealthv Croesuis’ store, Can T, can I wrisli for more? On my velvet couch reclining, Ivy leaves my brow entwining, While my soul expands with glee, What are kings and crowns to me? If before my feet they lay, I would spurn them all away. Arm ye, arm ye, men of might, Tiastenl to the sanguine fight; Bolt,It me, my buidding vine!

Spill no other blood than thine WITHIN this goblet, rich and deep, I cradle all niy woes to sleep. Why should we breathe the sigh cr fear, Or pour the Lunavailig te(ar? For death will pever heed the Qig Nor s,often at tie tca”oil eye; i- I C”! XLVI. XLTII. Now the earth prolific swells With leafy buds and flowery beILq; Gemming shoots the olive twine, Clusters ripe festoon the vine; All along the branches creeping, ‘f’brough the velvet foliage I)eeping, Little infant fruits we see, Nursing into luxury. XLIV. Let those, who pant for Glory’s cnarms, Embrace her in the fiel(i of arms While my in,-Iorious, placid soul 13reathes not a wish I)eNond this bowl. Then fill it high, mv rud,lv slave, A.nd bathe me in its brimmin wave. For though mv fadin., veai-s decay, ThoiiZ]i mantiood’s prime hatli I)ass’d away Lilce old Sileniis, sire divine, With blushes borrow’d from my -,fine, I’ll wanton’mid the dancing train, And liv, -iy follies o’er again! XTIVTIT. XLV.

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ODES OF ANAC Yonder brimmin goblet see, That alone shall vanquish meWVho think- it better, w iser far T1 fall i.i baiqiuet thani in war. XLIX. WHEN

Ilacclihs, Jove’s inimoertal boy, The rosy hai bine er of joy, Who, ~:ite the sunshine of the bowl, Thaws the winter of our soulWVhen to my- inmost core he glides, And bathes it with his ruby tides, A flow of joy, a lively heat, Fires my brain, and wings my feet, Calling up round me visions known To lovers of the bowl alone. AWAY, a;way, ye men of rules, What have I to do with schools? They’d make me learn, they’d make me think, But would they make me love and drink? Teach me this, and let me swim My soul upon the goblet’s brim; Teach me this, and let me twine Some fond, responsive heart to mine, For, age begins to blanch my brow, I’ve time for nought but pleasure now. Si’ng, sing of love, let music’s sound In melting cadence float around, While, my young Venus, thou and I Responsive to its murmurs sigh. Then, waking from our blissful trance, Again we’ll sport, again we’ll dance. Fly, and cool my goblet’s glow At yonder fountain’s gelid flow; I’ll quaff, my boy, and calmly sink This soul to slumber as I drink.

Soon, too soon, my jocund slave, You’ll deck your master’s grassy grave, And there’s an end-for ah, you know They drink but little wine below I L.

WHEN, wine I quaff, before my eyes Dreams of poetic glory rise; And freshen’d by the goblet’s dews,, My soul invokes the heavenly Muse. When wine I drink, all sorrow’s o’er; I think of doubts and fears no more; But scatter to the railing wind Each gloomy phantom of the mind. When I drink wine, th’ ethereal boy, Bacchus himself, partakes my joy; And while we dance through vernal bowers, Whose ev’ry breath comes fresh from flowers, In wine he makes mny senses swim, Till the gale breathes of nought hut him! WHEN I be hold t he festive train Of dancing youth, I’m young again!

Memory wakes her magic trance, And wings me lightly through the dance.

Come, Cybeba, smiling maid! Cull the floater and twine the braid; Bid the blush of summer’s rose Burn upon my forehead’s snows; And let me, while the wild and young Trip the mazy dance along, Fling my heap of years away, And be as wil(l, as young, as they. Hither haste, some cordial soul! Help to my lips the brimming bowl; And you shall see this hoary sage Forget at once his locks and age. He still can chant the festive hymn, He still can kiss the goblet’s brim; As deeply quaff, as largely fill, And play the fool right nobly still. Again 1 drink,-and, lo, there seems A calmer light to fill my dreams; The lately ruffled wreath I spread With steadier hand around my head; Then take the lyre, and sing s how blest The life of him who lives at rest!” But then comes witching wine again, With glorious woman in its train; And, while rich perfumes round me rise, That seem the breath of woman’s sighs, Bright shaptes, of every hue and form, Upon my kindling fancy swarm, Till the whole world pf beauty seems To crowd into my dazzled dreams! When thus I drink, my heart refines, And rises as the cup declines; Rises in the genial flow, That none but social spirits know, When, with young revellers, round the b.owl, The old themselves grow young in soul Oh, when I drink, true joy is mine, There’s bliss in every drop of wine. All other blessings I have known, I scarcely dar’d to call my own; But this the Fates can ne’er destroy, Till death o’ershadows all my joy.

LV. WHILE: we invoke the wreathed spring, Resplendent rose! to thee we’ll sing: Whose breath perfumes th’ Olympian bowers; Whose virgin blush, of chasten’d dye, Enchants so much our mortal eye. When pleasure’s spring-tide season glows, The Graces love to wreathe the rose; And Venus, in its fresh-blown leaves, An emblem of herself perceives. Oft hath the poet’s magic tongue The rose’s fair luxuriance sung; And long the Muses, heavenly minads, Have rear’d it in their tuneful shades. When, at the early glance of morn, It sleeps upon the glittering thorn, FLY not thus my brow of snow, Lovely wanton! fly not so. Though the wane of age is mine, Though youth’s brilliant flush be thine, Still I’m doom’d to sigh for thee, Blest, if thou couldst sigh for me! See, in yonder flowery braid, Cull’d for thee, my blushing maid, 241 How the rose, of orient glow, Mingles with the lily’s snow; Mark, how sweet their tints agrce, Just, my girl, line thee and me I I’ll. Llll LIV. METMNKIS, the picturld bull we see Is amorous Jove-it must be be! How fondly blest lie seems to bear That fairest of PhcF,,nician fair! How proud he breasts the foamy tide, And spurns the billowy surge aside! Could any be-,ist of vulgar vein Undaunte(.1, thus defy the main? No: he descends from climes above, He looks the God, he breathes of Jove-! LT.

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THE MIRROR LI] I .. ‘Tis sweet to dare the tangled fence, To cull the timid flow’ret thence, And wipe with tender hand away The tear that on its blushes lay! ‘Tis sweet to hold the itifant stems, Yet dropping with Aurora’s gems, And fresh inhale the spicy sighs That from the weeping buds arise. AWHOsE was the artist hai)d that spread Upon this disk the ocean’s Ibed? And, in a flight of fimcy, high As aught on earthly win,g can fly.

Depicted thus, in senmblance warm, The Queen of Love’s voluptuous form Floating along the silv’ry sea In beauty’s nakied mrajest! Oh! he hath given th’ enamour’d sight A witching banquet of delight, Where, gleaming through the waters cear, Glimpses of undreamt charms appear, And all that mvstery loves to screen, Fancy, like Faith, adores unseen. When revel reigns, when mirth is high, and Bacchus beams in every eye, Our rosy fillets scent exhale, And fill with balm the fainting gale. There’s nought in nature bright or gay, Where roses do not shed their ray. When morning paints the orient skies, Her fingers burn with roseate dyes; Young nymphs betray the rose’s hue, O’er whitest arms it kindles through. In Cytherea’s form it glows, And mingles with the living snows. Light as the leaf, that on the breeze, Of summer skims the glassy seas, She floats along the ocean’s breast, Which undulates in sleepy rest; While stealing on, she gently pillows Her bosom on the heaving billows. Her bosom, like the dew-wash’d rose, Her neck, like April’s sparkling snows, Illume the liquid path she traces, And burn within the stream’s embraces. Thus on she moves, in languid pride, Encircled by the azure tide, As some fair lily o’er a bed Of violets bends its graceful head. Beneath their queen’s inspiring glance, The dolphins o’er the green sea dance, Bearing in triumph young Desire, And infant Love with smiles of fire! While, glittering through the silver waves. The tenants of the briny caves Around the pomp their gambols play, And gleam along the watery way. The rose distils a healing balm, The beating pulse of pain to calm; Preserves the cold inurned clay, And mocks the vestige of decay: And when at length, in pale decline, Its florid beauties fade and pine, Sweet as in youth, its balmy breath Diffuses odour even in death! Oh! whence could such a plant have sprung? Listen,-for thus the tale is sung. When, humid, from the silvery stream, Effusing beauty’s warmest beam, Venus appeared, in flushing hues, Mellow’d by ocean’s briny dews; When, in the starry courts above, The pregnant brain of mighty Jove Disclos’d the nymph of azure glance, The nymph who shakes the martial lance;Then, then, in strange eventful hour, The earth produc’d an infant flower, Which sprung, in blushing glories drest, And wanton’d o’er its parent breast. The gods beheld this brilliant birth, And hliail’d the Rose, the boon of earth! With nectar drops, a ruby tide, The sweetly orient buds they died, And bade them bloom, the flowers divine Of him who gave the glorious vine; And bade them on the spangled thorn Expand their bosoms to the morn. When Gold, as fleet as zephyr’s pinioU Escapes like any faithless minion, And flies me (as he flies me ever,) Do I pursue him?

never, never! No, l e t the false deserter go, For who c ould court hi s di res t fo e? But, when I feel my lighten’d mind No more by grovelling gold confin’d, Then loose I all such clinging cares, And cast them to the vagrant airs. Then feel I, too, the Muse’s spell, And wake to life the dulcet shell, Which, rous’d once more, to beauty sings, While love dissolves along the strings! LVI. HE who instructs the youthful crew To bathe them in the brimmer’s dew, And taste, uncloy’d by rich excesses, All the bliss that wine possesses He, who inspires the youth to bound Elastic through the dance’s round, Bacchus, the god again is here, And leads along the blushing year; The blushing year with vintage teems, Ready to shed those cordial streams, Which, sparkling in the cup of mirth, Illuminate the sons of earth! But scarcely has my heart been t aught How little Gold deserves a thought, When, lo! the slave returns once more And with him wafts delicious store Of racy wn ine, whose genial art In slumber seals the anxious heart. Again he tries my soul to sever From love an(t song, perhaps for ever. Away, deceiver! why pursuing Ceaseless thus my heart’s undoing? Sweet is the soLg of amorous fire, Sweet the sighs that thrill the lyre; Oh! sweeter far than all the gold Thy wings can waft, thy mines can hold Well do I know thy arts, thy wilesThey wither’d Love’s young wreathed smi-_m; And o’er his lucre such darkness shed, I thought its soul of son, was fled.! T’hey dash’d the urine-cup, that, by him, Was filI’d with kisses to the brim Go-fly to haunts of sortlid mnen. But come not near the bard again. Then, when the ripe and vermil wine,Blest infant of the pregnant vine, Which now in mellow clusters swells,On! when it bursts its roseate cells, Brightly the joyous stream shall flow, To balsam ever,, mortal woe! None shall be then cast down or weak, For health and joy shall light each cheek; No heart will then desponding sigh, For wine shall bid despondence fly. Thus-till another autumn’s glow Shall bid another vintage flow. .4 II I i 242 LVII. LVIII.

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243 And when to clasp the nymph he thought, A lifeless tree was all he caught; And, stead of sighs that pleasure heaves, Heard but the west-w ind in the leaves! Thy glitter i;] the Mu.se’s shade, Scares fromn her bower the tuneful maid; And not for wocrlds would I forego That moment of poetic glow, When my lull soutl, in Fancy’s stream, Pours o’er the lyre its swelling theme. Away, away! to worldlings hence, Who feel not this diviner sense; Give gold to those who love that pest,But leave the poet poor and blest. But, pause, my soul, no more, no moreEnthusiast, whither do I soar?

This sweetly-mad’ning dream of soul Hath hurried me beyond the goal. Whv should I sing the mighty darts Which fly to wound celestial hearts, When ah, the song, with sweeter tone, Can tell the darts that wound my own?

Still be Anacreon, still inspire The descant of the Teian lyre: Still let the nectar’d numbers float, Distilling love in every note! And when some youth, whose glowing soul Has felt the Paphian star’s control, When he the liquid lays shall heag, His heart will flutter to his ear, And drinking there of song divine, Banquet on intellectual wine! RIPEN‘‘D by the solar beam, Now the ruddy clusters teem, In osier baskets borne along By all the festal vintage throng Of rosy youths and virgins fair, Ripe as the melting fruits they bear. Now, nowv they press the pregnant grapes, And now the captive stream escapes, In fervid tide of nectar gushing, And for its bondage ) proudly blushing! While, round the vat’s impurpled brim, The choral song, the vintage hymn Of rosy youths and virgins fair, Steals on the charm’d and echoing air. Mark, how they drink, with all their eyes, rhe orient tide that sparkling flies, The infant Bacchus, born in mirth, While Love stands by, to hail the birthW YOUTH’S endearing charms are fled; Hoary locks deform my head; Bloomy graces, dalliance gay, All the flowers of life decay. Withering age begins to trace Sad memorials o’er my face; Time has shed its sweetest bloom, All the future must be gloom. This it is that sets me sighing; Dreary is the thought of dying! Lone and dismal is the road, Down to Pluto’s dark abode; And, when once t1e journey’s o’er, Ah! we can return no more’ When he, whose verging years decline As deep into the vale as mine, When he inhales the vintage-cup, His feet, new-wing’d from earth spring up, And as he dances, the fresh air Plays whispering through his silvery hair. Meanvwhile young groups whom love invites, To jcys ev’n rivalling wine’s delights, Seek, arm in arm, the shadowy grove, And there, in words and looks of love, Such as fond lovers look and say, Pass the sweet moonlight hours vaway. FILL me, boy, as deep a draught, As e’er was fill’d, as e’er was quaffld; /But let the water amply flow, To cool the grape’s intemperate glow; Let not the fiery god be single, But with the nymphs in union mingle. For though the bowl’s the grave of sadness, Ne’er let it be the birth of madnesNo, banish from our board to-night The revelries of rude delight; To Scythians leave these wild excesses, Ours be the joy that soothes and blesses! And while the temperate bowl we wreathe, In concert let our voices breathe, Beguiling every hour along With harmony of soul and song. AWAKE to life, my sleeping shelL To Phcebus let thy numbers swell, And though no glocrious prize be thine, No Pythian wreath around thee twine, Yet every hour is glory’s hour To him toho gatheris wsisdom’s flower. Then wvake thee from thy voiceless slumbers, And to the soft and Phrvgian numbers,. Which, tremblinglv, mv lips repeat, Send echoes from thy chord as sweet. ‘Tis thus the swant, with fa(ling notes, Down the Cayster’s current floats, While amorous breezes linger round, And sigh responsive sound for sound, Muse of the Lyre! illume my dream, Thy Phoebus is my fancy’s theme; And hallow’d is the harl)p bear, And hallow’d is the wreath I wear, Hallow,‘d bv him, the god of lays, Who modulates the choral maze. I sing the love which Daphne twin’d Around the godhead’s yielding mind; I sing the blushing Daphne’s flight From this ethereal son of Light; And hoar the tender, timid maid Flew trembling to the kindly shade, Resigii’d a form, alas, too fair, And grew a verdant laurel there; Whose leaves, with sympathetic thrill, In terror seem’d to tremble still! The god pursu’d, with wing’d desire; And when his hopes were all on fire, To Love, the soft and blooming child, I touch the harp in descant wild; To Love, the babe of Cyprian bowers, The boy, who breathes and blushes flowers, To Love, for heaven and earth adore him, And gods and mortals bow before him I HASTE thee, nymph, whose well iw’d spea Wounds the fleeting mountain deer! Dian, Jove’s immortal child, Huntress of the savage wild! Goddess with the sun-bright hair! Listen to a people’s prayer. Turn, to Lethe’s river turn, There thy vanquish’d people mourn! I I F I ‘I ‘I S OF ANACREON. LIX. LXT. LXII. LX. LXIII. I LXIV

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E MIRROR LIBRARY. Now, now, my friends, the gathering gloom With roseate rays of wine illuiae: And while our wreaths of parsley spread Their fadeless foliage round our head, Let’s hymn th’ almighty power of wine, And shed libations on his shrine! 244 TH Come to Lethe’s w%avv shore, Tell them they shall mourn no more. T hine their hearts, their altars thine; Must they, Dian-must they pine? .XV. LixE some wanton filly sporting, Maid of Thrace, thou fly’st my courting. Wanton filly! tell me why Thou trip’st away, with scornful eye, And seem’st to think my doating heart Is novice in the bridling art? Believe me, girl, it is not so; Thou’lt find this skilful hand can throw The reins around that tender form, However wild, however warm. Yes-trust me I can tame thy force, And turn and wind thee in the course. Though, wasting now thy careless hours, Thou sport amid the herbs and flowers, Soon shalt thou feel the rein’s control, And tremble at the wish’d-for goal! THEY wove th e lotus band t o d ec k And fan with peiisile wreath each neck; And every guest, to shade his head, Three little fragrant chaplets spread; And one was of th’ Egyptian leaf, The rest were roses, fair and brief: While from a golden vase profound, To all on flowery beds around, A Hebe, of celestial shape, Pour’d the rich droppings of the grape! A BROKEN calve, with honey sweet, Is all my spare and simple treat: And while a generous bowl I crown To float mly little banquet down, I take the soft, the amorous lyre, And sing of love’s delicious fire: In mirthful measures warm and free, I sing, dear maid, and sing for thee! LXVI. To thee, the Queen of nymphs divine, Fairest of all that fairest shine; To thee, who rul’st with darts of fire This world of mortals, young Desire! And oh! thou nuptial Power, to thee Who bear’st of life the guardian key, Breathing my soul in fervent praise, And weaving wild my votive lays, For thee, 0 Queen! I wakle the lyre, For thee, thou blushing young Desire, And oh! for thee, thou nuptial Power, Come, and illume this genial hour. The nursling fawn, that in some shade It’s antler’d mother leaves behind, Is not more wantonly afraid, More timid of the rustling wind! Look on thy bride, too happy boy, And while thy lambent glance of joy Plays over all her blushing charms, Delay not, snatch her to thine arms, Before the lovely, trembling prey, Like a young birdling, wing away! Turn, Stratocles, too happy youth, Dear to the queen of amorous truth, And dear to her, whose yielding zone Will soon resign her all thine own. Turn to Myrilla, turn thine eye, Breathe to Myrilla, breathe thy sigh. To those bewitching beauties turn; For thee they blush, for thee they burn. Not more the rose, the queen of flowers, Outblushes all the bloom of bowers, Than she unrivall’d grace discloses, The sweetest rose, where all are roses. Oh! may the sun, benignant, shed His blandest influence o’er thy bed; And foster there an infant tree, To bloom like her, and tower like thee! AWHILE I bloom’d, a happy flower, Till Love approach’d one fatal hour And made my tender branches feel The wounds of his avenging steel. Then lost I fell, like some poor willow That falls across the wintry billow! LXXIV. MONARCH Love, resistless boy, With whom the rosy Queen of Joy, And nymphs, whose eyes have Heaven’s hut Disporting tread the mountain-dew; Propitious, oh! receive mv sighs, Which, glowing with entreaty, rise, That thou wilt whisper to the breast Of her I love thy soft behest; And counsel her to learn from thee, That lesson thou hast taught to me. Ah! if my heart no flattery tell, Thou’lt own I’ve learn’d that lesson well! LXXV. RICH in bliss, I proudly scorn The wealth of Amalthea’s horn; Nor should I ask to call the throne Of the Tartessian prince my own; To totter through his train of years, The victim of declining fears. One little hour of joy to me Is worth a dull eternity!

Now Neptune’s month ouT sky deforms, The angry night-cloud teems with storms; And savage winds, infuriate driven Flvy howling in the face of heaven I i i,xix. LXX. LXXI. WITH twenty chords my lvre is hun And while I wake them’at for tj!e, Thou, 0 maiden, wild and young, Disport’st in airy levity. LXXII. FARF. thee well, perfidious maid, Ntv soul, too long on earth delay’d,. Delay’d, perfidious girl, by thee, Is on the wing for liberty. I fly to seek a kindlier sphere, Since thou hast ceas’d to love me here LXXIII. LXVII. LXVITT. SPIRIT of Love, whose locks unroll’d, Stream on the I)reeze like floating gold;

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ODES OF ANACREON. AMIONG the Epigrams of the Anthlologia, arefound some panegyrics on Anacreon, which I had translated, and originally intended as a sort of Coronis to this work. But I found upon consideration, that they wanted variety; and that a frequent recurrence, in them, of the same thought, would render a collection of such poems uninteresting. I shall take the liberty, however, of subjoining a few, selected from the number, that I may not appear to have totally neglected those ancient tributes to the fame of Anacreon. The four epigrams which I give are imputed to Antipater Sid(onius. They are rendered, perhaps, with too much freedom; but designing originally a translation of all that are extant on the subject, I en(leavoured to enliven their uniformity by sometimes indulging in the liberties o. paraphrase. Come: within a fragrant cloud Blushing with light, thy votary shroud; And, on those wings that sparkling play, Waft, oh, waft me hence away! Love! my soul is full of thee, Alive to all thv ltuxry. But she, the ni!,-mph for fathom I glow, The lovely Lesbianr mocks iny woe; Smiles at the chill and hoary hues, That time upon my forehead strews. Alas! I fear she keeps her charms, In store for younger, happier arms! AROUND the tomb, oh, bard divine! Where soft thy hallow’d brow reposes, Lon g may the deathless ivy twine, And summer spread her waste of roses! HITHER, gentl e muse of mine, Come and teach thy votary old Many a golden hymn divine, For the nymph with vest of gold. And there shall many a fount distil, And many a rill refresh the flowers; But wine shall be e ach pu rple rill, And every fount be milky showers. Prett y nymyh, of tender age, Fair thy silky locks unfold; Listen to a hoary sage, Sweetest maid with vest of gold! Thus, shade of him, whom nature taught To tune his lyre and soul to pleasure, Who gave to love his tenderest thought, Who gave to love his fondest measure, WOULD that I were a tuneful lyre, Of burnish’d ivory fair, Which, in thv Dionysian choir, Some blooming boy should bear! Thus, after death, if shades can feel, Thou may’st, from odours round thee streaming, A pulse of past enjoymen t steal, And live again in blissful dreaming! Would that I were a golden vase, That so me br ight nvmph might hold My spotless framne, with blushing grace, Herself as pure as gold! HERE sleeps Anacreon, in this ivied shade; Here mute in death the Teian swan is laid. Cold, cold that heart, which while on earth it dwelt All the sweet firenzy of love’s tpassion felt. And yet, oh Bard! thou art not mute in death, Still do we catch thy lyre’s luxurious breath; And still thy songs of soft B3athvlla bloom, Green as the ivy round thy mould’ring tomb. Nor yet has death obscur’d thy fire of love, For still it lights thee through the Elysian grove; Where dreams are thine, that bless th’ elect alone, And Venus calls thee even in death her own’ Cuprm, whose lamp has lent the ray, That lights our life’s meandering way, That God, within this bosom stealing Hath waken’d a strange, mingled feeling, Which pleases, th(aligh so sadly teasing, And teases, though so sweetly pleasing! Om stra nger! if Anacreon’s shell Has ever taught thy heart to swell With passion’s throb or pleasure’s sigh In pity turn, as wand’ring nigh, And drop thy goblet’s richest tear In tend erest l ibation her e! So shall my sleeping ashes thrill With visions of enjoyment still. Not even in death can I resign The festal joy,s that once were mine, When Harmony purlsu,‘d my ways, And Bacchus wanton’d to my lays. Oh! if delight could charm no more, If all the goblet’s bliss were o’er, When fate had once our doom decreed, Then dying would be death indeed; Nor could I think, u,,blest by wine, Divinity itself divine! I KNOW thou lov’st a brimming measure, And art a kind(ly, cordial host; Blut let me fill and drink at pleasure Thus I enjoy the goblet most. I FEAR that love disturbs my rest, ‘Yet feel not love’s impassion’d care, I think there’s madness in my breast, Yet cannot find that madness there! FROMT dread Leucadia’s frowning steep, I’ll plhnge into the wshitening deep: And the,e lie cold, to death resign’d, Since Love intoxicates my mind! AT length thy golden hours have wing’d their flight, And drowsy death that eyelid steepeth; Thy harp, that whisper’d through each lingering night. Now mutely in oblivion sleepeth! She too, for whom that harp profusely shed The purest nectar of its numbers, She, the young spring of thy desires, hath fled, And with her blest Anacreon slumbers! Farewell! thou had’st a pulse for every dart That mighty T ove could scatter from his quiver, And each new beauty found in thee a heart, Which.thou, witlh all thy heart and soul, didst gire IW ,i I I 245 LXXVI.

LXXVII. LXXVIII. WmEiv Ctipid sees how thickly now, The snows of Time fall o’er my brow, Upon his wing of golden light, He passes with an eaglet’s flight, An(] flitting onward seems to say, 11 Fare thee -,vell, thou’st had thy day!’ Mix me, child, a cti,,) divine, Cryst-al NNater, rubv ,vitie Weave tlii, frontl(t, richly flushing, O’er mv v; ii t i tenii)les blushing. Mix te bi-‘ni’ and I 1 111”l’ov’ Sfiall n0 in,,r, t1), c,,ntest, trv. Here,)on ti is I,(,IV surrender all Div so ul’

Page 246 view page image that we sympathise even in his excesses. In his amatory odes tl’ei,- i R E

M A g K S O N A N A C R E 0 N. a delicacy of compliment not to be found in a t oither cieiit let THFRan is buit little known with cettainty of the life of Anacreon. Love at that period ri-. tt an Cham,‘eleon Heracleatea, wIho wrote upon the siubject, hat been lost in crse of tle se s a as Thyknew not those littl’e~,I ress~ i’,,mth )ii;;i::t the general cf an c iet literature. T he eOiors of the poet si h kte cellected the f w trifling a necd otes which are aofatlection tere thr h he of an~~~~~~~~~~~~~~titloi, and uplstnghecd poetry of lov e deprivjed it tcf i’s nost c,~i:t~g.~t( extant auithors of antiqu~ity, and, supplyl,ing th-e dei..nyof materialsr,danth etyo,edlii by fictions of their own imaginon, hav e arran.d, %-hat tliev call, Anacreon, howevet’ nit i”s tir life of Anacreon. The set ige the samo delicacy ofns acI in n I o fn,g him also from yieldling t,. thle freedom of1;gg+,,hihhssli, that interest which fe nituralluoteo in the ttingralphy of illustrious the pages of all the othei poets. Ili, ei,rt the men; t,,ut it is rather a dang-ero,:, kind of illuio, asi centbunds the limits of his orv and romance, and is too often supported by unfaithful asnutii is i the id r ts II,’ wantoni, and ardent w~ithouit being licenttious. Hi,s 1oetic iientten is citation. Oo.r poet was born the – of Ti O.3 ii the lieens region of always most bhilliantlv displayed in those allegorical l(, ons w, ppeors to hose b’ enso many haveneoqrdt imita’e, though.11 hate contissed te Ionia, and the time of his birth appears to have been in the sixth een-somyhaeedaoieit it!,tloghElaecot(,,dte tury before Clristo atable perio when, to be inimitable. Simlilicit) is the distingiishing feature of these odes, under the polished It,rants Hipporchtts and PoI,-crales, Atliens ind and they interest by their inocence, a. much as they fa-scinate by Samos were b e come t e rial of gnt ng their beauty. The y may be said, inde d, to be the very infants of the certain known about hi. famil, hoe who pretnd to lisp in number M” I illotbacuses,ad tof eli~ iistcp,,t~y13 hs -in havbers Plato that lie was a descendant of thb monarch Codiia, show i h more of eal tha.

of eithei- ac~irac,- or.,Ig~ent. read and lilt the original; but to others, I am conscious, this should The di:,-position an,] taleips o f h;.

to the not be the language of a translator, whos efaint reflectial of such beaumonarch of St end ot su~h a irin ties can but ill justify his of them. ains, Plrae. Sseple onyt he,,as fres t I, the f,-enlt nott,he ca lr-n as,i Polycro’es. Sutreptible of Anacreon music and poetry were inseparable. These ruptions of tle tooi~t; aid, P,-tlihtgor, fledi ft-oni tse Itvran, cindred talents w-ere for a long time associated, and the poet always Anacreon hi,wa,,ai~es roleth I. a,,. 1,7,,~ are tol~l too 1,;,inng his own compo.;itions to the lce. It is probable that they were Maxiratis Tylri,~,, that, b~l the i~fl,~en-e oft his’not set to an)’ regular air, but rather a kind of musical recitation, ened the mind of Polyc arate i noaspryt ofgs henesolfetowrsi ene,,d the mind of Polvc,,~it into a spirit of benev olence totards his hich,-as varied according to the fancy and fi elings of the moment. ,subjects. The poems of Anacreon were sung at ianquets as late as the time of The amours of the poet, anti the rivalship of the tyrant, I shall pass Atilsi, Gelli hat he heari one of the odes performed at over in silence; and there are are few, I presume, who will regret irthedot emission of most of those anecdotes,,-I,hih the industyofsome editors The singgilar beauty of our poe’s style, and the apparent facility has not onl~l pro..]-ed, but disc.t.-c perhaps, of his a dtre have attractesi, as I have already remarked, r po d esyadvrteicaaloe in tia repunae y~nppstio mnodesty andl i0t~i, i s o lon~iverel in e~hi c arsupposition rod of imitators.a these have succeeded w ith wonderful fe.

erC fayourable to humanity a, im possible; and +his amiable prt licits, as may be discerned in [‘he few odes w,hich are attributed to ‘gion sho5ild b m~ich m-rit ers of a later ieriod. But none ofhis imitators have been half so s~on shold be muh mr~restrongl y e ntertane,whrthtangression wars w,7ith natu,re as,,,ell as Bvi~ne. Bt why- are w I dangerous to his fame as those Greek of the eatly ages, to indulge in the pressimption? IN’h, a,,,e oust)‘i.,,,Iy reminded that 11 lwo, be:ns cons cious of their own infen’ioity to their great prot,types, there hate bee n rha’et oftfhicsly reminded tht determined on removing all tpoisibility of comlparisoin, and, under a semblae n e of moral ieal, deprived the,world of some of the most eyx fpatcherPissthor,vatu Aha d, I~ p owrert wasic I l, n’e of Shoaepp~ceho and Aleu father Pi~istrat~i-, h,,l usit pe t one of i et tim)e uis. The woirks of Sappho and Alctmus said to have polishet the fetters oftheic stibiecto. Hts re among tlote flower., of Grecian literature which th,s fell bec cording to Plato, who edi’ed the poems, of Hlom,,r, and commanded nahle~eadfclsa,ial,s,-~in t,,relepe cordi~~~~~~~~~

~ ~~~~~~ngatohl the rudemtan ofeIem eiaotical piressumlitiun. It is true they pro 5atthem et’obesun,,,toth of the l’anae tended that this sacrifice of genius was hallowed by the interests of sFom hisorhic a t ofgalay ofenii Anareon religion; but I have alread) assigned the most probable motive: and ,oosildl not lung lie 1-1,h,ent. Hititta’hs uta tasefo h’i te if Gregorins Nazianzenitshd not written Anacreontics, we might now poe~~~~~~~~~~~~~~,t rail fmbrae theinitain, adtheMueanthLoe poet readilt

(.attocerth ao, and the \o uses and the LoTes erhaps hot h e Telan unmutilated, and be empowered were wafted with him to.\:hen s. to say exultingly with Horace, The manner of A o’e ath,a singular. We r told that i Nee si quid olil r 5i.i..“c:-r’.’: tbe eighty -fifthear of hi, ago he was choked by a grape-stone; and, huwevet tvi11 may3~ ra.ils at thoir eti,hiitiastir partialitvy who see in this The zeal bv which these bishops professed to be actuated, gave birth easy and characteristic death a peculiar indulgerce of Heaven, we cannot help ad, Stsl’hamore inocraeatly indeed, to an absurd species of parody, as repugnant annothel p dispoition. i olrninsha t hllti,es ft, tiit catastrophe bin temlemto piety as it is to taste, where the poet of voluptuousness was made a his disp~osition. C(,Ieius Cale,-gninii, allud~es to this catastrophe in thle fotlowiug epitaph on our pot Tpreacher of the gospel, and hi, muse, like the Venus in armour at La. cedt’emon, was arrayed in all the severities of pri-iestly instruction. Those lips, then, ll~w’d sage, which pour’d along Such was the “Anacreon Recantatus,” by Carolsns de Aquino, a Je Amsic sweet a, any cygnetis song, suit, published 1701, which consisted of a eie of tpalinodes to the The grapse hati clos’d for ever several songs of our poet. Such, too, -as the Christian Anacreon of Here let the itv, is the poet’s tomb, Patrigarnis, another Jesuit, who preposterously transferred to a most Here let the rose he lo,‘it with laurels bloom, sacred subject all that the Grecian poet had dedicated to festivity and Inbs that e’er shall se ver. love. His metre has frequently been adoptedsby the modern Ltin poets; Buit far be tio ~ i. oh far, inholt a ine, and Scaliger, Taubman, B and otherr, have shown that it is by no means uncongenial with tIiat Ingsage. The Anac reonticsofSea B3 Icom tvt e ma~o.,ite ninstrel of the Nine liger, however, scarcely leoerve the name; a, they glitter all over th God wctcit,l and though often elegant, are alwaisra lalsoured.

The Thy Gc. d himself now blus~hes, to confess, iare( Isoino’itte S hebe feit he lo,es the less, ntso preserve more happily than any Since poor Anocree others the d ose allegorical fables, which, passing so frequ~ently through the mediums of version and imitaticn, have gene,t has been stp bouso i bt’siAnecreon anti Saptiho ralls lost their finest iavs in the transmission. Mans of the Italian were contemporaries; ai the C) thosiglit of an intercourse between poeos have indulged their fancies tipsia the siiljects ind in the manner persons so coigenial, loth is arm ih of passion and delicacy of go ofAnscreo e a T first introduced the metre, which was nins, gives stich play to the ima th the min loves to indulg ftdpolis hed and enriched by Chabriera and others. In it. But the vision dissolves befre h istorical truth ~ and Chamre To jtdge b) the references of Degern, the German language abounds leon and Herme the totrcc of the suipposition, are con- in Anacreontic imitations; and Hagedorn is one among many who sidered as having mer~e indulged in a poeticail anachronism. have assumed him as a model. La Farre, Chasiliei, and the other To infer the macat dst’.otitiunt of a po-‘ from the tone of sentiment light poets of France, have also professed to cultivate the muse of which peevol, his ometimes’ a veiy fallacious analoz); Toos; but they have attained all her negligence with little of the sim. but the soi f Aua Ioon speaks so I,neqiiocally through his odes pl grace th bard of Schilas we find thit we m-,it s,feIt con7,nlt them a, tile fa,‘ mirror:,, of his heart. the kindred spirit of Anacreon: some of his gazelles or songs possess We fint him there the elegant voluptuary, diffising the seductive all fheeharacterofour iot chlarm of ten t o anat trpeniit at which csgid in Cs oe now to a retrospect ofthe editions of Anacreon. To Henratits niust fro w n leat,u d elo_ to snolue n e sem t o hav v.tpens waeinetdfor having first recovered his remains naug inIsapinos bt sedomhap from the olioscuity in swhich, so singutlaily, they had for many ages in tse ealth.

rho cheorftilnesst indeed witi tsbirli lie reposed. He fonnd the setven t odeuswae tol, on the cover of an ti ghten hi ol1 a-e it intecetting and ondeacing: like list otwn cs olbokadcra nitei0metonsete,iesm he)-i f,ao.erant n i n eay But the most pecstliar featture of hiue5 tpe es te eyyog Oidi ha.v of timplirita, twlich he aittribtti 5 to himself so feel- antI this discovr wascnieebysmcrtc of that day as a lite iul,a~ ih’

brt.iihet charc t erssialtruhoiit all that he car) impositi o n vI 5 oteert he gave Anacreon to the world, hat situ. In truith, if soce omi those fews vires in ohurr dino tesgreater parth religion is that useecatetl ts e shallof the odes. The learnedl still hiesitateid to rceitve them as the relics be taclined to sty thai the disporti~on of ouc poe’t sas amiable; thath of h i lrdsdsuprsm mritware/laxed, but not aban so”1; assl +hat V irtue tsith heie romtbc h one lios et. mat be an 015t emblt.m of the character of Ana.io lascisitrit cositdySa. pe’on n Iph‘5tueuna int b~ pcst’ e 5 otsussectin ligieC and Samai,s “uime she antiquity of the poems. A very’ messori As, tha t i wrebette,peh to leave the pencil to fancy;itc’ct ct o hsa s si h ad 5he ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~~,~todi’ ofh~itch Barne’s has tistlowe d in lisi collation. Accordingly selves thb, form of the antinated otti basd, Cro’sne.t1s;ish rots’s, and he mirt eprn,t amst a s oate liqe quotes; antI the subsequent cdisinging oc’cefiillv to his Iye.tas rclin u i~ authlity ae’ si’okeii of the mannscript with After the Se v’es nthuisiah+csteluloiiims betowtftvd lto I’hob ancients outes’st confidec hninrn h t’terr wocldl newever, has antd moderns:~~n’hs poItemns of Anacreon, twe ne,t.: not bt’ di~ffidlent in a eii iels seei eosto h otb h C beititcur ~o~tototo ponusnce indisotr- ofrthe Atlit’ Spalotis. who tintlslshed at P ome, in I1, a fad lion~~~~~~~~~~~ ~ ~ ~~~s,tems_ute ean f0~.1st’ e c,itsc.al smile of’

tho’s’ psages ofrthe Vatican mansiscriost which contained tie. .eanty, all enciotan’mant.. He steals us so insensibly: along wvith him, odsoAnren THE

MIRROR LIBRARY. 246

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RHYMES ON THE ROAD, EXTRACTED FROM THE JOURNAL OF A TRAVELLING MEMBER OF

THE POCO.CURANTE SOCIETY. THE greater part of the following Rhymes were written or composed in an old caleche, for the purpose of beguiling the ennui of solitary travelling; and as verses, made by a gentleman in his sleep, have been lately called ” a psychological curiosity,” it is to be hoped that verses, composed by a gentleman to keep himself awake, may be honoured with some appellation equally Greek. INTRODUCTORY RHYMES.

Dtffe’ent attitudes in which aithor’s compose.-Bayes, Henry Stephens, Herodotis, kc.-Writing in Bed-iii the Fields.-Plato and Si-r Ri chard Blackmore.-Fiddling with Gloves and Twigs.-Madame de Stael-Rhymtng on the Road, in an old Caleche. WHAT various attitudes, and ways, And tricks, we authors have in writing! While some write sitting, some, like BAYES, Usually stand, while they’re inditing. Poets there are, wvho wear the floor out, Measuiilig a line at every stride; While some, like HENRY

STEPHENS, pour out Rhymes by the dozen, while they ride. HERODOTUS wrote most in bed; And RIcHERAND, a French physician, Declares the clock-work of the head Goes best in that Seclin’d position. If you consuIlt MIONTAIGNE and PLINY on The subject,‘tis their joint opinion That Thought its richest harvest yields Abroad, among the woods and fields; That Bards, who deal in small retail, At home may, at their counters, stop; But that the grove, the hill, the vale, Are Poesv’s true wholesale shop. And, verily, I think they’re right For, many a time, on summer eves, Just at that closini hour of light, When, like an Eastern Pr ince, who leaves For distant war his Haram bow’rs, The Sun bidls ftrewell to the flow’rs, Whose heads are sunkl, w hose tears are flowing Mid all the Glory of his going! Ev’n I have felt, btieath those beams, When wanvd’ri g thLiugth the fields alone, Thoughts, fancies, intellectual gleams, Which, far too bright to be my own, Seem’d lent me bv the Sunny Pow’r, That was abroad at that still hour. And (if the wits don’t do him wrong) ‘Twixt death* and epics pass’d h is time, Scribbling and killing all day longLike Phoebus in his car, at ease, Now warbling forth a lofty song, Now murd’ring the young Niobes.

There was a hero’mong the Danes, Who wrote, we’re told,‘mid all the pains And horrors of exenteration, Nine charming odes, which, if you’ll look, You’ll find preserv’d, with a translation, By BARTHOLINUS in his book. In short,‘twere endless to recite The various modes in which men write. Some wits are only in the mind, When beaux and belles are round them prating, Some, when they dress for dinner, find Their muse and valet both in waiting; And manage, at the self-same time, To adjust a neckcloth and a rhyme. If thus I’ve felt, how must they feel, The feev, whom genuine Genius warms; Upon whose souils he stamps his seal, Graven with 3eautv-‘s countless forms;The few upon this earth, who seem Born to give truth to P

A.TO’S dream, Since in their th(oughts, as in a glass, Shadows of lieavenlv things appear, Reflections of bright shapes that pass Through othei worlds, above our sphere! Bit this reminds me I digress-; For PLATO, too, prodic’d,‘tis said, (As one, indeed, might almost guess,s His glorious visions all in bed. ‘Twas ii. his carriage the sublime Sir RircHARD BLACKMOPRE used to rily:no; Some bards there are who cannot scribble Without a glove, to tear or nibble; Or a small twig to whisk ab-out As if the hidden founts of Fancy, Like wells of old, were thus found out By mystic tricks of rhabdomancy. Such was the little feathery wand,t That, held for ever in the hand Of her,: who won and vore the crown Of female genius in this age, Seem’d the conductor, that drew down Those words of lightning to her page. As for myself-to come, at last, To the odd way in which IvwriteHaving employ’d these few months past Chiefly in travelling, day and night, I’ve got into the easy mode, Of rhyming thus along the roadMaking a way-bill of my pages, Counting my stanzas by my stages’Twixt lays and re-lays no time lostIn short, in two words, writing post. Fiew of the Lake of Generafr-om the Jura.-nxiou* to reach it before the Sun went down.-Obliged to proceed on Foot.-lps-At W Blanc.-Effect of the Scene. H Sir Richard Blackmore was a physician, as well as a bad po t Made of paper, twisted up like a fan or feather. Madame de Stael, t Between Vattay and Gex. I s i i I I I EXTRACT I. ‘TwHs late-the sun had almost shone His last and best, when I ran on,

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FHE MIRROR LIBRARY. Anxious to reach thet slendild view, EXTRACT II Before the day-beaiis (quite withc’ew; O]im And feeling as all feel, ol first .’..TE OF GE_’IEVA IN TIiE YEAR 1782. Approachinrg scenes, here, thev are told, iuch glories on their eyes will burst, A FRAGME:NT. ..yutfl..dsi draI beod YE-ftee1e1iesoeo oe YEs-if there yet live some of hose, Who, when this small Republlic ose, Quick as a startled hive of’ bees, Against her leaguering enemies* When, as the Royal Satrap shook His well-known’I fetters at her gates, Ev’nt wives and mottlers arm’d, and took Their stations by their sons a nd mates; And on these walls ther e stood-,yet, no, Shame to the traitors-would have sto od As firm d a band as e’er let flow At Freedom’s base their sacred blood; If those yet live, who, on that night, When all were watching, girt for fight, Stole, like the creeping of a pest, From rank to rank, from breast to breast, Fillin g he e a the weak the old with fears, Turning the heroine’s zeal to tears,Betraying Honou r t o that b rink, Where, one step more, and he must sinkAnd quenching hopes, which, though the last, Like meteor s o n a drowning mast,. Would yet have led to de a th more bright, Than life e’er look’d in all its light! Till soon, too soon, distrust, alarms Throughout the embattled thousands ran, And the high spirit, late in arms, The zeal, that might have work’d such charms, Fell, like a broker, talismanTheir gates, that they had sworn should ba The gates of Death, that very dawn, Gave passage wi(dely, bloodlessly, To the proud foe-nor sword was arawli, Nor ev’n one martyr’d body cast To stain their footsteps, as they pass’d; But, of the many sworn at night To do or die, some fled the sight, Some stood to look, with sullen frown, While some, in impotent despair, Broke their bright arm our and lay down, Weeping, upon the fiagments there!If those, I say, who brought that shame, That blast upon GENEVAxS name, Be living still-though crime so dark Shall hang up, fix’d and unforgiv’n, In History’s page, the eternal mark For Scorn to pierce-so help me, Heav’L. I wish the traitorous slaves no worse, No deeper, deadlier disaster, From all earth’s ills no fouler curse Than to have * * * * * * * * * * * their master! Twas distant tyet, a d, as I ran, Full often was my wistlul gaze rurn’d to the sul, -ho now began To call ir all his out-post rays, And form a dleniser march of ligrht, Such as beseemns a hero’s flight. Oh, how I w\ish’d for JosHuA’s po’v’r, To stav the brightness of that hour! But no-the sun still less became, Diminis h’d t o a speck, as splendid And small as were those tongues of flame, That on the Apostles’ heads descended! ~Twas at this instant while there glow’d This last, intensest gleam of lightSuddenly, through the opening road, The valley burst upon my sight! That glorious valley, we ith its Lake, And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling, Mighty, and pure, and fit to make The ran P-arts of a Godhead’s dwelling. I stood entranc’d-as Rabbins say This whole assembled, gazing world Will stand, upon that awi-ful day, When the Ark’s Lig ht, aloft unfurl’d, Among the opening clouds shall shine, Divinity’s own radiant sign! Mighty MIONT

BL.VNC, thou wert to me, That minute, *with thy brow in heaven, As sure a sign of Deity As e’er to mortal gaze was given. Nor ever, were I destin’d yet To live my life twice o’er again, Can I the deep-felt awe forget, The dream, the trance that rapt me then! ‘Twas all that consciousness of pow’r And life, beyond this mortal hour;Those mountings of the soul within At thoughts of Heav’n-as birds begin By instinct in the cage to rise, When near their time for change of skies;That proud assurance of our claim To rank among the Sons of Light, Mingled with shame-oh bitter shame! At having risk’d that splendid right, For aught that earth through all its range Of glories, offers in exchange! ‘Twas all this, at that instant brought, Like breaking sunshine, o’er my thought’Twas all this, kindled to a glow Of sacred zeal, which, could it shine Thus purely ever, man might grow, Ev’n upon earth a thing divine, And be, once more, the creature made To walk unstain’d the Elysian shade! No, never shall I lose the trace Of what I’ve felt in this bright place, And, should my spirit’s hope grow weak, Should I, oh God, e’er doubt thy pow’r, This mighty scene again I’ll seek, At the same calm and glowing hour, And here, at the sublimest shrine That Nature ever rear’d to Thee, Rekindle all that hope divine, And feel my immortality! Genev& Fancy and 7?uth.-Hippomenes and Italanta.-Ms,ot Blaic.-Cloui EVEN here, in this region of wonders, I find That light-footed Fancy leaves truth far behind; Or, at least, like Hippomenes, turns her astray By the golden illusions he flings in her way. What a glory it seem’d the first ev’ning I gaz’d MONT BLANC, like a vision, then suddenly rais’d On the wreck of the sunset-and all his array Of high-towering Alps, touch’d still with a light Far holier, purer than that of the Day, As if nearness to Hleaven had made them so bright! Then the dying, at last, of these st)lendours away From peak after peak, till they left but a ray, Or.e roseate ray, th at, too precious, o fly, O’er the Mighty of MoIntiiitainis stiil gl(~,wingly hung, the surprise of all Enurope, opened their gat,,s to the besiegers, and Asu eitted without a struiggle to the extinction of their liberties. Se account of this Revolution in Coxc’s Swvitzerland. I In the year 179‘2, when the forces of Berne, Sardiria, and France laid siege to Geneva, and when, after a demonstration of heroism and selfl-devotion, which pronised to rival the feats of their ancestors in 1itW against Savoy, the Genevans, either panic struck or betrayed, to I EXTRACT 111.

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RHYMES ON THE ROAD. r_-~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~I _____- ____ Like the last sunny step of AsTRSA, when high From the summit of earth to Elysium she sprung!

And those infinite Alps, stretching out firom the sight TFill thev mingled with Heaven, now shorn of their light, Stood loftv, and lifeless, and pale in the sky, Like the ghosts of a Giant Creation gone by! Padua Fancey and Reality.-Rain-dr-o,ps and Lakes.-Ploc osf a S$tioy. sWhte to place the Scene of it.-Tn some mkr’owl, Retgiom.-Psalrtanarar’l Impo,stur,e with respect to the Island of Formosa. THE more I’ve view’d this world, the more I’ve found, That, fill’d as’tis with scones and creatures rare, Fancy commands, within her own bright round, A world of scenes and creatures far more fair. Nor is it that her p)owver can call up there A single charm, that’s not from Nature won, No more than rainbows, in their pride, can wear A single hue unborrow’d from the sunBut’tis the mental medium it shines through, That lends to Beauty all its charm and hue; As the same light, that o’er the level lake One dull monotony of lhstre flings, Will, entering in the rounded rain-drop, make Colours as gay as those on Peiis’

wings! That scenre-I have view’d it this evening again, By the same brilliant light that hung over it thenThe valley, the lake in their tenderest charms MONT BLANc in his awfullest pomp-and the whole A bright picture of Beauty, reclin’d in the arms Of Sublimity, bridegroom elect of her soul! But where are the mountains, that round me at first, One dazzling horizon of miracles, burst? Those Alps beyond Alps, without end swelling on l,ike the waves of eternity-where are they gone?

Clouds-clouds-they were nothing but clouds, after all!* That chain of MONT

BLANCS, which my fancy flew o’er, With a wonder that nought on this earth can recall, Were but clouds of the evenrin, and now are no more. What a picture of Life’s young illusions! Oh, Night, Drop thy curtain, at once, and hide all from my sight. And such, I deem, the diff’rence between real, Existing Beauty and that form ideal, Which she assumes, when seen by poets’ eyes, Like sunshine in the drop-with all those dyes, Which Fancy’s variegating prism supplies. Milan. The Pioture Galle,y. lbano’s Rape of Prose,spine.Reflections. Universal Salvation..braham sending away.8gar, by Guercino. Genius. I have a story of two lovers, fill’d With all the pure romance, the blissful sadness, And the sad, doubtful bliss, that ever thrill’d Two young and longing hearts in that sweet madaem. But where to choose the region of my vision In this wide, vulgar world-what real spot Can be found out sufficiently Elysian For two such perfect lovers, I know not. Oh for some fair FORMOSA, such a s he, The young Jew fabled of, in the Indian Sea, By nothing, but its name of Beauty, known, And which Queen Fancy might make all herlvvn, Her fairy kingdom-take its people, lands, And tenements into her own bright hands, And make, at least, one earthly corner fit For Love to live in, pure and exquisite! WENT to the Brera-saw a Dance of Loves By smooth ALBANO;t him, whose pencil teems With Cupids, numerous as in summer groves The leaflets are, or motes in summer beams.

‘Tis for the theft of Enna’s flow’r I from earth, These urchins celebrate their dance of mirth Round the green tree, like fays upon a heath Those, that are nearest, link’d in order bright, Cheek after cheek, like rose-buds in a wreath; And those, more distant, showing from beneath The others’ wings their little eves of light. While see, among the clouds, their eldest brother, But just flown up, tells with a smile of bliss This prank of Pluto to his charmed mother lvlio turns to greet the tidings with a kiss! Venice. The Fall of Venice not to be lamented.Fornmes

Gloaty.-edit against Constantinople. – Giustinianis. – Republic. –

Charactersts# of the old Governssent.-Golden Book.-Brazen Mouths.-s,.

Dungeons. Present Desol-ttion. MOURN not for VENicE let her rest In ruin,‘mong those States unblest, Beneath whose gilded hoofs of pride, Where’er they trampled, Freedom died. No-let us keep our tears for them, Where’er they pine, whose fall hath been Not from a bl,,od-stain’d diadein, Like that w’hich deck’d this ocean-queen, But from high daring in the cause Of human Rights-the only good And blessed strife, in which man draws His mighty sword on land or flood. Well might the Loves rejoice-and well did they, Who wove these fables, picture, in their weaving, That blessed truth, (which, in a darker day, ORIGEN lost his saintship for believing,)-~ That Love, eternal Love, whose fadeless ray Nor time, nor death, nor sin can overcast, Es’n to the depths of hell will find his way, And soothe, and he al, and triumph there at last! (GUIERCINO’S Agar-where the bond-maid hears i’rom Abram’s lips that he and she must part; And looks at him with eyes half full of tears, That seem the very last drops from her heart. Exquisite picture!-let me not be told Of minor faults, of colouring tame and cold If thus to conjure up a face so fair,yJ So full of sorrow; with the story there Of all that woman suffers, when the stay Her trusting heart hath lean’d on falls away If thus to touch the bosom’s tend’rest spring, By calling into life such eyes, as bring Back to our sad remembrance some of those We’ve smil’d and wept with, in their joys and woes, Thi s filling them with tears, like tears we’ve known, Till ill the pictur’d grief becomes our own If tl is be deem’d the victory of Art If thus, by pen or pencil, to lay bare The deep) fi esh, livring fountains of the heart B, fore all eses, be C enius-it is there! It i, often very difficult to dittingtish between clouds and Alps; and on the e, ening hIen I fist saw, this magnificent scene, the clouds were o dlisl used along the,hole hori/on as to deceive me into an Lea f the stupe,ildous extent of tse mountains, which my subsequeiti )bsi,iation as r far. of course from confirming. t’I his p;iet::re. the Ad or of (uercino..“ml the Apostles of Guido. (th,, vo I,tt,er of which are now. the chief ornaments of the Brera,) ‘ 0er, form’rlv in,he t’alsr.o Zampieri, at Bologna. t -tr b o o i n tha t f a ir fi elli Of Enna, where Proserprine. gathering flowers, Herself a fairer flow,er, by glooms Dis,as gather’d ~ The extension of the Divine Love ultimately even to the ret of the damned. !1 It is p,robable that this fine head is a portrait, as wc find it repeated in a pictu,re bar G(i,ercino, whi~‘h is in the possession of Sienor Camuic. eit. the brother of the celebrated painter at ltome. F,XTRACT V. EXTRACT IV.

EXTRACT VI. Mourn not for Vy,,lvicF,; though her fall Be awful, as if Ocean’s wave Swept o’er her, she deserves it all, And justice triumphs o’er her grave. Thus perish ev’rv King and State, That run the guiltv race she ran, Strong but in ill, an only great By outrage against God and man True, her high spirit is at rest, And all those dav.,; of glory gone, When the world’s waters, east and west, Beneath her white-witig’d commerce shone;

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY Would buirn to know when first the Light awoke In his young soul,-and if the learns that broke From that Aurora of his genius, rais’d Most p)ainii or bliss in those on whlioin they blaz’d WVould love to trace the unfoldiiin of that pow’r, Which hath grown ampller, grander, ev’ry hour; And feel, in watching o’er his first advance, As did the Egyptian traveller, when he stood By the young Nile, and fathoni’d with his lance The fast small fountains of that mighty flood. Wherd, wi th ler countless barks she went I’o meet the Oriernt Empire’s might,* And her Gil:.tini.anis sent Their hlu,drecd heroes to that fight. Vanish’d are all 1-er pomps,‘tis true, But mourn then nit tI vanish’d, too, (Thanls to that P(,w’l, ws o, soon oi- late, Hurls to the d:~st the:z,iltv Great,) Are all the outra.ze, fiisehood, fraud, The chains, the ratin, and the blood, That fill’d each sle-t, at homne, abroad, WVhere tk,- Rel)ibli(‘s sta,ldard stood. Desolate V N-;.:! when I track Thy ha unhty ciurse tl-ro’iht,l cent’ries back; Thv ruthless oed’r, obes-‘d but curst The stern laok. inerv of thv State, Which hIt red wn ld, ]ike steam, have burst, HIad strohcfe ir not chill’d ev’ni hate; Thv perfidy, still w- orse than aught Thy o’Iw l uhl)stli,,-1!.ARPI taught;Thy friendshi,, w:ich, o’er all beneath Its shaldow, rci’l be( downat d oews of death;Thv Oligarch’vs Fto,, k of (old, 0los’d a zainst humble Virtiie’s name, But open’d wide foi’ slaves who sold Their native land to thee and shame;  rhv all-pervading host of spies, Watching o’er everv -,lanlce and breath, rill men look’d in each others’ eyes, To read their chance of life or death *rhy laws, that made a mart of blood, And legahiz’d the assassin’s knife;t rhy sunless cells beneath the flood, And racks, and Leads, that burnt out life; They, toot who,‘mid the scornful thoughts that dwell In his rich fancy, tinging all its streams,As if the Star of Bitterness, which fell On earth of old,~ had touch’d them with its beams, – Can track a spirit, which though driven to hate, From Nature’s hands canme kind, affectionate; And which, ev’n now, struck as it is with blight, Comes out, at times, in love’s own native light;How gladly all, who’ve watch d these struggling rays Of a bright, ruin’d spirit through his lays, Would here inquire, as from his own frank lips, What desolating grief, what wrongs had driven That noble nature into cold eclipse; Like some fair orb that, once a sun in heaven, And born, not only to surprise, but cheer With warmth and lustre all within its sphere, Is now so quench’d, that of its grandeur lasts Nought, but the wide, cold shadow which it casts Eventful volume! whatsoe’er the change Of scene and clime-the adventures, bold and strange The griefs-the frailties, but too frankly toldThe loves, the feuds thy pages may unfold, If Truth with half so prompt a hand unlocks His virtues as his failings, we shall find The record there of friendships, held like rocks, And enmities, like sun-touch’d snow, resign’d; Of fealty, cheri3h’d without change or chill, In those who serv’d him, young, and serve him still; Of gen’rous aid, giv’n with that noiseless art Which wakes nriot pride, to many a wounded heart, Of acts-but, no-not from himself must aught Of the bright features of his life be sought. While they, who court the world, like MILTON’S clotUd,[ A Turn forth their silver lining” on the crowd, This gifted Being wraps himself in Right, And, keeping all that softens, and adorns, And gilds his social nature hid from sight, Turns but its darkness on a world he scorns. When I review all this, and see The doom that now hath fall’n on thee; Thy nobles, tow’ring once so proud, Themselves beneath the yoke now bow’d,A yoke, by no one grace redeem’d, Such as, of old, around thee beam’d, But mean and base as e’er yet gall’d, Earth’s tyrants, when, themselves, enthrall’d, I feel the moral vengeance sweet, And, smiling o’er the wreck, repeat, “Thus perish ev’ry King and State, “That trea d the steps which VENrICE: trod, “Strong but in ill, and only great, “By outrage against man and God!” Venio&

Female Beauty at Venice.-.o aon,er what it was in the Time oJ 7T.

tian.-His Mistress.Varioils Forms in which he has painted her. Venus.

Dicne and profane Love.- La Fragilita d’lmore.-Paul Veronese.-His omen.-Iariage of Cana.-Character of Italian Beauty.-Raphael Fornarina.-Modesty. LET me, a moment,-ere with fear and hope Of gloomv.

glorious things, these leaves I opeAs one, in fair,- tale, to wbhoni the kev Of some ench iiiter’s secret halls is giv’n, Doubts, while he enters slowly, tremblinglv, If he shall meet with shanes from hell or heav’nLet me, a nmoment, think what thousands live O’er the wide earth this instant, who wvoiild give, Gladly. whole sleepless nights to bend the brow Over these preciotus leaves, as I do T aoss. How all I ho kni, w-and where is hlie unknown? To what far ree’io** have his sorie not flown, Like PsAPHon-‘S bird(ls, s;kin their master’s name, In ev’rv lan1 aoe, sllbled b Il ame?How all, wlho’ve felt the vai-ous spells combin’d Within the circle of that rnmaster-mind,Like spells, deriv’d fromtn manv a star, and met Together in some wond’rous amulet. applying for a new certificate, after every individual exercise of tip pow er. * Bruce. ~ ” And the name of the star is calle, xornmWood, and the third part of. the water., became worrmw ooz.”- -Re,’. viii. II ” Did a sable. e,,d Turn forth her silver lining on the nligllt?”’ Comus ‘Under the Doge Ilichaeli, in 1I-1. t By the infamnous tatite, of the iStaie n ition, not onlv was asossination recognied a a re lar mole of, imen, buit this secret power over litfe wa delea.ted to heir mitnions at a distance, with nearly as much f-cility as a licene, is iven Inder the game laws of Eng,land The only restric,tion seems to have been the necesqity of I 250 EXTRACT VIII. EXTR-A,CT VIT.

Venice. Lord Byron’s Me.oi,-s, ritt,,n by him,,elf. Reflections, when about to -,.d th,,.. THY brave, thy learn’d have pass’d away: Thy beautiful!-ah, where are they? The forms, the faces, that once shone, Models of grace in Titian’s eye, Where are they now? while flowers live on In ruin’d places, why, oh why Must Beauty thus with Glorv die? That maid, whose lilts would still have mov’d, Could art have breatb’d a spirit through them; Whose varving charms her artist lov’(1 More fondly ev’ry time he drew them, (So oft beneath his touch th,, pass’d, Each semblance fairer than the last;) Wearing ea(-h shape that Fanev’s range OtTers to Love-yet still the one Fair idol, seen through every ch,,tiige,

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RHYMES ON THE ROAD. Like facets of some orient stone, In each the same bright image shown. Sometimes a Veu.,s, uniasirriay’d But in her heaitv*-sometimes deck’d In costly raiment, as a maid ‘That kings might for a throne select.} Now high and proud, like one who thought The world should at her feet be l-rought; Now, with a look reproachful, satl,t Unwonted look from brow so glad;And telling of a pain too deep For tongue to speak or eves to weep. Sometimes, through allegorv’s veil, In double semblance seem to shine, Telling a strange and mystic tale Of Love Profane and Love Divine~ Akin in features, but in heart As far as earth and heaven apart. Or else (by quaint device to prove The frailty of all worldly love) Holding a globe of glass, as thin As air-blown bubbles, in her hand, With a young Love confin’d therein, Whose wings seem waiting to expand-A And telling, by her anxious eyes, That, if that frail orb breaks, he flies!I We must go b’ck t a -,)t r (1,,1 Tsl s, W here,M1,d3;sty, w}~i,. rci l),lt giv.:s A rare an( tra: sie:~t r’ae ti smil,s, In the lle;rl’s.,Iv,, itch hisAndl theiiev,;3,i (:,,’!l’lz’iiiv’i. O’er tlhou.‘fits c,owl lo,,I >is An I~1::’,~I a re^All That not a tlul, t all l;’.z i’,se.i Its freshness i], thia,lt L”:;,!;l:” l,,. Venice. TSe English to ae Se t eg e;a e bhe:e.. ps an Thr-eadeedle Street -The Simhm a,nd I /,,e, tin,e,lini.-n Blue Stocking; amTon the Wahabe s.-vPa astls a}t P(,‘amids. l (s. IItpkmns and the Wall of Chiina. If up the Simpl)o)i’s path acre wind, Fanecyiniig e leave t}lis ,)orld behind, Such pleasaniit soiii,(,s salute on(e’s ear As“, J3a(ddish news fruow’Change, my dearT The F unds (1hew, cirso this ugly hill)N Are lov’rie)g f”st-( at, higtl er sti ll?)“And-(zook’s, wve’ie mounting up to heaven.“Will soon be dowvn to sixty-seven.” Thou, too, with touch magnificent, PAUL of VERONA!--where are they, The oriental forms,~f that lent Thy canvass such a bright array? Noble and gorgeous dames, whose dress Seems part of their own loveliness; Like the sun’s drapery, which, at eve, The floating clouds around him weave Of light they from himself receive! Where is there now the living face Like those that, in thy nuptial throng,*’ By their superb, voluptuous grace, Make us forget the time, the place, The holy guests they smile among,Till, in that feast of heaven-sent wine, We see no miracles but thine. Go where we may rest where we will, Eternal London haunts us still. The trash of Almack’s or Fleet D)itchAnd scarce a pini’s head difference whiichAMixes, though ev’n to Greece we run, With every rill from Helicon! And, if this rage for travelling lasts, If Cockney’s, of all sects and castes, Old maidens, aldermen, and squires, Will leave their puddings and coal fires. To gape at things in foreign lands, No soul among th em understa nds; If Blues desert their coteries, To show off’mong the AVathabees’ If neither sex nor age controls, Nor fear of Mamelukes forbids Young ladies, with pink parasols, To glide among the pyramids { Why, then, farewzell all hope to find A spot, that’s free from Londoni-kind!

Who knows, if to the West we roam, But w e may find some Blue ” at home”

Among the Blackv of Carolina Or, flying to the Eastward, see Some Mrs.

HOPKINS, taking tea And toast upon the Wall of China I If e’er, except in Painting’s dream, There bloom’d such beauty here,‘tis gone,-I Gone, like the face that in the stream Of Ocean for an instant shone, When Venus at that mirror gave A last look, ere she left the wave. And though, among the crowded ways, We oft are startled by the blaze Of eves that pass,‘vith fitful light, Like fire-flies on the wing at niglht,+ft ‘Tis not that nobler beauty, giv’n To show how angels look in heav’n. Ev’n in its shape most pure and fair, ‘Tis Beauty, with but half her zone, All that can warm the Sense is there, But the Soul’s deeper charm is flown:‘Tis RAPHIAEL’S

Fornarina,-warm, Luxuriant, arch, bult unrefinr’d; A flower, round which the noontide swarm Of young Desires may buzz and wind, But where truie Love no treasure meets, Worth hoarding in his hive of sweets. Verses of Hippolyta to her Husband. THEY tell me thou’rt the favour’d guest Of every fair and brilliant throng; No t-it, wlike thine, to wake the jest, No voice like thine to breathe the song. And none could guess, so gay thou art. That thou and I are far apart. Ah, no,-for this, and for the hue Upon the rounrded cheek, which tells How fresh, within the heart, this dew Of Love’s unrifled sweetness dwells, possession of the Marquis Cambian at Turin, whose collection, thongh small, contains some beautiful specimens of all the great masters. 1′ As Paul Veronese gase but little into the heau ideal, his women may be regarded as pretty close imitations of the living models which Venice aforded in his time. 1* The Mariate of Cana. f “r Certain it is (as Arh lir Young truly anid feelingly says) one now and the n me ets w ith terrieble etts in Italy.” tt It was ping s7e7ce:‘s, 1 l)clicve, that the imagination of the French traveller conij red up. * In the Tinbaine at Florence. f I” the Pala.zo Pit’i. A Alludes p~articularly to the portrait of her in the Sciarra collection at Rome, where the lo, k of mournful reproach in those full, shadowy ,yes, as if she had b1een unjustly accused of something wrong, is exq,‘site. The fire p,it-?‘e in the Palazzo Borghese, called (it is not easy to t,n ihy) Sa red ad Pr.-fane Love,” In wshich the two figures, sitir,on th;,t of the fit’itain, are evidently portraits of the same Tserson. is This f:u1idol alle:iory is the subject of a picture by Titian in the EX’Fi’,A(“f’ IX.

ANr) is there tlie!i -io (,;ii-thlv Allhere ,,e c,i,,i ii di-e.,rn F’,Ivsiin, IVitlioiit sotiie ci!i,i;t. l,,n(,,Iisi) face, POI)Pi’).’,’ Ul) I(, tlle vision? ‘Mid ri,)i,tlierii’Oil(] s,:)iithei-n vines, Uiiholv cit.s (lo(,iii’(i to meet; Nor Iiighest Ali,,s.\I,eyiniiies Are saci-e(I fr(m’I’lire-,i(itie( dle Street! EXTRACT X. MgRtUI6

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. A course, to which Modesty’s stru-zole bhut lends A more headlong descent, wsith(out chance of recall; But which Modestv ev’n to the last edge itterids, And, then, throws a halo ot tears oroulnd its tall! Ala-.- alas, how ciff’rent flows, AVith thee and me the time away.

Not that I wish thee sad, heaven knows Still, if thou canst, be light and gay; I only know that without thee The sun himself is dark for me. This exquisite Passion-as, es; lisit, even Mid the ruin its madness too often hath miade, As it kee)s, even then, a biih,,ht trace of the heaven, That heaven of Virtue from -hicli it has stray’d Do i put on the jewels rate Thou’st alrways lov’d to see me wear? Do I perfume the locks that thou So oft hast braided o’er myv brow, Thus deck’d, through festive crowds to run, And all the assembled world to see,All but the one, the absent one, Worth more than present worlds to me. No, nothing clheers this widow’d heartMy only joy, from thee apart, From thee thyself, is sitting hours And dais, before thv pictur’d formThat dream of thee, which Raphael’s pow’rs Heave made with all but life-breath warm! And as I smile to it, and say The words I speak to thee in play, I fancy from their silent frame, Those eves and lips give back the same; And still I gaze, and still they keep Smiling thus on me-till I weep! Our little boy, too, knows it well, For there I lead him every day, And teach his lisping lips to tell The name of one that’s far away. Forgive me, love, but thus alone My time is cheer’d, while thou art gone. This entireness of love, which can only be found, Where Woman, like something that’s holy, watch’d over, And fenc’d, from her childhood, with pirity round, Comes, body and soul, fresh as Spring, to a lover! Where not an eye answers, where no,t a hand presses, Till spirit with spirit in sympathy move; And the Senses, asleep in their sacred recesses, Can only be reach’d through the temple of Love! This perfection of Passion-how’an it be found, Where the mystery nature hath hung round the tie By which souls are together attracted and bound, Is laid open, for ever, to heart, ear, and eye; Where nought of that innocent doubt can exist, That ignorance, even than knowledge more bright, Which circles the young, like the morn’s sunny mist, And curtains them round in their own native light; Where Experience leave’s nothing for Love to reveal, Or for Fancy, in visions, to gleam o’er the thought; But the truths which, alone, we would die to conceal From the maiden’s young heart, are the only ones taught No, no,‘tis not here, howsoever we sigh, Whether purely to Hymen’s one planet we pray, Or adore, like Sabaeans, each light of Love’s sky, IHere s not the region, to fix or to stray No’tis not the region where Love’s to be found They have bosoms that sigh, they have glances that rove, They have language a Sappho’s own lip might resound, When she warbled her best-but they’ve nothinglike Love. Nor is’t that pure sentimnent only they want, Which Heav’n for the mild and the tranquil hath madeCalm, wedded affection, that homrne-rooted plant, Which sweetens seclusion, and smiles in the shade; Flor”ee. Music in taly-Dtsappointed by it.-Recollett,ns of other Times and .awiends.-Dalton.Sir John Stevenson. His Daughter-Mustal Evenings together,. That feeling, which, after long years have gone by, Remains, like a portrait we’ve sat for in youth, Where, ev’n though the flush of the colours may fly, The features still live, in their first smiling truth; That union, where all that in WVoman is kind, With all that in Man most ennobliogly tow’rs, Grow wreath’d into one-like the coltumnii, combin’d Of the strength of the shaft and the capital’sflow’rs IF it be true that Music reigns, Supreme, in ITALY’S soft shades, ‘Tis like that Harmony, so famous, Among the spheres, which, Hle of SA3:os Declar’d had such transcendent merit, That not a soul on earth could hear it; For, far as I have come-from Lakres, Whose sleep the Tramontana breaks, Through MILAN, and that land, which gave The Hero of the rainbow vest-* By MiNcio’s banks, and by that wave,t Which made VERO-VA’s bard so blestPlaces, that (like the Attic shore, Which rung back music, when the sea Struck on its marge) shoull be, all o’er, Th rilling alive with melodyI’ve heard no music-not a note Of such sweet native airs as float, In my own land, among the throng, And speak our nation’s soul for song. Of this-bear ye witness, ye wives, ev’ry where, By the ARNO, the Po, by all ITALY’S streamsOf this heart-wedded love, so delicious to share, Not a husband hath ev’n one glimpse in his dreams. But it is not this, only;-born full of the light Of a sun, from whose fount the luxuriant festoons Of these beautiful valleys drink lustre so bright, That, beside him, our suns of the north are but moons, We might fancy, at least, like their climate they burn’d; And that Love, thotugh unus’d, in this region of spring, To be thus to a tame Household Deity turn’d, Would yet be all soutl, when abroad on the wing. Aud there may be, there are, those explosions of heart, Which burst when the senses have first caught the flame: Such fits of the blood as those climates implart, Where Love is a sun-stroke. that mnaddens the frame. Nay, ev’n in higher walks, where Art Performs, as’twere, the gardener’s part, And richer, if not sweeter, makes The flow’rs she from the wild.-hedge takes Ev’n there, no voice hiath charm’d my ear, No taste hath won my perfect Upraise, Like thine, dear friend;-long, truly dear Thine, and thy lov’d OLIVIA’s lays. t Edward Tuite Dalton, the first husband of Sir John Steve daughter, the late Mapchioness of Headfort. But that Passion, which springs in the depth of the soul; Whose beginnings are virginly pure as the source Of some small mountain rivulet, destin’d to roll As a torrrent, ere long, losing peace in its course-T I Berg oi ro-hte bithplace, it is said, of Harlequin. I The La,go di Garda. I I 252 EXTRACT XI. Florence. For faithless in wedlock, in gallantry gross, Without hoiit,ur to guard, or reserve to restra-n, at have they, a husband can mourn as a los-? What have they, a lover can prize as;’ EXTRACT XII.

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RHYMES ON She, always beautiful, and growing Still more so ev’ry note she singsLike an inspir’d young Sybil,* glowing With her own bright imagining!

And thou, most worthy to be tied In music to her, as in love, Breathing that language by her side, All other language far above, Eloquent Song-whose tones and words In ev’ry heart find answering chords! The souir ( of thg chech cloc, al r e Is! cN’S Tomb, Sumo)n’d tile h sware tiors, theo.wd ridse itks 1 of ola’, To mee t lrasrTn’dw,ei to blet s;ti lthm w thhere’, Bu t God’s own eye, Wan(e myss toie o, igl,t ill )ray’r. Holy beginningr of a hol s cause, Whe n heroes, g irt for Fieedom’s cou t )ac, Hll,se Before high Heav’n, a nd, huhnbie in their night, Call down its blessing on that ing ngra fight. At dawke, in arms, went forth the patriot ba:d; And, as the breeze, fresh flo m thie TsreR, fann’d Their gilded gonfaloods, all ees could see The )alm-tree there, the Islord, the keys of Heav’n – Types ot’ the justice, pea ce, and li berty, That were to bless them, when their chain s w ere riv’n On to the Capitol the pagean t m ov’d, Wh ile many a Shad e of other times, that still Around that grave of grand eur sighingf rov’d, Hung o’er their footsteps up the Sacred Hill, And heard its mournful echoes, as the last High-minded he i rs o f the Rep ublic pass’d. ‘Twas e th Fen tt ou, the i r Tribun e,~ (name, w hich brou ght Dreams of lost glory to each patriot’s thought,) Didst, with a spirit Rome in vain shall seek To wake up in her sons again, thus speak:”ROMANS, look round yrou on this sacred place “There once stood shrines, and gods, and godlike men. ,, What see you now? what solitary trace ” Is left of all, that made RomE’s glory then? “The shrines are sunk, the Sacred Mount bereft ” Ev’n of its name-and nothing now remains “But the deep mem’ry of that glory, left ” To whet our pangs and agg-ravate our chains! “But shall this be?-our sun and sky the same, ” Treading the very soil our fathers trode,“What with’ring curse hath fall’n on soul and frame, ” What visitation hath there come from God, “To blast our strength, and rot us into slaves, ” Here, on our great forefathers’ glorious graves? “It cannot be-rice up, ye Mighty Dead, ” If v-e, the living, are too weak to crush “These tyrant priests, that o’er your empire tread, ” Till all but Romans at Rome’s tameness blush I How happy once the hours we past, Singing or list’ning all day long, Till time itself seem’d chang’d, at last, To music, and we liv’d in song! Turning the leaves of H.kYrmN o’er, As quick, beneath her master hand, They open’d all their brilliant store, Like chambers, touch’d by fairy wand; O)r o’er the page of MOZART bending, Now by his airv warblings cheer’d, Now in his mournful Requiem blending Voices, through which the heart was heard. And still, to lead our ev’ning choir, Was He invok’d, thy lov’d-one’s Sire-t l[e, who, if aught of grace there be In the wild notes I write or sing, F’irst smooth’d their links of harmonv, And lent them charms thev did not bring;He, of the gentlest, simplest heart, With whom, employ’d in his sweet art, (That art, which gives this world of ours A notion howv thev speak in heaven,) ‘TI:e pass’d more bright and charrned hours T!rhan all earth’s wisdom could have giv’n.

Oh happy days, oh earlv frien d s, lt ow L ife, sinc e th en, “ath lost its flow’rs! But yet-though Time somiie foliagle rends, The stem, the Friendship, still is ours; And longr may it endure, as green, And fresh as it hath always been! How I have wander’d from my theme! But where is he, that could return To such cold subjects from a dream, T hrough which these best of feelings burn?Not all the wtork.s of Science, Art, Or Genius in this worlh are woorth One genuine sigh, that from the heart Friendship or Love draws freshly forth. “Happy, PALMYRA, in thy desert domes, ” Where only date-trees sigh and serpents hiss; “And thou, whose pillars are but silent homes “For the stork’s brood, superb PERSEPOItS! N Thrice happy both, that your extinguish’d race “Have left no embers-no half-living traceO No slaves, to crawl around the once proud spot, “Till past renown in present shame’s fi)rgot. ” While ROMFE, the Queen of all, whose very wrecks, “If lone and lifeless through a desert hurl’d, E A IWould wear more true magnificence than decks ” The assembled thrones of all the existing world”RomM, RoME alone, is haunted, stain’d and curst, ” Through every slpot her princely TinER laves, cBy living human things-the deadliest, worst, “This earth engenders-ty,rants and their slaves! “And we-oh shame! we, who have ponder’d o’er ” The patriot’s lesson and the poet’s lay;1 “Have rounted up the streams of ancient lore, ” Tracking our country’s glories all the way;Ev’n wre have tamely, basely kiss’d the ground s” Before that Papal Powelr,-that Ghost of Her, “The World’s Imperial mistress-sitting, crown’d “And ghastly, on her mouild’ring sepulchre!~ Rome. ieiftfions on readin, Da Cerceai’s Accoent of the Couspiracy of Rnzi in 1347. The meeting of the Conspirators on the Night of the 19th of May.-Their Processioti in the Mo,rning to the Capitol.-Rien z”s Speech. ‘T-wAs a proud momerit-ev’n to hear the words”a Of Truth and Freedom’mid these temples breath’d, And see, once more, the Forum shine with swords, In the Republic’s sacred name unsheath’dThat glimpse, that vision of a brighter day, For his dear ROME, must to a Roman be, Short as it was, worth ages pass’d away In the dull lapse of hopeless slavery.

*l’was on a night of May, beneath that moon, Which had, through many an aze, seem Time untune The strings of this Great Empire, till it fell From his rude hands, a broken, silent shell asserts, to the young Stephen Colonna, on his being created a Senator of Rome. That Petrarch, however, was filled with high and patriotto hopes by the first measures of this extraordinary man, appears from one of his letters, quoted by) Du Cerceau, where he says,” Pour tout dire, en un mot, Patteste, non confine lecteur, mais comme temoin ocu laire, qu’il nous a ramene la julstice, la paix, la bonne foi, la securite, et tous les autres vestiges de Plage d’or.” I i This image is borrowed from Hobbes, whose words are, as near as I can recollect:” For what is the Papacy, but the Ghost of the old Roman Empire, sitting crowned on the grave thereof?” * Suichi as those of Domenichino in the Palazzo Borghese at the Capitol, &C. f Sir Jchn Stevenson. t Theo “Conjuration de Nicolas Gabrini, dit de Rienzi,” by the Jesuit Du Cerceau, is chiefly taken from the much more authentic work of Fortifiocea on the same subject. Rienzi was the son of a taundre.st S

Rienz:.. 1[ The fhne Canzone of Petrarch, beginning ” Spirto gentil,” is suppose,l by Voltaire and others, to have been addressed to Reinzi; but there- i.4 much more evidence of its having been written, as Ginguene THE

ROAD. . )., I EXTRACT XIII. ., But thi,4 i,3 past:-too long have lordly priest-i 11 And priestly lords led us, with all our pride 11 With’ring about us-like devoted beasts, 11 Dragg’d to the shrine, with faded garlands tied.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. “s’Tis o’er-the dawn of our deliverance breaks! IUp from his sleep of centuries awake., “The Genius of the Old Republic, free I As first he stood in chainless majesty, And sends his voice through ages yet to come, Proclaiming ROME, ROME, RoMp, Eternal ROME!” ‘Twas daylight now-the sun had ris’n, From out the dungeon of old Night,Like the Apostle, from his prison Led by the Angel’s hand of light; And-as the fetters, when that ray Of glorv reach’d them, dropp’(d away,T So fled the clouds at touch of day! Just then, a bearded sage ** came forth, Who oft in thoughtfiul dream would stand To trace upon the dusky earth Strange learned figures with his wand;it And oft he took the silver lu-te His little page behind him bore, And wak’d such music as, when mute, Left in the soul a thirst for more! Rtome Fra‘meiit ef a D,‘ea)R.-Tae oveat Pa inte,s s4ti pposed to be Magicians. T,e Begirnings of ton..q,t.-Gildi;z.s o:~ the Glories and Drapeies. Impro ereme,!s,t7de Gi,otto, 4Ac.-The’fist Dawn of the true Style in 3Lisacc’ lo.,tdied by all the reat drttsts who followed him.-Leo. rnardo d a Vi,ci, we’h hom commen,ced the Golden S,oe of Painting. His K nowltede of’Mathe,maics and of Mnsic.-I-i, female Heads all like each othe. T’an laar Faces.-Portralits of Mona Lisa,,c.-Pic tuec,f Van,ity and Modesty.-His chef-d’euvre, thle Last Supfrer-o Faded and altost effaced. FRLL’) with the wonders I had seen, In Rome’s stupendous shrines and halls, I felt the vein of sleep, serene, Come o’er the mem’ry of each scene, As tvwilight o’er the landscape falls. Nor was it slur.bes, sound and derp, But such as suits a poet’s rest That sort of thin, transparent sleep, Through which his dav-dreams shine the best Methoighlt upont a plain I stood, Where certain w ondrous men,‘twas said, With strange, Tnirac’lous power endu’d, Were coming, each in turn, to shed His arts’ illusions o’er the sight, And call up miracles of light. The sky above this lonely place, Was of that cold, uncertain hlue, The canvass wears, ere, warm’d apace, Its bright creation dawns to view Meanwhile, his potent spells went on, And forms and faces, that from out A depth of shadow mildly,hone, Were in the soft a ir seen about. Though thick as midnight stars they beam’d, Yet all like living sisters seem’d, So close, in every point, resembling Each other’s beauties-from the eyes Lucid as if through crystal trembling, Yet soft as if suffus’d withl sighs, To the long, fawn-like mouth, and chin, Lovely tapering, less and less, Till, by this very charm’s excess, Like virtue on the verge of sin, It touch’d the bounds of ugliness. Here look’d as when they liv’d the shades Of some of Arno’s dark-ey’d maidsSuch maids as should alone live on, In dreams thus, when their charms are gone: Some Mona Lisa, on whose eyes A painter for whole years might gaze,d: .,or find in all his pallet’s dyes, One that could even approach their blne Here float two spirit shapes,~~ the one, With her white fingers to the sun Outspread, as if to ask his ray Whether it e’er had ch’ancld to play On lilies half so fair as they! This self-pleas’d nymph, was VanityAnd by her side another smil’d, In form as beautiful as she, But with that air, subdu’d and mild, That still reserve of purity, Which is to beauty like the haze Of ev’ning to some sunny view, Soft’ning such charms as it displays, And veiling others in that hue, Which fancy only can see through! This phantom nymph, who could she be, But the bright Spirit, Modesty? But soon a vlimmer from the east Proclaim’d the first enchantments nigh;* And as the feeble light increas’d, Strange figures mov’d across the sky, With golden glories deck’d, and streaks Of gold among their garments’ dyes;t And life’s resemblance ting’d their cheeks, But nought of life was in their eyes;Like the fresh-painted Dead one meets, Borne slow along Rome’s mournftil streets But soon these fi,,ures nass’d away; And forms succeeded to their place, With less of gold in their array, But shining with more natural grace, And all could see the charming wands Had pass’d into more gifted hands.:A Amionz these visions there was one,~ Surpassing fair, on which the sun, That instant li’s’n, a beam let fall, Which thrl(,EXTRACT XIV Lon, did the learn’d enchanter stay To weave his spells, and still there pa&d, As in the lantern’s shiftin, play. Group after group in close array, Each fairer, grander, than the last But the great triumph of his pow’r Was yet to come:-gradual qnd slow, (As all that is ordain’d to tow’r, Among the worls of man must grow,) The sacred vision stole to view, In that half light, half shadow shown,

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RHYMES ON THE ROAD. Which gives to ev’n the gayest hue, A sober’d, melancholy tone. It was a vision of that last,* Sorrowful night whichl Jesus pass’d With his disciples, when he said Mournfully to them ” shall be Betray’d by one, who here hath fed “This night at the same board with me.” And though the Saviour, in the dream Spoke not these words, we saw them beam Legibly in his eyes (so well The great magician work’d his spell,) And read in everv thoughtful line Imprinted on that brow divine, The meek, the tender nature, griev’d, Not anger’d, to be thus deceivedCelestial love requited ill For all its care, yet loving stillDeep, deep regr et that there should fall From man’s deceit so foul a blight Upon that parting hour-and all His Spirit must have felt that night, Who, soon to die for human-kind, Thought onlv,‘ruid his mortal pain, How many a soul’vas left behind For whom he died that death in vain!

Th at thm ou mief ht’st see hon, h ke a ch(flHn, Had pass’d away its mortal shroud, And make that bright re’ vealm,:,t 1known To hearts, less tr li,ti i than thy owN,. All is affecting, cheering, gt, a:nd; The kindliest recor(d ev,er giv’n, Ev’n under Co(d’s own kl’indly handl, Of what Rep)entance Adwinis fronm Heav’n. No wonder, MARY, that thd face, In all its touching light of tears, Should meet us in each holy place, Where Man before h.is God appears, Hopeless-were he not taug,Iht to see All hope in tlim, who pardon’d thee! No wonder that the paitnter’s skill Should oft have triitm)h’d in the pow’r Of keeping thee all lovely still Ev’n in thy sorrow’s bitt’rest hour; That soft CORRIGCO.1 shhO,ll(i diffuse Hlis melting sha(lowN.s irotun,d thy form; That GUIDo’S p)ale, uneartl-ity hues Should, in portraying thee, grow warm; That all-fr-om the ideal, grand, Inimitable Roman hand, Down to the small, enamelling touch Of smooth CARTSiD-o-should delight In pict’ring her, who c lov’d so much,” And was, in spite of sin, so bright! Such was the heavenly scene-alas, That scene so bright so soon should pass! But pictur’d on the humid air, Its tints, ere longz, grew languid there;t And storms came oil, that, cold and rough, Scatter’d its glentlest glories allAs when the haffling” winds blow off The hues that hang o’er Terni’s fall,Till, one by one, the visioi’s beams Faded axwav, and soon it fled, To join those other vanish’d dreams That now flit palelv’nrong the dead,  The shadows of those shades, that go, Around Oblivion’s lake, below! But, MARY,‘monig these bold essays Of Genius and of Art to raie A sembl ance of those weepitn eyes A vision, wNorthv of the sphere T h y faith has earhned the i the skies, And in the hearts o f asll meda here,None e’er hath Tnatch’d, in grief or grace, CAiOVA’S day-dream of thy facee, In those bright sculptur’d forms, more bright With tree expression’s breathing light, Than ever yet; beneath the s’r(,],:h Of chisel, into life awoke. The one,:t portraying what thou wert In thy first grief, while yet the flow’r Of those voung beauties was unhurt Bv sorrow’s slow, consuming pow’r; And mingling earth’s seductive grace With heav’n’s subliming thoughts so well, We doubt, while gazing, in which place Such beauty was most form’d to dwell! The other, as thou look’dst, when vears Of fasting, penitence, and tears Hadl worn thv frame;-and ne’er did Art With half such speaking pow’r express The resin which a breaking heart Spreads, by degrees, o’er loveliness. Those wasting arms, that keep the trace, Ev’n still, of all their youthful grace, That loosen’d hair, of which thy brow Was once so p roid,-rneglected now!Those features, ev’n in fading worth The freshest bloom to others giv’n, And those sunk enyes, nowv lost to earth, But, to the last, still tull of heav’n! ]FRome. Ma,y Mandalen.-Her Story.Ntmerous Pictures of her.

CoiTeggio. -Guido.-Raiphael, Sc.-Canova’s two exquisite Statltes.-The Soma rivae Magdalen.-Chantrey’s.qdmiration of Canova’s Works N o wonde r, MARY, that thy story To.uches all hearts-for there we see The soul’s corrurntiorn, and its glory, Its death and life combin’d in thee From the first moment, when we find Thv spirit haunted bv a swarm Of dark dcsires,-like demons shrin’d Unholilv in that fair form,Till when; bv touch of Heav’n set free, Thou cam’st, wNith those bright locks of gold (So oft the gaze of BETHANY,) And, cov’rinz in their precic’:s, fold Thy Savioui’s feet, didst shed s, -.h tears As paid, each dro, the sins of,aars! Thence on, thioiiffh all thv course of love To Him, thv Heavenly Master,-Him, Whose bitter etath-lcup from above Had wet this cordtial round the brim, That woman’s faith and love stood fast And fearleo hv Iim to the last:rill, oh, blest boon for truth like thine! Thou Nert, of ail, the chosen one, Befoie whose eves that Face Divine, When risen from the dead, first shone; would have prevented any long duration of its beauties.

It is iw almost entirely effaced. This stat,,- is one of the last w orks of Canova, and was not yet hI marble,lihen’left Itome. The osher, which seems to prove, in con tradliction to very lhigh auitho,rity, that exlres,,ion, of the intensest kind, is flly within the s,here of culpaure, wa.s executed many yr ears ago, and iF in the possessioni of the (Count S’cnarItva at Paris. ‘ Chantrey. ~ The Last Suipper of Leonardo da Vinci, which is in the Refectorv of the Convent delle Grazie at Milan. ee L’Histoire de la Peinture in Italie, liv iii. chap. 45. The writer of that interesting work (to whom I take thi,; opportvnitv of offering my acknow ledgments, for the ,copy he sent me a P,-‘i fo Rome ill ee I have profited by some o f his obehrvati c.an ofhit, ounrate hicture. }!,‘onardoe aDDnr?. tO hqv~ Oflop1 a mixture of oil and varnish for fade,?2ctule,l,fich along,,vit,:t the pri. s other causes of its ruin, I 255 EXTRACT XV. Wonderful artist! -praise, like mine Though springing from a soul that feels Deep %voi-ship of those -A,oi-ls divine, Wheie Ge-.iius all his li,,ht revealsHoiN eak’ti,,; to the words that came From r.‘m, tti), peer in -irt and fame,~ Whom I have kiioan, bv Iav, by night, flang o’er thv marble %iith elight; And, while is ling’i-ing hand would steal

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O)‘er everv ra.ne taper’s rays Give thee, with all the gen’rous ze Such master-spirlits only teel, That best of fame, a rival’s prai Than the sun’s- beams can do away The filth of fens o’er w tichl they ElayThis scene, which wotild hlavc fili’d my heart With tlhougthts of all that tha.l)iest is; Of Love, where self hath only part, As echoing backl anothter bliss; Of solitude, secure and sweet, Beneath whose shade the virtues meet; Which, while it shelters, never chills Our sympathies wnith human woe, But keeps them, like sequester’d rills, Purer and freshe t in their flow; Of happy days, that share their beams ‘Twixt quiet mirth and wise employ; Of tranquil nights, that give, in dreams, The moonlight of the moroning’s joy!All this my heart could dwell on here, But for thos e g ross memento’s near; Those sullying truths, that cross the track Of each sweet thought, and drive them back Full into all the mire, and strife, And vanities of that man’s life, Who, more than all that e’er have glow’d With Fancy’s flame (and it was his, In fullest warmth and radiance) show’d What an impostor Genius is; How, with that strong, mimetic art, Which forms its life and soul, it takes All shapes of thought, all hues of heart, Nor feels, itself, one throb it %wakes; How like a gem its light may smile O’er the dark path, by mortals trod, Itself as mean a worm, the while, As crawls at midnight o’er the sod, What gentle words and thoughts may fall From its false lip, what zeal to bless, While home, friends, kindred, country, all, Lie waste beneath its selfishness; How, with the pencil hardly dry From colouring up such scenes of love And beauty, as make young hearts sigh, And dream, and think through heav’n they rov They, who can thus describe and move, The very workers of these charIns, Nor seek, nor know a joy, above Some Maman’s or Theresa’s arms! How all, in short, that makes the Iloast Of their false tongues, they want the most, And, while with freedo -m on their lips, Sounding their trimbrels, to set free This bright world, labouring in the eclipse Of priestcraft, and of slavery,They may, themselves, be slaves as low As ever Lord or Patron made To blossom in his smile, or grow, Like stunted bruislhvood, in his shade. Out on the craft!-I’(1 rather be One of those hinds, that ro’und me tread, With just enough of sense to see The noonday sun that’s o’er his head, Than thus, with high-buiilt genius curst, That hath no heart for its foundation, Be all, at once, that’s brightest, worst, Sublimest, meanest in creation! Les Charmettes. 1 Ilvtut to the House where Rousseau hted with fadame de TVarien-s.- I Their Menaee.-its Grossmess.-Claude.net.Rererence with which the Spot is now risited..bbsw’rdity of this blind Devotioi. to Fame. Feelings excited by the Beauty asd Secitsion of the Scene.-

Misturbed by its.ssociatioss with Rousseau’s History.-Inpostares of men of iGenits.-Their power of mimicking all the best Feelings, Love, Inde pendence,‘c. STRANGE power of Genius, that can throw Round all that’s vicious, weak, and low, Such magic lights, such rainbow’yes As dazzle ev’n the steadiest eyes * * * * * * O ahsettogt n rv hmbc * $ * * $

*Fulitalthmieanstie ‘Tis worse than weak-‘tis wrong,‘tis shame, This mean prostration before Fame; This casting down, beneath the car, Of Idols, whatsoe’er they are, Life’s purest, holiest decencies, To be career’d o’er, as they please. No-give triumphant Genius all For which his loftiest wish can call: If he be w,orshipp’d let it be For attributes, his noblest, first; Not with that base idolatry, Which sanctifies his last and worst. I may be cold;-mav want that glow Of high romance, wshich bards should know; That holy hotnae, which is felt In treadiln,g where thie great have dwelt; This rev’rence, \whatsoe’er it be, I fear, I feel, I have it not:For here, at this still hour, to me The charms of this delightffl spot; Its calmn seclusion from the throng, From all the lheart wooul(I fain forget; This narrow valley, and the song, Of its small tnurm’ring rivulet; The flitting, to and fio. of birds, Tranquil and tame as they were once In Eden, ere the startling words Of MAlan disturbed their orisons; Those little, shadoswy paths, that wind Up the hill-side, with fi’uit-tree’s lin’d, And lighted only by the breaks The gay wind in the foliage makes, Or vistas, here and there, that neve Through wee)in willows, like the snatches Of far-offsene,s of light, which Hope Even through the shade of sadness catches!All this, which-coutld I once but lose The memory of those vulgar ties, Whose grossness all the heavenliest’hues Of Genius can no more disguise, I Canova alwavs shows his finue statue, lie Venere Vincitrice, by the light of a small candle. AIL C IPHRON: A FRAGMENT.

LETTER I. Well may my comrades, as they roam, TROM ALCIPHRON AT ALEXANDRIA TO CLEON AT On such sweet eves as this, inquire ATHENS. Why I have left that happy home Where all is found that all desire, WELL may you wonder at my flight And Time hath mdings that never tire; From those fair Gardens, ir whose bowers Where bliss, in all the countless shapes, Lingers whate’er of wise and bright, That Fancyv’s self to bliss hath given, Of Beautv’s smile or Wisdom’s light, Comes clustering round like road-side grapes Is’oft to grace this world of ours. That woo the traveller’s lip, at even; i I I I I i i THE MIRROR E, XTRACT XVi.

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ALCIPHRON. Where Wisd,-)( flings no(t jo)y arwa --- As Pallas in the strea, tliheys s ay Once flung her fl,ute-b-but smili,g wrpsa ‘.‘hat, oima!i’s’ i a send t, rt!. to. es Worth all the.risic of th(ose sp heres So manya drean of t)ut inoe hears;’ Where Virtl-‘s selt’ I)uts on so veell Her sister Plea:,ure’s smile, that, loth From either nymph apart to dwell, We finish b, einbracing both. That n ight, ahell our Firth was o’er, The minstrels silent, and the feet Ofthe young maidens heard no more So stilly wlas the time, so sweet, And such a calmn came o’er that scene, Where life and revel late had beenLone as the quiet of some bay, From which the sea hath ebb’d awayThat still I linger’d, lost in thought, Gazing upon the stars of night, Sad and intent, as if I soiig!k.t Some mournful secret in their light; And ask’d them,‘mid that silerce, why Man, glorious man, alone must die, While they, less wonderful than he, Shine on through all eternity. Ye,a, such the place of bliss, I own, From all whose charms I just have flo,,n; And even while thus to thee I write, And by the Nile’s dark flood recline, Fondly, in thought, I wing my flight Back to those groves and gardens bright, And often think, by this sweet light, How lovelily they all must shine; Can see that graceful temple throw Down the green slope its lengthened shade, While, on the marble steps below, There sits some fair Athenian maid, Over some favourite volume bending; And, by her side, a youthful sage Holds back the ringlets that, descending, Would else o’ershadow all the page. But hence such thoughts!-nor let me grieve O’er scenes of joy that I but leave, As the bird quits awhile its nest To come again with livelier zest. That night – thou haply may’st forget Its loveliness-but’twas a night To make earth’s meanest slave regret Leaving a world so so ft a nd bri ght. On one side, in the dark blue sky, Lonely and radiant, was the eye Of Jove himself, while, on the o ther, ‘Mong stars that came ou t one bv one, The young moon-like the Roman mother Amo,ng her living jewels-shone. “Oh that from yonder orbs,” I thought, ” Puire and eternal as they are, ,’ There cotul(t to earth some power be brought, ”

Some charm, wsith their own essence fraught, ,’ To make man deathless as a star; ,,And open to his v ast desires “1 A course, as boundless and sublime “As that wNhich w,ait-s those comet-fires, ,, That buirni and roam throughout all time!’ And now to tell thee-what I fear Thou’lt gravely smile at-twhy I’m here. Thoueh through my life’s short, sunnv dream, I’ve floated without pain or care, Like a light leaf, down pleasure’s stream, Caught in each sparkling eddy there; Though never Mirth awaked a strain That my heart echoed not again; Yet have I felt, when even most gay, Sad thoughts-I knew not whence or whySlddenly o’er my spirit fly, Like clouds, that, ere we’ve time to say ” How bright the sky is!” shade the sky.

Sometimes so vague, so undefin’d, Were these strange dark’nings of my mindWhile nought but joy around me beam’d So causelessly they’ve come and flown, That not of life or earth they seem’d, But shadows from some world unknown. More oft, however,‘twas the thought How soon that scene, with all its playv Of life and gladness, must decayThose lips 1 prest, the hands I caughtMyself-the crowd that mirth had brought Around me-swept like weeds away! While thoughts like these absorb’d my mind, That weariness w hich e a rthly bliss, However sweet, still leaves behind, As if to shlown holwx earthly’tis, Came lullina o’er me, and I laid My limbs at tliait fa,,ir statue’s baseThat miracle, which Art hath made Of all the choice of Nature’s graceTo which so oft I’ ve knelt and sworn, That, coiil(,a livings maid( like her Unto this wondering,- world be born, I should, myself, turn worshipper. Sleep came the n o’er me-and I seem’d To be transported far away To a bleak destort plain, where gleam’d One single, rnelancholy ray, ThroEe nihat that darkness dimly shed From a small taper in the hand Of one, who, beale as are the dead, Before me took lhis spectral stand, And said, while, awfully, a smile Came o’er the wanness of his cheek”Go, and beside the sacred Nile s” You’ll find the Eternal Life you seek” This thought it was that canme to shed O’er rapttire’s hour its worst alloys And, close as shade with sunshine, wed Its sadness with my happiest joys. Oh, but for this disheart’tiing voice, Stealing amid our mirth to say That a!!, in which we most rejoice, Ere night may be the earth-worm’s prey; BRut for this bitter-only thisFull as the world is brimm’d with bliss, And capable as feels my soul Of drairnig to its dregs the whole, I should turn earth to heav’n, and be, If bliss miade Gods, a Deity! Soon as he spoke these words, the hue Of death o’er all his features grew, Like the p)a.le morning, when o’er night She gains the victory, full of light; While the small torch he held became A glory in his hand, whose flame Brighten’d the de sert s eu dde nly, Even to the far horizon’s lineAlong whose level I could see Gardens and groves, that seem’d to shins, As if then o’er them freshly play’d A vernal rair,bow’s rich cascade; And music floated every where, Circlitig, as’twere itself the air, Thou klnow’st that night-the very last That’miong my Garden friends I pass’dWhen the School held its feast of mirth To celebrate our founder’s birth, And all that He in dreams but saw When he set Pleasure on the throne )f this bright world, and wrote her law In human hearts, was.

felt and known 267 A’ot in unreal dreams, but true Substantial joy- as I)tilse e’er lne-fBv f,ear’s art(] loso,iis, tli,-tt ea,-h f,-If th  reality %N-i.ere Ple.)s,-i, e c, A elt

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H MIRROR LIBRARY. ,, 2.58 THE And spirits, on whose wings the hue Of heaven still linger’d, round me flew, Till from all sides such splendours broke, That, with the excess of light, I woke! ‘TIs true, alas-thie myst’ries and the lore I came to study on this wondrous shore, Are all forgotten in the new delights, The strange, wild joys that fill my days and nights Instead of dark, dull oracles that speak From subterranean temples those I seek Come fromn the breathing shrines where Beauty lives And f,ove, her priest, the soft respo ises gives .‘nstea I of h >nojring Isis in tl. ose rii es At Co)tos held, I hail her, when she lignts Her first young crescent on the holy streamWhen wandering youths and maidens watch her ba And number o’er the nights she hath to run, Ere she again embrace her bridegroom sun. While o’er some mystic leaf, that dimly lends A clue into past times, the student bends, And by its glimmering guidance learns to tread Back through the shadowy knowledge of the deadThe only skill, alas, I yet can claim Lies in deciphering some new lov’d-one’s nameSome gentle missive, hinting time and place, In language, soft as Memphian reed can trace. Such was my dream;-and, I confess, Though none of all our creedless School E’er conn’d, believ’d, or reverenc’d less The fables of the priest-led fool, Who tells us of a soul, a mind, Separate and pure, within us shrin’d, Which is to live ah, hope too bright! For ever in yon fields ff ligl. t; Wlvho fondly thinks the g uardian eyes Of Gods are on him-as if, blest And blooming in their own blue skies, The eternal Gods were not too wise To let weak minan disturb their rest!Though thinking of such creeds as thou And all our Garden sages think, Yet is there something, I allow, In dreams like this-a sort of link With worlds unseen, which, from the hour I first could lisp my thoughts till now, Hath master’d me with spell-like power. And who can tell, as we’re combin’d Of various atoms-somn e refin’d, Like those that scintillate and play In the fix’d stars-some, gross as they lThat frown in clouds or sleep in clayWho can be sure, but’tis the best And brightest atoms of our frame, Those most akin to stellar flame, That shine out thus, when we’re at res Ev’n as the stars themselves, whose lig Comes out but in the silent night. Or is it that there lurks, indeed, Some truth in Man’s prevailing creel And that our Guardians, from on hi} Come, in that pause from toil are To put the senses’ curtain bv, And on the wakeful soul look i And where-oh where’s the heart that could wihi The unnumber’d witcheries of this sun-born land, Where first young Pleasure’s banner was unfurl’d, And Love hath temples ancient as the world! Where mystery, like the veil by Beauty worn, Hides but to win, and shades but to adorn; Where that luxurious melancholy, born Of passion and of genius, sheds a gloom Making joy holy;-where the bower and tome Stand side by side, and Pleasure learns from Death The instant value of each moment’s breath Couldst thou but see how like a poet’s dream This lovely land now looks!-the glorious stream, That late, between its banks, was seen to glide ‘Mong shrines and marble cities, on each side Glitt’ring like jewels strung along a chain, Hath now sent forth its waters, and o’er plain And vallev, like a giant from his bed Rising with outstretch’d limbs, hath grandly spread; While far as sight can reach, beneath as clear And blue a heaven as ever bless’d our sphere, Gardens, and pillar’d streets, and porphyry domes, And high-built temples, fit to be the homes Of mighty Gods, and pyramids, whose hour Outlasts all time, above the waters tower! Vain thought!-but yet, howe’, , be, Dreams, more than once, hath?rov’d to iAie Oracles, truer far than Oak, Or Dove, or Tripod, ever s,ie. And’twas the words-thou’it hear and smile The words that phantom seem’d to speak4 Go, and beside the sacred Nile “, You’ll find the Eternal Life you seek-” That, haunting me by night, by day, At length, as with the unseen hand Of Fate itself, urg’d me away From Athens to this Holy Land; Where,‘monx tfie secrets, still untaught, The myst’ries that, as yet, nor sun Nor eye hath reach’d-oh, blessed thought! May sleep this everlasting one. Then, too, the scenes of pomp and joy, that make One theatre of this vast, peopled lake, Where all that Love, Religion, Commerce gives Of life and motion, ever moves and lives. Here, up the steps of temples from the wave Ascending, in procession slow and grave, Priests in white garments go, with sacred wands And silver cymbals gleaming in their hands; While there, rich harks-fresh from those sunny traco Far off, beyontid the sounding cataractsGlide, with their precious lading to the sea, Plumes of bright birds, rhinoceros ivory, Gems from the Isle of Meroe, and those grains Of gold, wash’d down by Abyssinian rains.

Here, where the waters wind into a bay Shadowsy and cool, some pilgrims, on their way To SaYs or Buibas.itis, among beds Of lotus flowers, that close above their heads, Push their light barks, and there, as in a bower, Sing, talk, or sleep away the sultry hour; Oft dipping in the Nile, when faint with heat, That leaf, from which its waters drink most sweet W hile haplv, n ot far off, b e neath a bank Of blossoming acacias, many a prank Is played in the cool current by a train Of laughing nymphs, lovely as she,* whose chain Farewell-when to our Garden friends Thou talk’st of the wild dream that sendF The gayest of their school thus far, Wandering benieath Canopus’ star, Tell them that, wander where he will, Or, how: -e’er they now condemn His vague and vain pursuit, he still Is worthv of the School and them  Still, all their own-nor e’er ibrgets, Ev’n while his heart and soul pursue T’h’ Eternal Light which never sets, The many meteor joys that do, But seeks then, hails them with delight, Where’er they meet his longing sight. And, if his life must wane away, Like other lives, at least the day, The hour it lasts shall, like a fire With incense red, in sweets expire. I Cleopatra. I I i. I I’ I LET,RER II. FROM THE

SAME TO 1‘11’F SA,%lE. Ntm,put I, i iIi i 11

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ALCIPHRON. That they themselves, triumphant o’er the powier Of fate and death, are living at this hour; “Ard these, the giant horses they still possess, ‘Not tombs, but everlasting palaces, ” Within whose depths, hidltrom the world above, ” Eve now they wander, with the few they love, ‘I, hrough subterranean gardens, by a light “Unknown on earth, which hath nor dawn nor night! “Else, why those deathless structures? why the grand “And hidden halls. that undermine this land? “Why else hath none of earth e’er dared to go “Through the di.rk wvindinca.- of that realm below, “Nir aught from heav’n itself, except the God Of Silence, through those endless labyrinths trod iw Thus did I dream-wild, wvandering dreams, I own, But such as haunt me ever, if alone, Or in that pause,‘twixt joy and joy I be, Like a ship hush’d between two waves at sea. Then do these spirit whisperings, like the sound Of the Dark Future, come appalling round; Nor can I break the tiance that holds me then, Till high o’er Pleasure’s surge I mount again! Even now for new adventure, new delight, My heart is on the wing;-this very night, The Temple on that Island, half-way o’er From Memphis’ gardens to the eastern shore, Sends up its annual rite. to her, whose beams Bring the sweet time of niight-flowers and dreams. The nymph, who dips her urn in silent lakes, And turns to silvery dew each drop it takes; – Oh, not our Dian of the North, who chains In vestal ice the current of young veins, But she who haunts the gay Bubastian 1I grove, And owns she sees, from her bright heaven above, Nothing on earth to match that heaven but Love. Think, then, what bliss will be abroad to-night!Besides those sparkling nymphs, who meet the sigbt Day after day, familiar as the sun, Coy buds of beautv, yet unbreath’d upon, And all the hidden loveliness, that lies, Shut up, as are the beams of sleeping eyes, Within these twilight shrines-to-night shall be Let loose, like birds, for this festivity! Arournd thio conquerors of the world was cast, But, for a third too feeble, broke at last. For oh, believe not them, who dare to brand, As poor in charms, the women of this land. Though darkened by that sun, whose spirit flowsvh ‘l’hrough every vein, and tinges as it goes, ‘Tis but the embrowning of the fruit that tells How rich within the.oul of ripeness dwellsThe hue their own dark sanctuaries wear, Announcing heaven in half-c(aughlt glimtn,ses there. And never %-et di l tell-‘ale l( oks st t free The secret of y oug hearts more tenderly. Such eves!-long, shadowy, with that languid fall Of the tfling,‘d lids, which may be seen in all.

Who live beneath the sun’s too ardent raysLending such looks as, on their marriage days, Young maids cast down before a bridegroom’s gaze! Then for their grace-mark but the nymph-like shapes Of the young village girls, when carrying grapes From green Anthylla, or light urns of flowersNot our ovwn Sculpture, in her happiest hours, E’er imagd forth, even at the touch of him * Whose touch was life, more luxury of limb; Then, caist thou Awonder if,‘mid scenes like these, I should forget all graver mysteries, All lore but Love’s, all secrets but that best In heaven or earth, the art of being blest! Yet are there times-though brief, I own, their stay, Like Summer clouds that shine themselves awayMoments of gloom, when even these pleasures pall Upor. my sadd’ning heart, and I recall That Garden dream-that promise of a powerOh, were there such!-to lengthen out life’s hour, On, on, as through a vista, far away Ope ming before us into endless day! Anrd chiefly o’er my spirit did this thoitTh,t Come on that evening-bright as ever brought Light’s golden farewell to the world-when first The eternal pyramids of Memphis burst Awfully on my sight-standing sublime ‘Twixt earth and heaven, the watch-towers of Time, From whose lone summit, when his reign hath past From earth for ever, he will look his last! there hung a calm and solemn sunshine round Those mighty monuments, a hushing sound In the still air that circled them, which stole Like music of past times into my soul. I thought what mvriads of the wise, and brave, And beautiful, had sunk into the grave, Since earth first saw these wonders-and I said, Are things eternal onlv for the Dead? “Hath mnan no loftier hope than this, which doomsA. “His only lasting trophies to be tombs? But’ts not so-earth, heaven, all nature c’ ws ‘ He may become immortal-may unclose “The wings within him wrapt, and proudly li,se, ”

Redeem’d from earth, a creature of the skies! And mark,‘tis nigh; already the sun bids His evening farewell to the Pyramids, As he hath done, age after age, till they Alone on earth seem ancient as his ray; While their great shadows, stretching from the light, Look light the first colossal steps of Night, Stretching across the valley, to invade The distant hills of porphyry with their shade Around, as signals of the setting beam, Gay, gilded flags on every house-top gleam: While, hark!-from all the temples a rich swe,l Of music to the Moon-farewell-farewell. “And who can say, among the written spells From Hermes’ hand, that, in these shrines and cells “Have, from the Flood, lay hid, there may not be ” Some secret clue to immortality,“Some amulet, whose spell can keep life’s fire Awake within us, never to expire! “‘Tis known that, on the Emerald Table,t hid “For aces in yon loftiest pyramid, The Thrice-Greatt did himself, engrave, of old, “TThe chvmic mystery that gives endless gold. And wihy may not this mightier secret dwell Within the sanme dark chambers? who can tell 4 But that those kings, who, by the written skill ‘ Of the Emerald Table, call’d forth gold at will, Arid quarries upon quarries heap’d and hurl’d, To build them domes that might outstand the world Who knows but that the heavenlier art, which shares ” The life of Gods with man, was also theirsA Apelles. t See Notes on the Epicurean. t The Hermes Trismegistus i I I I 269 LETTER III FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. I’HF:RE: is some star-or it may be That moon we qaw so near last nightWhich comes athwart mv destiny For ever, with misleading light. If for a moment, pure and wise And calm I feel, there quick doth fall A spark from some di turbing eyes, That through my heart, soul, being flies, And makes a wildfire of it all. I’ve seen-oh, Cleon, that this eartb Should e’er have given such beauty birth!That man-but, hold-hear all that pass’d Since yester-ni_ht, from first to I&qt. The rising of the Moon, calm, slow, And beautiful, as if she came ~ The great Festival of the Moon. Bubastis, or Isis, was the Diana of the Fgyptian mythology

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-( TH MIRR IRAY Fresh from the Elysian bowers below, Was, with a loud anid sq weet acclaim, Welcom’d from every breezv height, W’iere cr Gsds si )od waiti for her li,,lit. And well might they who view’d the scene Then lit up all around them, say, That never vet had Nature been Caught sleepin, in a lovelier ray, Or rivall’d her ovn noon-tide face, With purer show of moonlight grace. They seem’d all fair-but thtere was one On whom the light had not yet shone, Or slone but partly-so dowsncast She held her brow as slow she past. And y et to me, there seell’d to dwell A charm about that unseen faceA something in the shade that fell Over that brow’s imagin’d grace, Which won me more than all the best Outshining beauties of the rest. And her alone my eyes could see, Enchain’d by this sweet mystery; And her alone I watch’d, as round She glided o’er that marble ground, Stirring not more the unconscious air Than if a Spirit were moving there.

Fill suddenly, wide open flew The teLt,ple’s folding gates, and threw A splen,itl,r from within, a flood Of glorv, where these maiden’s stood, While, with that light-as if the same Rich source gave birth to both-there came A swell of harmony, as grand As e’er was born of voice and hand, Filling the gorgeous aisles around With luxury of light and sound.

Memphis-still grand, thouoh not the same Unrivall’d Meinphis, that could seize From ancient Thebes the crown of Fame, And wear it bright through centuriesNow, in the moonshine, that came down Like a last smile upon that crown,Memphis, still grand, among her lakes, Her pyramids and shrines of fire, Rose, like a vision, that half breaks On one who, dreaming still, awakes, To music from some midnight choir: While to the west-where gradual sinks In the red sands, from Libya roll’d, Some mighty column, or fair sphynx, That stood in kingly courts, of oldIt seem’d as,‘mid the pomp that shone Thus gaily round him, Time look’d on, Waiting till all, now bright and blest, Should sink beneath him like the rest. No sooner had the setting sun Proclaim’d the festal rite begun, And,‘mid their idol’s fullest beams, The Egyptian world was all afloat, Than I, who live upon these streams, Like a young Nile-bird, turn’d my boat To the fair island, on whose shores, Through leafy palms and sycamores, Already shone the moving lights Of pilgrims hastening to the rites. While far around, like ruay sparks Upon the water, lighted barks, Of every form and kind-from those That down Svene’s cataract shoots, To the grand, gilded barge, that rows To tambour’s beat and breath of flutes, And wears at night, in words of flame, On the rich prow, its master’s name; All were alive, and made this sea Of cities biiust a a hill Of summer ants, caught suddenly In the overflowing of a rill. then was it, by the flash th fah th t blaz’d Full o’er her features-oh’twas then, As startingly her eyes she rais’d, But quick let fall their lids again, I saw-Not Psyehe’s self, when firm Upon the threshold of the skies She paus’d, while heaven’s glory burst Newly upon her downcast eyes, Could look more beautiful, or blush With holier shame, than did this maid, Whom now I saw, in all that gush Of splendour from the aisles, display’d, Never-though well thou Icniowst how much I’ve felt the sway of Beauty’s starNever did her brigh.t influence touch Mv soul into its depths so far; And had that vision linger’d there One minute more, I should have flown, Forgetful wtho I was and where, And, at her feet in worship thrown, Proffer’d my so)ul through life her own. Landed upon the isle, I soon Through marble allevs and small groves Of that mysterious palm she loves, Reach’d the fair Temple of the Mooiin; And there-as slowly throiugh the last Dim-lighted vestibule I pass’dBetween the porphyry pillars, twin’d With palm and ivy, I could see A band of youthful maidens wind, In measur’d wvalk, half dancingly, Round a small shrine, on which was plac’d That bird,* whose plumes of black and white Wear in their hue, by Nature trac’d A type of the moon’s shadow’d light.

In drapery, like woven snow,n These n3nymphs E ere clad; and each, nelow The rounded bo,so.m, loosely wore A dark blue zone, or bandelet, With little sil ei- stars all o’er, As are the skies at midnight, set, While in their tresses, braided through, Sparkled that flower of E-zypt’s lakves, The silvery lotus, in whose hue As much d, lighlit the voing Moon takes, In vain I tried to follow;-band, Of reverend chanters fill’d the aisle: Where’er I sought to pass, their wands Motion’d me back, while many a file Of sacred nymphs-but ah, not they Whom my eves lo:-k’d for-throng’d the way Perplex’d, inpatient,‘mid this crowd Of faces, lights the o’erwhelming cloi-( Of incense rouind me, and mnv blood Full of its new born fire-1 stood, Nor mov’d, nor breath’d, but when I’litlht A glimpse oi some blue, spangled z,one, I I I I THE MIRROR LIBRARY. t6O As doth the Dav-God to behold 7le lofty be,-tii-flo%N,er’s bjem of gold. An,i, as they, gracefully N-.,ent roiind ‘I ie wor;, hi I- 3’,a bir’, s mf- to’he’jea’Of castanets, sonie to the soupd Of the sbrill sistrum tim’d their feet; While othets, at each stel) they took, A tinklin-, chain of silver sliool, I But, scarcely had that burst of light And music broke on ear and sight, Than up the aisle the bird took wing, As if on heavenly mi,%-ion sent, While after him, with graceful spring, Like some unearthly creatures, meant To live in that mix’d element Of light and song, the young maids went, And she, who in my heart had thrown A spark to burn for life, was flown. I T 1);,, i I -‘.

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ON. 261 Far o’er the flood, from Memphis on To the Moon’s Isle and Babylon. Or wreath of lotus, which, I thought, Like those she wore at distance shone. But no,‘twas vain-hour after hour, Till my heart’s throbbing turnii’d to pain, And my strain’d eyesight lost its power, I sought her thus, but all in vain. At length, hot-wilder’d-in despair, I rush’d into the cool night-air, And, hurrying (though with many a look Back to the busy Temple,) took Iy wa3 along the moonlight shore, And sprung intc my!)oat once more. My oars were lifted, and my boat Lay rock’d upon the rippling stream; While my vague thoughts, alike afloat, Drifted through many an idle dream, With all of which, wild and unfix’d As was their aim, tha t vision mixed, That bright nymph of the Temple-now, With the same innocence of brow She wore within the lighted faneNow kindling, through each pulse and vein, With passion of such deep-felt fire As Gods might glory to inspire;And now-oh Darkness of’ the tomb, That must eclipse even light like hers! Cold, dead, and blackening,‘mnid tile gloom Of those eternal sepulchres. There is a Lake, that to the north Of Memphis stretches grandly forth, Uptn whose s;lent rhore’he Dead Have a ploud City of their owr,,’ With shrines and pyramids o’erspreadWhere many an ancient kingly head Slumbers, immortalis’d in stone; And where, through marble grots beneath, The lifeless, rang’d like sacred things, Nor wanting aught of life but breath, Lie in their painted coverings, And on each new successive race, That visit their dim haunts below, Look with the same unwithering face, They wore three thousand years ago. There, Silence, thoughtful God, who loves The neighbourhood of death, in groves Of asphodel lies hid, and weaves His hushing spell among the leavesNor ever noise disturbs the air Save the low, humming, mournful sound Of pri ests, waithin their shrines, at prayer For the fresh Dead entomb’d around Scarce had I turn’d my eyes away From that dark death-place, at the thouglt, When by the sound of das h in g spray From a light oar my ear was caught, While past me, through the moonlight, sail,1 A little gilded bark that bore Two female figures, closely veil’d And mantled, towards that funeral shore They landed-and the boat again Put offactoss the watery plain. Shall I confes-to thee I may That never yet hath come the chance Of a new music, a new ray From woman’s voice, from woman’s glanc Which-let it find me how it might, In joy or grief-I did not bless, And wander after, as a light Leading to undreamt happiness. And chiefly now, when hopes so vaini Were stirring in my heart and brain, When fancy had allur’d my soul Into a chase, as vague and far As would be his, who fix’d his goal In the horizon, or some star.dny bewilderment, that brought More near to earth my high-flown thought The faintest glimpse of joy, less pure, Less high and heavenly, but more sure, Came welcome-and wasq then to me What the first flowery isle must be To vagrant birds blown out to sea. ‘Twas tow’rd this place of death-in mood Made up of thoug-hts, half bright, half darkI now across the shining flood Unconscious turn’d my light wing’d bark. The form of that young maid, in all Its beautv.y, was before me still; And oft I thought, if thus to call Her image to my mind at will, If but the memory of that one Bright look of hers, for ever gone, Was to my heart worth all the rest Of wNoman-kind, beheld, possestWhat would it be, if wholly mine, Within these arms, as in a shrine, Hallow’d bv Love, I saw her shineAn idol, worshipp’d by the light Of her own beauties, day and night-Q If’twas a blessing but to see And lose again, what would this be? Quick to the shore 1 urg’d my bark, And, by the bursts of moonlight, shed Between the lofty tombs, could mark Those figures, as with hasty tread They glided on-till in the shade Of a small pyramid, which through Some boughs of palm its peak display’d, They vanish’d instant from my view. In thoughts like these-but often crost By darker threads-mv mind was lost, Till, near that City of the Dead, Wak’d from my trance, I saw o’erheadAs if by some encha inter bid Suddenlv from the wave to risePyramid over pyramid Tower in succession to the skies; While one, aspirin, as if soon ‘Twould touch the -dvens, rose o’er all; And, on its siimrr.’. tIne white moon Rested, as o.

a pedestal! At length exploring darkly round T he Pyringid’s sm ooth sides, I found An iron portal-opening high ‘Twixt peak and base-and, with a prayed To the bliss-loving Moor, whose eye Alone beheld me, spruniig in there. Downward the narrow stairway led ‘rliroclgh many a duct obscure and dread, A labyrinth for mystery made, With w anderings onward, baclkward, round. And gather-ing, still, where’er it wound, But deeper density of shade. The silence of the lonely tombs And temples round, where nought was heard But the high p,alm-trees’ tufted plumes, Shaken, at timnies, by breeze or bird, Form’d a deep contrast to the scene Of revel, Xwhere I late had been; To those gay soui(ids, that still came o’er, Faintly, from mny iv a distant shore, And the unnumber’d lights, that shone * Necrpolis, on the City of the Dead, to the south of Memphis. B I I I i I ALCIPHR I hurried to the spot-no trace Of life was in that lonely place; And, had the creed I hold by tau,ht Of other Nwrlds, I might have thought Some mocking spirits had from thence Come in this guise to cheat iriv sen,;e.

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?2f’~ THE MIRR L Scarce had I ask’d myself, ” Can aught ” That man delights in sojourn here?“When, suddenly, far off, I caught A glimpse of light, remote, but clearWhose wvelcome glimmer seem’d to pour From some alcove or cell, that ended The lon-, steep, marble cortidor, Through which I now, all hope, descended. Never did Spartan to his bride With warier foot at midnight glide. It seem’d as echo’s self were dead In this dark place, so mute my tread. Reaching, at length, that light, I saw Oh listen to the scene, now rais’d Before my eyes-then guess the awe, The still, rapt aoe with which I gaz’d. ‘Twas a small chapel, lii’d around With the fair, spangling marble found In manv a ruin’r d shrine that stands Half seen abl)ove the Lihbyanr sands The walls were richly sculptur’d o’er, And chaiacter’d with that dark lore, Of times before the Flood, whose key Was lost in the ” Universal Sea.“While on the roof’ was pictur’d bright The Theban beetle, as he shines, When the Nile’s mighty flow declines, And forth the creature springs to light, With life regenerate in his wings:Emblem of vain imagiinings! Of a new world, w hen this is gone, In which the spirit still lives on! Strange p owe r of Innocence, to turn To its own hue whate’er comes near, And make even vagrant passio n burn With purer warmth within its sphere! She who, but one short hou r before, Had comeri o silvre, o ike sudden w ild-fire, o’er My heart and brain-whom gladly, even From that bright Temple, i n th e face Of those proud minist ers of heaven, 1 would have borne, in wild embrace, And risk’d all punishment, divine And human, but t o m ak e her mine; She, she was now before me, th row n By fate itself into my a rms There standing, beautiful, alone, With nought to guard her, but her charms Yet did I, then-did even a breath From my parch’d lips, too parch’d to move. Disturb a scene where thus, beneath Earth’s silent covering, Youth and Death Held converse through undying love? No-smile and taunt me as thou wilt Though but to gaze thus was delight, Yet seem’d it like a wrong, a guilt, To win by stealth so pure a sight: And rather than a look profane Should then have met those thoughtful ey, Or voice or whisper broke the chain That link’d her spirit with the skies, I would have gladly, in that place, From which I watch’d her heavenward fae, Let my heart break, without one beat That could disturb a prayer so, sweet. Gently, as if oln every tread, My life, my more than life, depended, Back through the corridor that led To this blest scene I now ascended, And with slow seeking, and some pain, And many a winding tried in vain, Emerg’d to upper air again. Direct beneath this type, reclin’d On a blacki granite altar, lay A female f,rrn, il crystal shrin’d, And looking fresh as if the ray Of soul had fled but yesterday. While in relief, of silv’rv hue, Grav’d on the altar’s front were seen A branch of lotus, broken ill two, As that fair creature’s life had been, And a small bird that from its spray Was winging, like her soul, away. But brief the glimpse I now could spare, To the wild, mystic wonders round; For there wlas vet one wonder there, That held me as by witch’ry bound. The lamnp, that through the chamber shed Its vivid beam, was at the head Of her who on that altar slept; Andi near it stood, when first I cameBending her brow, as if she kept Sad watch upon its silent flanmeA female form, as ret so plac’d Between the lamp’s strong glow and me, That I but saw, in outline trac’d, The shaldow of her svrmmetry. Yet did my heart-I scarce knew whyEven at that shadow’d shape beat high. Nor was it long, ere full in sight The figure turn’d; and by the light That touch’d her features, as she bent Over the crystal moinument, I saw’twas she-the same-the same That lately stood before me, bright’ning The holy spot, where she but came And went againii, like summer lightning My mind’s first impulse was to fly At once f rom thi s en tangling ne tNe- scenes to range, new loves to try, Dr, in mirth, wine, and luxury Of every sense, that night forget. But vtain the effort-spell-bound s till, I linger’d, without powter or will To turn my eyes from that dark door, Which now enclos’d her’mong the dead; Oft faneving, through the boughs, that (?a The sunny pile their flickering shed, ‘Twas her light form again I saw Starting to earth-still pure and bright, But wakening, as I hop’d, less awe, Thus seen by morniiig’s natural light, Than in that strange, dim cell at night Upon the crystal, o’er the breast Of her wh.o took that silent rest, There w,as a cross of silver lying Another type of that blest home, Which hope, and pride, and fear of dying Build for us in a world to come:This silver cross the maiden rais’d To her pure lips:-then, having gaz’d Som e mi nutes on that traonqeil face, Sleeping in all dea.th’s mournftil -race, Upward she turn’d her brow serene, But no, alas-she ne’er return’d: Nor yet-though still I watch-nor yet. Though the red sun for hours hath burn’d, And flow, in his mid course hath met i I I, ii I LTBRARY. As if, intent on heaven, those eyes Saw then nor rdof nor cloiid bet,.%,een Their own p,ire orbits and the sl(ie.- – And, though her lips no motion made, And that fix’d look was all her speech, I saw that the rapt spirit pray’d Deeper within than words could reach The sun had freshly risen, and down The marble hills of Araby, Scatter’d, as from a conqueror’s crown. His beams into that living sea. There seem’d a glory in his light, Newly put on-as if for pride Of the high homae paid this night To his own Isis, his young brido, Now fadin  feminine away In her proud Lord’s superior ray. I I I

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ALCIPHRON. The peak of that eternal pile He pauses still at noon to bless, Standing beneath his downward smile, Like a great Spirit, shadowless!Nor yet she comes-while here, alone, Saunt’ring through this death-peopled place, Where no heart beats except my own, Or’neath a palm-tree’s shelter thrown, By turns I watch, and rest, and trace These li nes, t hat are to waft to thee My last night’s wondrous history. What!-do these sages think, to them alone The key of this world’s happiness is known? That none but they, who make such proud parade Of Pleasure’s sniling favcutrs, win the maid, Or that Religion keeps no secret place, No niche, in her dark fanes, for Love to grace? Fools!-did they know how keen the zest that’s given To earthly joy, when season’d well with heaven; How Piety’s grave mask improves the hue Of Pleasure’s laughing features, half seen through, And how the Priest, set aptly within reach Of two rich worlds, traffics for bliss with each, Would they not, Decius-thou, whom the ancient tie Owixt Sword and Altar makes our best allyWould they not change their creed, their craft, for ours; Leave the gross daylight joys that, in their bowers, Languish with loo much sun, like o’erblown flowers, For the veil’d loves, the blisses undisplay’d ~ That slily lurk within the Temple’s shade? And,‘stead of haunting the trim Garden’s schoolWhere cold Philosophy usurps a rule, Like the pale moon’s, o’er passion’s heaving tide, Till Pleasure’s self is chill’d by Wisdom’s pride Be taught by us, quit shadows for the true, Substantial joys we sager Priests pursue, Who far too wise to theorise on bliss, Or Pleasure’s substance for its shade to miss, Preach other worlds, but live for only this v Thanks to the well-paid Mystery round us flung, Which, like its type, the golden cloud that hung O’er Jupiter’s love-couch its shade benign, Round human frailty wraps a veil divine. Dost thou remember, in that Isle Of our own Sea, where thou and I Linger’d so long, so happy a while, ‘Till all the summer flowers went byHow gay it was, when sunset brought To the cool Well eu; favourite maidsSome we had won, and some we sought To dan c ti e withi n the fragrant shades, And, till the stars went down attune Their Fountain Hymns * to the young x)on? That time, too-oh,‘tis like a dream When from Scamander’s holy tide I sprung as Genius of the Stream, And bore away that blooming bride, Who thither came, to yield her charms (As Phrygian maids are wont, ere wed) Into the cold Scamander’s arms, But met, and welcom’d mine, insteadWondering, as on my neck she fell,. How river-gods could love so well! Who would have thought that he, who rov’d Like the first bees of summer then, Rifling each sweet, nor ever lov’d But the free hearts, that lov’d again, Readily as the reed replies To the least breath that round it sighsIs the same drearmer wno, last night, Stood aw’d and breathless at the sight Of one Egyptian girl; and now Wanders among these tombs, with brow Pale, watchfil, sad, as though he just, Himself, had risen from out their dust! Still less should they presume, weak wits, that.sey Alone despise the craft of us who pray;Still less their creedless vanity deceive With the fond thought, that we who pray believe. Believe!-Apis forbid forbid it, all Ye monster Gods, before whose shrines we fallDeities, fram’d in jest, a s i f to try How far gross Man can vulgarise the sky; How far the same low fancy that combines Into a drove of brutes yon zodiac’s s*, ns, And turns that Heaven itself into a place Of sainted sin and deified disgrace, Can bring Olympus even to shame more deep, Stor.k it with things that earth itself holds cheap, Fish, flesh, and fowl, the kitchen’s sacred brood, Which Egypt keeps for worship, not for foodAll, w orthy idols of a Faith that sees In dogs, cats, owvls, and apes, divinities! Yet so it is-and the same thirst For something high and pure, above This withering wvorld, which, from the first, Made me drink deep of woman’s loveAs the one joy, to heaven most near Of all our hearts call meet with hereStill burns me up, still keeps awake A fever nought but death can slake. Believe!-oh, Decius, thou, who feel’st no care For things divine, beyond the soldier’s share, Who takes on trust the faith for which he bleeds, A good, fierce God to swear by, all he needsLittle canst thou, whose creed around thee hangs Loose as thy summer war-cloak, guess the pangsOf loathing and self-scorn with which a heart, Stubborn as mine is, acts the zealot’s partTOe deep and dire disgust with which I wade Through the foul juggling of this holy tradeThis mud profoun d of m yste ry, w he re t he feet, At every step, sinks deeper in deceit. Oh! many a time, when’mid the Temple’s blaze,. O’er prostrate fools the sacred cist I raise, Did I not keep still proudly in my mind The plowver this priestcraft gives me o’er mankind  A lever, of more might, in skilffil hand, To move this world, than Archimede e’er plann’dI should, in vengeance of the shame I feel At mv own mockery, crush the slaves that kneel iBesotted round; and-like that kindred breed Of reverend, wolf-drest crocodiles they!bed, At fam’d Arsinoint nake Tr:y keepers bless, With their last throb, my sharp-fa,ng’d Holiness RROM Ot, MIAH PRIEST OF

MEMPHIS, TO DECIU’S, THE PR2ETORIAN PREFECT. Re.Joicv, mv friend, rejoice:-the youthful Chief Of that light Sect which mocks at all belief, And, gay atnd go(less, makes the present hour Its only heaven, is now within our power. Smooth, impious school!-not all the weapons aim’d At )riestlv creeds, since first a creed was fiam’d, E’er struck so deeo as that sly dlart they wield, The Bacchant’s pointed spear in laughing flowers conceal’ i. And oh,‘twere victorv to this heart, as sweet As any thouz can’st boast-even when the feet Of tlhy proIud war-steed wade through Christian blood. To wrap) this scoffer in Faith’s blinding hood, And bring hinm, tam’d and prostrate, to implore The vilest gods even Egypt’s saints adore. ‘ These songs o f the Vl, as they were called by the re le teanlio’, ar e still common ill the Greek isles. Say, is it t o be borne, tha t scoffers, vain Of their own freedom from the altar’s chain, f For the trinkets with which the sacred Crocodiles were mented, see the Epicurean. chap. x 21;3 Farewell; Whatever mav befallOr bright, or dark-thoul’t know it all. LETTER IV.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Should rmock thlus all thlat thou thy blood hast sold, And I my tiuth, pride freedoi, to uphold? It must not be:-think’st thou that Christian sect, Whose f(lloweris, quick as broiken waves, tract Their crests anewv and swell into a tide, That threats to swNeep) awav our shrines of prideThink’st thou, with all their wondrous s)ells, even they Would triumph thus, had nit the constant play Of Wit’s resistless aricheiry clear’d their way?That mocking spirit, worst of all the foes, Our solemn fraud, our inmstic mummery knows, Whose wounding flash thus ever’mong the signs Of a fast-falling creed, prelusive shines, Threcat’ning such change as do the awful freaks Of summer lightning, ere the tempest breaks. But, to my point-a youth of this vain school, But one, h,hoi, Doubt itself h,.h f’.‘d t, oool Dow)n to that freezing point where Priest’s despair Of any spark fromr th’e altar catching thereHath, some nights since-it was, methinks, the night Tha,t follo.‘d the foll Moon’s great annual riteT’hrough the dark, winding ducts, that downward stray To these earth-hid(den temples, track’d his way, Just at that hour when, round the Shrine, and me, The choir of blooming nymphs thou long’st to see, Sing their last night-hymn in the Sanctuary. The clan,our of the marvellous Gate, that stands At the Well’s lowest depth- which none but hands Of new, untaught adventurers, from above, Who know not the safe path, e’er dare to moveGave signal that a foot piofane was niglh:‘Twas.q the Greek youth, who, by that morning’s skcy, Ilad been observ’d, curiously wand’ring round The mighty fanes of our sepulchral ground.

instant, the Initiate’s Trials were prepar’d,The Fire, Air, Water; all that Orpheus dar’d, That Plato, that the bright-hair’d Samian * pass’d, With trembling hope, to come to-what, at last? Go, ask the d(lupes of Priestcraft! question him Who, mid terrific sounds and spectres dim, Walks at Fleusis; ask of those, who brave The dazzling miracles of Mithra’s Cave, With its seven starry gates; ask all who keep Those terrible night-mysteries, iNhere they weep And howl sad dirges to the answering breeze, O’er their dead G(,ds, their mortal DeitiesAmphibious, hybrid thints, that died as men, )rown’d, harg’(, ermpal’d, to rise, as gods, again;Ask theni, what nighty secret lurks below This saven-fld rrmysteryv-can they tell thee? No; Gravely they keep that only secret, well And fairly kept-that they have none to tell: And, duo’d themselves, console thcir humbled pride FBy duping thenceforth all mankind beside. In a rich, sunless empire of her o *n, With all earth’s luxuries lighting up her throne;A realm for mystery made, which undermines The Nile itself, and,‘heath the Twelve Great Shrines That keep Initiation’s holy rite, Spreads its long labyrinths of unearthly light, A light that knows no chang,-e-its brooks that run Too deep for day, its gardens without sun, Where soul and sense, by turns, are charm’d, surDris’d And all that bard or prophet e’er devis’d For man’s Elysium, priests have realis’d Here, at this moment-all his trials pat, And heart and nerve unshrinking to the lastOur new Initiate roves-as yet left free To tanider through this realm of mystery; Feeding on such illusions as prepare Tt. so,-‘, likt mis’.

o’er -:vater.alls.‘o wear All shapes and hues, at Fancy’s varying will, Through every shifting aspect, vapour still;Vague glimpses of the Future, vistas shown, By scenic skill, into that world unknown, Which saints and sinners claim alike their own; And all those other witching, wildering arts, Illusions, terrors, that make human hearts, Aye, even the wisest and the hardiest, quail To any gobxlini thron’d behind a veil. Yes-such the spells shall haunt his eye, his ear, Mix with his night-dreams, form his atmosphere; Till, if our Sage be not tam’d down, at length, His wit, his wisdom, shorn of all their strength, Like Phrygian priests, in honouir of the shrineIf he become not absolutely mine, Body and soul, and, like the tame decoy Which wary hunters of wild doves employ, Draw converts also, lure his brother wits To the dark cage where his own spirit flits, And give us, if not saints, good hypocritesIf I effect not this, then be it said The ancient spirit of our craft hath fled, Gone with that serpent-god the Cross hath cha’d To hiss its soul out in the Theban waste. Aud such the advance in fraud since Orpheus’ timeT’hat earliest iiiaster of our craft sublime.So many minor Mysteries, imps of fraud, From the great Orphic EFr have wing’d abroad, T’hat, still to uphold our Temple’s ancient boast, And seem most halv, we must cheat the most; Work the best miracles, wrap nonsense round In pomp and darkness, till it seems profound; Play on the hopes, the terrors of mankind, With changef,il skill; and make the human mind Like our own Sanctuary, where no ray, But by the Priest’s permission, wins its rayWhere through the gloom as wave our wizard-rods, Monsters, at will, are conjur’(l into Gods; While Reason, like a grave-fac’d mummy, stands, With her arms swath’d in hieroglyphic bands.

But chiefiv in that skill with which we use Man’s wildest passions tfr Relifio:‘s views, Yoking them to her car like -,erv steeds, Lies the main art in which our craft succeeds. And oh! be blest, ye men of vore, whose toil ITath, for her use, scoop’d out from Egypt’s soil This hidden Paradise, this mine of fanes, trdenrs, and pa.aces, where Pleasure reigns X ~ithagoras. A WARNING.-TO Of fair as h eaven and chaste as light! Did nature mould thee a ll s o brig ht, That t hou shouldst e’er b e brought to weep O’er languid virttie’s fatal sleep, O’er shame extinguish’d, honiouir fled, Peace lost, heart wither’d, feeling dead? No, no! a star was born with thee, Which sheds eternal puiritv. Thou hast, within those sainted eyes, So fair a transcript of the skies, In lines of light slicl heavenly lore, That man should read them and adore. Yet have I known a gentle maid Whose mind and form were both array’d In nature’s purest light, like thine;Who wore that clear, celestial sign, Which seems to mark the brow that’s fair For destinv’s peculiar care: Whose bosom too, like Dian’s own, Was guarded by a sacr-ed zone, Where the bright gem of virtue shore, Whose eves had, in their light, a charmn Against all wrong, and guile, and harm. Yet, hapless maid, in one sad hour, These spells have lost their shardian power, The gem has been beguil’d away; Her eyes have lost their cha.st’iiin,, ray; The modest pride, the ziiiltless shame, The smiles that front reflectiorn came, All, all have fled, and left her mind A faded monument behind; The ruins of a. once pure shrine, No longer fit for guest divine. Oh!‘twas a sight I wept to seeHeaven keep the lost onie’s fate from thee! I i i 264

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PASSIO N FLO WEBIR. ViMirgied, but mixed not; an w.ose cheek There was a blush, as if she knew Whose look was fixed on hers. Her eye, Of a spring sky’s delicious blue, Had not the language of that bloom, But mingling tears, and light, and gloom, Was raised abstractedly to Heaven:No sign was to her lover given. I painted her with golden tresses, Such as float on the wind’s caresses, When the laburnums wildly fling Their sunny blossoms to the spring, A cheek which had the crimson hue Upon the sun-touched nectarine; A lip of perfume and of dew; A brow like twilight’s darkened line. I strove to catch each charm that long Has lived,-thanks to her lover’s song! Each grace he numbered one by one, That shone in her of Avignon. I AM a daughter of that land Where the poet’s lip and the painter’s hand Are most divine,-where the earth and sky, Are picture both and poetryI am of Florence.‘Mid the chill Of hope and feeling, oh! I still Am proud to think to where I owe My birth, though but the dawn of wo! My childhood passed’mid radiant things, Glorious as Hope’s imaginings; Statues but known from shapes of the earth By being too lovely for mortal birth; Paintings whose colors of life were caught From the fairy teints in the rainbow wrought; Music whose sighs had a spell like those That float on the sea at the evening’s close; Language so silvery, that every word Was like the lite’s awakening chord; Skies nalf sunshine, and half starlight; Flowers whose lives were a breath of delight; Leaves whose green pomp knew no withering; Fountains brighbt as the skies of our spring; And songs whose wild and passionate line Suited a soul of romance like mine. I ever thought that poet’s fate Utterly lone and desolate. It is the spirit’s bitterest pain To love, to be bel oved aga in; And yet between a gulf which ever The h earts that burn tot eet must sever. And he was vowed to one sweet star, Bright yet to him, but bright afar. O’er some Love’s shadow may but pass As passes the breathstain o’er glass; And pleasures, cares, and pride, combined Fill up the blank Love leaves behind. But there are some whose love is high, Entire-and sole idolatry; Who, turning from a heartless world, Ask some lear thiing which may renew Affection’s several links, and be As true as they themselves are true. But love’s bright fount is never pure, And all his pilgrimns must endure All passion’s minhlty suffering Ere they may reach the blessed spring. And some who waste their lives to find A prize which ther mayt never win: Like those who search Obr Irem’s groves, Which fotun(d, they may not enter in.

Where is the sorrow but appears In Love’s ]ong catalogue of tears? And some there are who leave the path In agony and fierce disdain, But bear upon each cankered breast The scar that never heals again. Mdy power was but a woman’s power; Yet, in that great and glorious dower Which Genius gives, I had my part: I poured my full and burning heart In sons, and on the canvass made My dreams of beauty visible; I knew not which I loved the most Pencil or luite,-both loved so well. Oh, yet my pulse throbs to recall, Wvhen first upon the gallery’s wall Picture of mine was placed, to share Wonder and praise from each one there! Sad were my shades; methinks they had Almost a tone of prophecyI ever had, from earliest youth, A feeling what my fate would be. My first was of a gorgeous hall, Lighted up for festival; Braided tresses, and( cheeks of bloom, Diamond agraff, and foam-white plume; Censers of roses, vases of light, Like what the moon sheds on a summer night. Youths and maidens with linked hands Joinedl in the graceful sarabands, Sniled on the canvass; but apart Was one who leant in silent mood, As revelry to his sick heart Were worse than veriest solitude. Pale, dark-eyed, beautiful, and young,i Such as he had shone o’er my slumbers, When I bad only slept to dream Over again his magic numbers. Divinest Petrarchl! he whose lyre, Like mornin? lizht half dew, half fire, To L-i1ra an t to love, was vowedHe looked on one, who with the crowd I file THE IMPROVISATRICE. M-,- next was of a minstrel too, Who proi-ed that woi-n,-tnls hand mi!zht do, When, true to the lif-art pulse, it woke The harp. Her head was bending down, As if in weariness, and ne,,ti-, But unworn, was a laurel crown. She was not beautiful, if bloom And siniles form beauty; for, like death, Her brow was -h-i..tly; and her lip Was parched, as fever were its breath. There was a shade upon her dark, Lar,-,e, floating ey”, as if each spark

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266 Ti ASINFOHE Of minstrel ecstasy was fled, Yet leaving themn no tears to shed; Fixed in their hopele(ssiness of care, Arid reckless in their g esat dles-ir. She sat beneath a cypress tree, A little fountain ran beside, And, in the distance, one odark cook Threw its long shadow o’er the tide; And to the west, where the nightfall Was darkening day’s gemmned coronal, Its white shafts crimsoning in the sky, Arose the sun-god’s sanctuary. I deemed, that of lyre, life, and love She wa s a l ong, l ast fa rewell taking;That from her pale and parched lips, Hpr latest. wildest song was breaking. And odor was upon the breeze, Sweet thefts from rose and lemon trees. They stole me from my lulling dream, And said they knew that such an hour Had ever influence on my soul, And raised my sweetest minstrel power. I took my lute,-my eye had been Wandering round the lovely scene, Filled with those melancholy tears, Which come when all most bright appears, And hold their strange and secret power, Even on pleasure’s golden hour. I had been looking on the river, Half-marvelling to think that ever Wind, wave, or sky, could darken where AU seemed so gentle and so fair; And mingled with these thoughts there came A tale, just one that memory keepsForgotten music, till some chance Vibrate the chord whereon it sleeps! FAREW ELL, nay lute!-and would that I Had never waked( thy burning chords! Poison has been upon thy sigh, And fever has breathed in thy words. SOFTLY through the pomegranate groves Carne the gentle song of the doves; Shone the frui i the the eening light, Like Indian rubies, blood-red and bright; Shook the date-trees each tufted head, As dn the passing wid their agreen nuts shed; And, like dark columns, amid the saky The giant palms ascended on high: And the mosque’s gilded minaret Glistened and glanced as the daylight set. Over the town a crimson haze Gathered and hunz of the evening’s rays; And far beyond, like molten gold, The burning sands of the desert rolled. Far to the left, the sky and sea Mingled their gray immensity; And with flapping sail and idle prow The vessels threw their shades below Far down the beach, where a cypress grove Cast its shade round a little cove, Darkling and green, with just a space For the stars to shine on the water’s face, A small bark lay, waiting for night And its breeze to waft and hide its flight. Sweet is the burden, and lovely the freig,ts For which those furled-up sails await To a garden, fair as those Where the glory of the rose Blushes, charmed from the decay That wastes other blooms away; Gardens of the fairy tale Told, till the wood fire grows pale, By the Arab tribes, when night With its dim and lovely light, And its silence, suiteth well With the magic tales they tell. Through that cypress avenue, Such a warden meets the view, Filled with flowers-flowers that seem Lighted up by the sunbeam; Fruits of gold and gems, and leaves Green as hope before its grieves O’er the false and brokenhearted, All with which its youth has parted. Never to return again, Save in memories of pain! ret wiherefot-e, w-l,ti’efr;e should I blame T!y power, tihy spl)ell, mny qentlest lute?it e I s!iiuld have bee n the w,retch I am, Hlad every ehirl of thine been mute. It was lmy evil star above, Not nmy siveet lute, that wrought me wrong; It was not song that taught me love, But it was love that taught me song. If song be past, and hope undone, And pulse, and head, and heart, are flame; It is thy work, thou faithless one! But, no!-I will not name thy name! Sun-god! lute, wreath, are vowed to thee! Lona be their light upon my graveMy glorious grave-yon deep blue sea: I shall sleep calm-beneath its wave! FIroRENcE!

with what idolatry I’ve lingered in thy radiant halls, Worshipping, till my dizzy eye Grew dim with gazing on those walls, Where Time had spared each glorious gift By Genius unto Memory left! And when seen by the pale moonlight, More pure, more perfect, though less bright, What dreams of song flashed on my brain, Till each shade seemed to live again; And then the beautiful, the grand, The glorious of my native land, fa every flower that threw its veil Aside, when wooedl by the spring gale; In every vineyardl, where the sun, His task of siluimer ripening done, Shone on their clusters, and a song Came lightly from the peasant throng; Inr the dim loveliness of night, In fountains with their diamond light, In aned temple, ruined shrine, And its creen wreath of ivy twine; In every chance of earth and sky, Bre’tthed the deep soul of poesy. As yet I loved not; but each wiNk High thought I nourished raised a pyie For love to light; and lizhted once By love, it would be like the fire The burning lava floods that dwell In Etna’s cave unquenchable. There is a white rose in yon bower, But holds it yet a fairer flower: And music from that cage is breathing, Round which a jasmnine braid is wreathing, A low song from a lonely dove, A son, such exiles sing and love, Breathing of fresh fields, summ er sk ies,Not to be breathed of but in siab s! But fairer smile anfd sxweeter sigh Are near when L-:i.ASS step is nigh! With evtes (ark as the midnight time, Yet lighted like a sulllm,r clime One evening in the lovely June, Over the Arno’s waters cliding, I had been w-,atching the fair moon Amid her court of white clon:s riding: I had been listening to the gale, Which wafte.l music friom arounnd, (For scarce a lover, at that hour, But wakled his mnandolin’s light sound). PASSION FI,OWER. S.’,PPIIO’S SONG. A MOORISH ROMAIICE. I I I

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PASSION FLOI’TE. Of misery:-tlithey iust could see The distant sliore of Italiy, As the dim moon through vapors shoneA few short rays, her light was gone. O’er head a sullen scream was heard, As sought the land the white sea bird, Her pale wings like a meteor streaming Upon the waves a light is gleamingIll-omened brightness, sent by Death To light the night-black depths beneath. The vessel rolled amid the surge; The winds howled round it, like a dirge Sung by some savage race. Then came The rush of thunder and of flame: It showed two forms upon the deck,One clasped around the other’s neck, As there she could not dream of fearIn her lover’s arms could danger be near? He stood and watched her with the eye Of fixed and silent agony. The wraves swept on: he felt her heart Beat close anjd closer set to his! They burst upon the ship!-the sea Has closed upon their dream of bliss! Day fades apace: another day, That maiden will be far away, A wanderer o’er the dark-blue sea, And bound for lovely Italy, Her mother’s land! Hence, on her breast The cross beneath a Moorish vest; And hence those sweetest sounds, that seeir Like music murmuring in a dream, When in our sleeping ear is ringing The seng the nightingale is singing; When by that white and funeral stone, Half hidden by the cypress gloom, The hymn the mother taught her child Is sung each evening at her tomb. But quick the twilight time has past Like one of those sweet calms that last A moment and no more to cheer, The turmoil of our pathway here.

The bark is waiting in the bay, Night darkens round:-LE,LA, away I Far, ere to-morrow, o’er the tide, Or wait and be-ABDALLA’s bride? Surely theirs is a plesa sleep Beneath that ancient cedar tree, Whose solitary stenm has stood For years alone beside the sea! The last of a most noble race, That once had there their dwelling-place, Long past away! Beneath its shade, A soft green couch bile turf has made: And glad the morning sun is shining On those beneath the bounhs reclining. Nearer the fisher drew.

He saw The dark hair of the Moorish maid, Like a veil, floating, o’er the breast Where tenderly her head was laid; And yet her lover’s arm was placed Clasping around the graceffl waist; But then he marked the youth’s black curlq Were dripping wet with foam and blood; And that the maiden’s tresses dark Were heavy with the briny flood! Wo for the wind!-wo for the wave! They sleep the slumber of the grave! They buried them beneath that tree; It long had been a sacred spot. Soon it was planted round with flowers By many who had not forgot; Or yet lived in those dreams of truth The Eden birds of early youth, That make the loveliness of love: An(]

called the place ” THE MAIDIgNSs COVY That she who perished in the sea Mig,ht thus be kept in memory. She touched her lute-never again Her ear will listen to its strain! She took her cage, first kissed the breast Then freed the white dove prisoned there: It paused one moment on her hand, Then spread its glad wings to the air. She drank the breath, as it were health, That sighed from every scented blossom; And taking from each one a leaf, Hid them, like spells, upon her bosom. Then sought the sacred path again She once before had traced, when lay A Christian in her father’s chain; And gave him gold, and taught the way To fly. She thought upon the night, When, like an anael of the liaht, She stood before the prisoner’s sight, And led him to the cypress grove, And showed the bark and hidden cove; And bade the wandering captive flee, In wordls he knew from infancy!

And when she thought how for her love He had braved slavery and death, That he might only breathe the air Made sweet and sacred by her breath.

She reached the grove of cypresses Another step is by her side: Another moment, and the bark Bears the fair Moor across the tide! ‘Twas beautiful, by the pale moonlight, ro mark her eyes-now dark, now bright, .As now they met, now shrank away, From the gaze that watched and worshipped their day.

rhey stood or. the deck, and the midnight gale Just waved the maiden’s silver veilJust lifted a curl, as if to show The cheek of rose that was burning below: And never spread a sky of blue More clear tlbr the stars to wander through! And never could their mirror be A calmer or a lovelier sea! For everv wave was a diamond gleam: Anl that light vessel well may seem A fairy ship, anl that graceful pair Young Genli, wh-ose home was of light and air! FROM many a lip came sounds of praise. Like music from sweet voices ringinco; For many a boat had gathered round, To list the song I had been singing. .‘here are some moments in our fate That stamp the color of our days; As, till then, life had not been felt, And mine was sealed in the slight gaze Which fixed my eye, and fired my brain, And bowed my heart beneath the chain. ‘Twas a dark and flashing eye, Shadows, too, that tenderly, With almost female softness, came O’er its mingled gloom and flame, His cheek was pale; or toil, or care, Or midnight study, had been there, Making its young colors (lull, Yet leaving it most beautiful. Raven curls their shadow threw, Like the twilight’s darkening hue, O’er the pure and mountain snow Of his higzh an,] haughty brow: Lihte(d by a smile, whose spell Words alre powerless to tell. Another evening came, but d ark; The storm’louds hovered round the bark I I 24-17

With sun-rays from withi Lingers a cloud upon tha Though never lovelier br To Houri of an Eastern Her eye is dwelling on th As every leaf and every Were being numbered in There are no looks lik On long-remembered thin Must take our first an

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THE PASSION FLOWER. Such a lip!-oh, poured from thence Lava floods of eloquence Would come with fiery energy, Like those words that can not die.

Words the Grecian warrior spoke When the Persian’s chain he broke, Or that low and honey tone, Making woman’s heart his own; Such as should be heard at night, In the dim and sweet starlight; Sounds that haunts a beauty’s sleep, Treasures for her heart to keep. Like the pine of summer tall; Apollo, on his pedestal In our own gallery, never bent More graceful, more magnificent; N e’er looked the here, or the KiDog, More nobly than the youth who now, As if soul-centred in my song, WVas leaning on a galley’s prow. He spoke not when the others spoke, His heart was all too full for praise; But his dark eyes kept fixed on mine, Which sank beneath their burning gaze. Mine sank-but yet I felt the thrill Of that look burning on me still. I heard no word that others said Heard nothing, save one low-breathed sigh. My hand kept wandering on my lute, In music, but unconsciously My pulses throbbed, my heart beat high, A flush of dizzy ecstasy Crimsoned my cheek; I felt warm tears Dimming my sight, yet was it sweet, My wild heart’s most bewildering beat, Consciousness, without hopes or fears, Of a new power within me waking, Like light before the morn’s full breaking. I left the boat-the crowd: my mood Made my soul.pant for solitude. Amid my palace halls was one, The most pecuiliarl” my own: The roof was blue and fretted gold, The floor was of the Parian stone. Shining like snowv, as only meet For the light tread of fairy feet; And in the midst, beneath a shade Of clustered rose, a fountain played, Sprinkling its scented waters round, With a sweet and lulling sound,O’er oranges, like Eastern gold, Ilalf hidden by the dark green fold Of their large leaves;-o’er hyacinth bells, Whore every summer odor dwells, And, nestled in the midst, a pair Of white wood doves, whose home was there; And like an echo to their song,, At times a murmur passed along; A dying tone, a plaining fall, So sad, so wild, so musicalAs the wind swept across the wire, And waked my lone Eolian lyre, Which lay upon the casement, where The lattice wooed the cold night air, Half hidden by a bridal twine Of jasmine with the emerald vine. And ever as the curtains made A varying light, a changeful shade, As the breeze waved them to and fro, Came on the eye the glorious show Of pictured walls where landscape wild Of wood, and stream, or mountain piled, Or sunny vale, or twilight grove, Or shapes whose every look was love; Saints, whose diviner glance seemed caught From Heaven,-some whose earthlier thought WVas yet more lovely,shone like gleams Of Beauty’s spirit seen in dreams. I threw me on a couch to rest, Loosely I flunn my long black hair; It seeme~l to soothe my troubled breast To drink thlequiet evening ai:. AND fondly round his neck she clung; Her long black tresses round him flung,Love chains, which would not let him part. And he could feel her beating heart, The pulses of her small white hand, The ter he tears she could no more command, The lip which trembled, though near his, The sigh that mingled with her kiss;Yet parted he from that embrace. He cast one glance upon her face: His very soul felt sick to see Its look of utter misery; Yet turned he not; one moment’s grief, One pang, like lightning, fierce and brief, One thought, half pity, half remorse, Passed o’er him. On he urged his horse, Hill, ford, and valley spurred he by, And when his castle-gate was nigh, White foam was on his’broidered rein, And each spur had a blood-red stain. But soon he entered that fair hall: His laugh was loudest there of all; And the cup that wont one name to bless, Was drained for his forgetfulness. The ring, once next his heart, was broken; The gold chain kept another token. Where is the curl he used to wearThe raven tress of silken hair? The winds have scattered it. A braid Of the first spring day’s golden shade, Waves with the dark plumes on his crest. Fresh colors are upon his breast: The slight blue scarf, of simplest fold, Is changed for one of woven gold. And he is by a maiden’s side, Whose gems of price, and robes of pride, WNVould suit the daughter of a king; And diamonds are glistening Upon her arm. There’s not one curl Unfastened by a loop of pearl. And he is whispering in her ear Soft words that ladies love to hear. And she whom turIAN left-she stood A cold white statue: as the blood Had, when in vain ler last wild prayer, Flown to her heart, and frozen there. Upon her temple, each dark vein Swelled in its agony of pain. Chill, heavy damps Xwere on her brow; Her arms were stretched at length, though now 268 I looked upon the deep-blue sky, And it was all hope and harmony. Afar I could see the Arno’s stream Glorying in the clear moonbeam; And the shadowy city met my gaze: Like the dim memory of other days; And the distant wood’s black coronal Was like oblivion that covereth all. I know not why my soul.felt sad; I touched my lute, it would not waken, Save to old songs of sorrowing Of hope betrayed-of’ hearts forsakenEach lay of lighter feeling slept, san- but, as I sang, I wept. THE CHARMED CUP. Alas!-the tale is quickly toldHis love bath felt the curse of gold And he is bartering his heart For that in which it bath no part. There’s many an ill that clings to love; But this is one all else above;For love to bow before the name Of this world’s treasure: shame! oh, shame I Love, be thy wings as light as those That waft the zephyr from the rose,This may be pardoned-something rare In loveliness has been thy snare! But how, fair love, canst tbou become thin- of mines-a sordid gnome?

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THE PASSION FJt:If, E Ii, Their clasp was on the empty air: A funeral pall-her long black hair; Fell over her: herself the tomb Of ner own youth, and breath, and bloom. Alas! that man should ever win So sweet a shrine to shame and sin As woman’s heart!-and deeper wo For her fond weakness, not to know That yielding all but breaks the chain That never reunites again! She took the cuip, andl kissed tihe brim, Mixed the dark spell, and gave it him To nle(Ige his )nce. dear IDA’s Pamp! tie urank lc.

Instantly the flame Ran through his veins; one fiery throb Of bitter pain-one gasping sob Of agony-the cold death-sweat as on his face-his teeth are setHis bursting e yes are glazed and still; The drug has done its work of ill. Alas! for her who watched each breath, The cup her love had mixed bore-death. It was a dark and tempest nightNo pleasant moon, no blest starlight; But meteors glancing o’er the way, Only to dazzle and betray. And who is she that,‘mid the storm, Wraps her slight mantle round her form? Her hair is wet with rain and sleet, And blood is on her small snow feet. She has been forced a way to make Through prickly weed and thorned brake, Up rousing from its coil the snake; And stirring from their damp abode The slimy worm and loathsome toad: And shuddered as she heard the gale Shriek like an evil spirit’s wail; WVhen followed, like a curse, the crash Of the pines in the lightning flash:A place of evil and of fearOh! what can JULIAN’s love do here? LORENZO!-when next morninga came For the first time I he a rd thy name! LORENZO!-how each ear-pulse drank The more than music of that tone! LORENZO!-how I si ghed that nam e, As bre a thing it, made it mine own! I sought the ga ller y: I was wont To pass the noontide te re, and trace Some statue’s shape of loveliness Some saint, some nymph, or muse’s fatce. There, in my rapture, I coul d throw My pencil in its hues aside, And, as the vision passed me, pour My song of passion, joy, and pride. And he was there, LoRNZO there! How soon the morning passed away, With finding beauties in each thing Neither had seen before that d ay! Spirit of Love! s oon thy rose-plunes w ea r The weight and the sully of canker and care; Falsehood is round thee; Hope leads thee on, Till every hue from thy pinion is gone. But the bright moment is all thine own, The one ere thy visible presence is known; When, like the wind of the south, thy power, Sunning the heavens, sweetening the flower, Is felt but not seen. Thou art sweet and calm As the sleep of a child, as the dew full of balm. Fear has not darkened thee; Hope has not maae The blossoms expand, it but opens to fade. Nothing is known of those wearing fears Which will shadow the light of thy afttr years. Then art thou bliss:-but once throw by The veil which shrouds thy divinity; Stand confessed,-and thy quiet is fled! Wild flashes of rapture may come instead, But pain will be with them. What may restore The gentle happiness known before? I owned not to myself I loved, No word of love LORvNzo breathed; But I lived in a magic ring Of every pleasant flower wreathed. A brighter blue was on the sky, A sweeter breath in music’s sigh; The orange shrubs all seemed to bear Fruit more rich, and bueds more fair. There was a glory on the noon, A beauty in the crescent moon, A lulling stillness in the night, A feeling in the pale starlight. There was a charmed note on the wind, A spell in Poetry’s deep storeHeart-uttei-erel words, passionate thoughts, Which I had never marked before. ‘Twas as my heart’s full happiness Poured over all its own excess. One night there was a gorgeous feast For maskers in COUNT LiEoN’s hall; And all of gallant, fair, and young, Were bidden to the festival. I went, garbed as a iindoo girl; Upon each arm an amulet, And by my side a little lute Of sandal wood with gold beset. And shall I own that I was proud To hear, amid the gazing, crowd, A murmu*wr of dlelighlt, when first M~y mask anl sari! I!hrewS aside?! On, on the pale girl went. At last The elo)my forest depths are past, And she has reached the wizard’s den, Accursed by God and shunned by men. And ne rer had a ban been laid Upon a more unwholesome shade. T her e grew dank elders, and the yew Its thick sepulchral shadow threw; Ani- brooded there each bird most foul, TWie gloomy bat and sullen owl. But IDA entered in the cell, Whe re dweltse ad the izard of the dell. Her heart lay dea d, her life-blood froze To look up on the s hap e which ro se To bar he r e ntr ance. On that face W as s ca rcely le ft a sin,le trace Of hulnan likeness: the parched skin Showed eac h d isco lored bone within; And, but for the most evil stare Of t he wild eyes’ unearthly glare, It was a corpse, you would have s aid, F rom w hic h life’s freshness long had fled. Yet IrI,A k nel t her down and prayed T,H nat dark sorcerer for his aid. He eartd her prayer wi with withering look; Then from un holy herbs he took A drug, anl said it would recover The lost heart of her faithless lover. She trembled as she turned to see His demon sneer’s malignity; And every step was winged with dread, To hear the curse howled as she fled. It is the purple twilight hour, And JULIAN is in IDA’s bower. He has brought gold, as gold could bless His work of utter desolateness! He has bIrougsht gems, as if Despair Had any pride in being fair! But IDA only wept, and wreathed Her white arms round his neck; then breathed Those passionate complaints that ring A woman’s heart, yet never bring Redress. She called upon each tree To witness her lone constancy! She called upon the silent boughs, The temple of her JULIAN’S VOWS Of happiness too dearly bought!

Then wept atain. At length she thought Upon the forest sorcerer’s giftThe last, lone hope that love had left! I 269

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2o70 THE PASSION FLI,OWE What they might blush now to confess, Yet what made their spring-day’s happiness! ZAIDE watched her flower-built vessel glide, Mirrored beneath on the deep-blue tide; Lovely and lonely, scented and bright, Like Hope’s own balk, all bloom and light. There’s not one breath of wind on the air, The heavens are cloudless, the waters are fair, No dew is falling: yet wo to that shade I The maiden is weeping her lamp has decayed. For well my conscious cheek betrayed WIhose eye was gazing on me too! And never yet had praise been dear, As on that evening, to mine ear, LORENZO! I was proud to be Worshipped and flattered but for thee I THE HINDOO GIRL’S SONqG. PLAYFUL and wild as the fire-flies light, This nroment hidden, and next moment bright, I ike ti e foatr: on ti e darl -greeli sea, ls the s,)ell that is l lid on my loser by me. Were your sich as sweet as the sumbal’s sigh When the wind of the evening is nigh; Were your smile like that glorious light, Seen when the stars gem the deep midnight; Were that sigh and that smile for ever the sameThey were shadows, not fuel, to love’s dulled flame Love once formed an amulet, With pearls, and a rainbow, and rose-leaves se th The pearls were pure as pearls could be, And white as maiden purity; The rose had the beauty and breath of soul, And the rainbow-changes crowned the whole. Frown on your lover one little while, Dearer will be the light of your smile; Let your blush, laugh, and sigh ever mingle together, Like the bloom, sun, and clouds of the sweet spring w eather Love never must sleep in security, Or most calm and cold will his waking be. Ha. k to the ring of tsle cin eter!

It tells a that the soldier returns from afar. Down from the mountains the warriors come: Hark to the thunder-roll of the drum!To the startling voice of the trumpet’s call!To the eymbal’s clash!-to the atabal! The banners of crimson float in the sun, The warfare is ended, the us,tle is won. The mother hath taken the child from her breast And raised it to look on its father’s crest. The pathway is lined, as the bands pass along, With maidens, who meet them with flowers and song. A.rd ZAIDE hath forgotten in AzIM’s arms All her so false lamp’s falser alarms. This looks not a bridal,-the singers are mute, Still is the mandore, and breathless the lute; Yet there the bride sits. Her dark hair is bound, And the robe of her marriage floats white on the ground. Oh! where is the lover, the bridegroom?-oh! where I Look under yon black pall-the bridegroom is there I Yet the guests are all bidden, the feast is the same, And the bride plights her troth amid smoke and’mid flame! They have raised the death-pyre of sweet-scented wood, And sprinkled it o’er with the sacred flood Of the Ganges. The priests are assembled:-their song Sinks deep on the ear as they bear her along, That bride of the dead. Ay, is not this love? That one pure, wild feeling all others above: Vowed to the living, and kept to the tomb!The same in its blight as it was in its bloom. With no tear in her eye, and no change in her smile Young ZAIDF: had come nigh to the funeral pile. The bells of the dancing-girls ceased from their sound; Silent they stood by that holiest mound. From a crowd like the sea-waves there came not a breath When the maiden stood by the place of death! One moment was given-the last she might spare I To the mother, who stood in her weeping there. She took the jewels that shone on her hand; She toak from her dark hair its flowery band, And scattered them round. At once they raise The hymn of rejoicing and love in her praise. A prayer is muttered, a blessing said,Her torch is raised!-she is by the dead. She has fired the pile! At once there came A mingled rush of smoke and of flame: The wind swept it o!!. They saw the bride, Laid by her AzIM, side by side.

The breeze had spread the long curls of her hair: Like a banner of fire they played on the air. The smoke and the flame fathered round as before, Then cleared; but the bride was seen no more. And as that light strain died away, Again I swept the breathing strings: But now the notes I waked were sad As those the pining wood-dove sings. SHE has lighted her lamp, and crowned it with fl owers, The sweetest that breathed of the summer hours; Red and white roses linked in a band, Like a maiden’s blush, or a maiden’s hand; J.asmines-some like silvery spray, Some like gold in the morning ray; Fragrant stars,-and favorites they, When Indian girls on a festival day, Brain their darkl tresses: and] over all weaves The rosy-bower of lotus leavesCanopy suiting the lamp-lighted bark, ,Love’s own flowers, and Love’s own ark. ghe watched the sky, the sunset grew dim; ihe raised to CAiMDFo her eveninz hymn. The scent of the ni.ht-flowers came on the air; An, then, like a bird escaped from the snare, She flew to the river-(no moon was bright, Btt the stars and the fire-flies gave her their light); Sh stood beneath the mangoes’ shade, Hl{lf delightel anl half afraid; She trimmed the lamp, and breathed on each bloom, (Oh, that breath was sweeter than all their perfume!) Threw spices and oil on the spire of flame, Called thrice on her absent lover’s name; And every pulse throbbed as she gave Her little boat to the Ganges wave. There are a thousand fanciful things Linked round the young heart’s imaginings. In its first love-dream, a leaf, or a flower Is cifted then with a spell and a power; A shade is an omen, a dream is a sign, From which the maiden can well divine Passion’s whole history. Those only can Wlo have loved as young hearts can love so well, TTow the pulses will heat, and the cheek will be died, When they have some love-auzury tried Oh, it is not for those whoso feelinzs -,re colt, Withered bv care, or hblintedl hbv old; Whose brows have dar kene I with many years, To f,‘X l again youth’s lfc.es ant fears-B I I I i I I I 6 THE INDRAN ERRDE. I heard the words of praise, but not The one voice that I paused to hear; And other sounds to me were like A tale poured in a sleeper’s ear. Where was LORENZO?-He had stood Spell-bound; but when I closed the lay, As if the charrmeeased with the song, He darted hurriedly away. I masqued again, and wandered on Throii,gh many a gay and gorgeous room What with sweet waters, sweeter flowen, The air was heavy with perfume, The harp was celioinz the lute, Soft voices answered to the flute. And. like rills in t,ie noontide clear, Bene,-tth the flanic-liting gondolier,

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THE PASSION FLOWER. Revune mirrors peopled with the shades O stately youths and radiant maids; And on the ear in whispers came Those winged words of soul and flame, Breathed in the dark-eyed beauty’s ear By some young love-touched cavalier; Or mixed at times some sound more gay, Of dance, or laugh, or roundelay. 9, it is sickness at the heart ro bear in revelry its part, .tnd yet feel bursting:-not one thing Which has part in its su fferin.,,,qhe latugh as glad, the step as light, The song as sweet, the glance as bright; As the laugh, step, and glance, and song, Did to young happiness belong. I would have rather been a slave, In tears, in bondage, by his side, Than shared in all, if wanting him, This world had power to give beside! My heart was withered,-and my heart Had ever been the worl d to me: And love had been the first fond dream, Whose life was in reality. I had sprung from my solitude Like a young bird upon the wing To nmeet the arrow; so I met M} poisoied sl, aft of suffeJ:ng. And as that bird with drooping crest And broken wing, will seek his nest, But seek in vain; so vain I sought My pleasant home of song and thought.. There was one spell upon my brain, Upon my pencil, on my strain; But one face to lily colors came; My chords replied but to one nameLORENZO!-all seemed vowed to thee, To passion, and to misery! I had no interest in the things That once had been like life, or light; No tale was pleasant to mine ear, No song so sweet, no picture bright. I was wild with my great distress. My lonie, my utter hopelessness! I would sit hours by the side Of some clear rill, and ir.ark it glide, Bearing my tears along, till night Came with sall hours; -,in(] soft starlight Watch o’er its shia(lowy beauty keeping, Till I grew calm:-tl)en I would take The. lute, which had all day been sleeping Upon t cypress tree, and wake Thte echoes of the mnidinight air With words t.’t love’rung from dcslair. I turned me from the crow], and reached A spot which seemed unsought by all An alcove filled with shrubs and flowers, But lighted by the distant hall, With one or two fair statues placed, Like deities of the sweet shrine. That human art should ever frame Such shapes so utterly divine! A deep sigh breathed,-I knew the tone; ‘\y cheek blushed warm, my heart beat high, One moment more I too was known, I shranlk before L)RsFNzo’s eye. He leant beside a pedestal, The alorious brow, of Parian stone, Of the Antinonis, by his side, WVas not more noble than his own! They were alike: he had the same Thick-clustering clii-s the Roman woreThe fixed and melancholy eye The smile which passed like lightning o’er The curved lip. We did not speak, But the heart breathed upon each cheek, We looked round with those wondering looks, Which seek some object for their gaze, As if each other’s glance was like The too much light of morning’s rays. I saw a youth beside me kneel; I heard nmy name in music steal; I f!t my hand trembling in his;Another moment, and his kiss Hadl burnt upon it; when, like thought, So swift it passed, my hand was thrown Away, as if in sudden pain. LoaRENzo like a dream had flown! WVe did not meet again: he seemed To shun each spot where I might be: And, it was said, another claimed The heart-more than the world to me!

80.N’G. FARtEWELL! we shall not meet again As we are parting now! I must my beating heart restrainr, Must veil m y burning! brow! O, I must coldly learn to hide One thought a,ll else above Must call upon my woma-n’s pride To hide my woman’s lase! Check dreams I nev-er ma*! avow; Be free, be carelels, cold a,s t loui! O! those are tears of bitterness. Wrung from the b)realking!heart, When two, blfest in their tenderness, Must learn to dine-nart! But what are tile) to lhat ong s.igh, That cold an(] fixed dlesp-air, That weight of w,asting agony It must be mine to hear? Methinks I s,houli( not thi rep ine, If I had but one vow( of thine. I could forgive inconstancy To be one moment loved by thee! With me the hope of life is gone The sun of joy is set; One wish my soul still dwells xil,n The wish it could foi>ret. I would forget that look~, that tone, My heart hath all too dearly k-nown. But who could ever yet efface From memory love’s enduring trace? All may revolt, all may complainBut who is there may bleak the chain’ Farewell!-I shall not be to thee More than a passing thought; But every time andl place will be With thy remembrance fi-augbht: Farewell! we have not often met We may not meet again’ But on my heart the seal is set, Love never sets in vain! Fruitless as constancy may be, No ghanee, no change, may turn from thee I loved him as younz Genius loves, When its own wild and radiant heaven Of starry thought burns with the light, The love, the life, by passion given. I loved him, too, as woman loves Reckless of sorrow, sin, or scorn: Life had no evil destiny That, with him, I could not have borne! I had been nursed in palaces; Yet earth had not a spot so drear, That I shoull not have thought a home, In paradise, had he been near! How sweet it would have been to dwell, Apart from all, in some green dell Of sunny beauty, leaves, and flowers; And nestlinz butds to sine the hours! Our home, beneath some chestnut’s shade, But of the woven branches made; Our vesper hymn, the low, lone wail Thb rose hears from the nightingale; And waked at mornin? by the call Of niusic fromn a vaterfa1ll. But not alone in (ream like this, Breathed in the very hope of bliss, I love l: my love h,ld been the same In bu.shel lesplir, in pepn slham.ne. I i

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One who has loved thee wildly, wellBut whose first love-vow breathed-farewell? When passion to her was a storm at sea, Heard’mnid the green land’s tranquillity. B,lt a stately wari’ c. erme tror, afar; He bole on his bosoni the glorious scar So worshipped by woman-the death-seal of wa And the maiden’s heart was an easy prize, When valor and faith were her sacrifice. And lays which only told of love In all its varied sorrowing, The echoes of the broken heart, Were all the songs I now could sing. Legends of olden times in Greece, When not a flower but had its tale; When spirits haunted each green oak; When voices spoke in every gale; When not a star shone in the sky Without its own love history. Amid its many songs was one That suited well with my sick mind. I sang it when the breath of flowers Came sweet upon the midnight wind. Methinks, might that sweet season last, In which osr first love-drea m is past, Ere doubts and cares, and jealous pain, Are flaws in the heart’s diamonmehain Men might forget to think on heaven, And yet have the sweet sin forgiven. But ere the marriage-feast was spread, LEADES said that he must brook To part awhile from that best light, Those eyes which fixed his every look Just press again his native shore, And then he would that shore resign For her dear sale, who was to him His household god!-his spirit’s shrine! He came not! Then the heart’s decay Wasted her silently away:A sweet fount, which the mid-day R,,” Has all too hotly looked upon! She sat her in her twilight bower, A temple formed of leaf and flower; Rose and myrtle framed the roof, To a shower of April proof; And primroses, pale gems of spring, I.av on the green turf glistening, Close bv the violet, whose breath Is so sweet in a dewy wreath. Anl 0, that myrtle! how green it grew! With flowers as white as the pearls of dew That shone beside: and the glorious rose Lay like a beauty in warm repose, Blushing in slumber. The air was bright With the spirit and glow of its crimson light. CYDrIrPF had turned from her columned hall, Where the quveen of the feast, she was worshiplped by all: Where the vases were burning with spices and flowers, And the odorous waters were playing in showers; And lamps were blazing-those lamps of perfume Which shed such a charm of light over the bloom Of woman, when Pleasure a spell has thrown Over one night hour and imadle it her own.

Andl the rul)y wine-cup shone with a ray, As the hems of the East la,!

there melted away; Andl the bards were singing those songs of fire, That brilght eyes and the goblet so well inspire; While she, the glory and pride cf tl-e hour, Sat silent and sad in her secret bower! It is most sad t o w a tch the fall Of autumn leaves!but worst of all It is to watch the flower of spring Faded in its fresh blossoming! To see the once so clear blue orb Its summer light and warmth forget; Darkening beneath its tearful lid, Like a rain-beaten violet! To watch the banner-rose of health Pass from the cheek!-to mark how plain Upon the wan and sunken brow, Become the wanderings of each vein! The shadowy hand so thin, so pale! The languid step!-the drooping head! The long wreaths of neglected hair! The lip whence red and smile are fled! And having watched thus, day by day, Light, life, and color, pass away! To see, at lentgth, the glassy eye Fix dull in dread mortality; Mark the last ray, catch the last breath, Till the grave sets its sign of death! This was CYIPPE’S fate!-They laid The maiden underneath the shade Of a green cypress,-and that hour The tree was withered, and stood bare! The spring brought leaves to other trees, But never other leaf grew there! It stood,‘mid others flouirishin%, A blighted, solitary thing. There is a grief that wastes the heart, Like mildew on a tulip’s dies,When hope, deterred but to depart, Loses its smiles, but keeps its sighs: When loN e’s bark, with its anchor gone, Clings to a straw, and still trusts on. 0, more than all!-methinks that love Should pray that it might ever be Beside the burning shrine which had Its young eart’s fond idolatry. O, absence is the night of love I Lovers are veery children then! Fancying ten thousand feverish shapes, Until their light returns again. A look, a word, is then recalled, And thought upon until it wears What is, perhaps, a very shade, The tone and aspect of our fears. And this is what was withering nowW The radiance of CYDiPPE’s brow. She watched untfil her cheek grew pale; The green wave bore no bounding sail: Her sight gr,ew dim;‘mid the blue air No snowy dove came floating there, The dear scroll hid beneath his wing, With plume and soft eye glistening, To seek again, in leafy dome, The nest of its accustomed home! Still far away, o’er land and seas. Lingered the faithless LEADrES.

The summer sun shone on that tree When shot a vessel o’er the seaWhen sprang a warriat from the prow , LEADES! by the stately brow. Forgotten toil, forgott.~n care, All his warm heart h as had to bea r. That heart is fill! He hears the sith That breathed “Farewell!” so tenderly. If even then it was most sweet, What will it be that now they meet? Alas! alas!

Hope’l fair deceit! He spurred o’er land, has cut the wave, To look but on CYDIPPF.‘S grave. It has blossomed in beauty, that lone tree, LEADFms’

kiss restored its bloom; For wild he kissed the withered stem It grew upon CyDrPPmEs tomb! And there he dwelt. The hottest ray, Still dew upon the branches lay Like constant tears. The winter came; Best still the g-,reen tree stood the same. And it was said at evenin,‘s close, A sound of whispered music rose; She thought on the sprinn days when she hadl been Lonely and lovely, a maiden queen – I i i i I I I I I I I Ii PASSION

I,‘I,OWEIZ. I LEADES AND CYDIPPE.

Page 273 view page image i’ASSION i, I sw As I swtee torced by sLme strange thrall, To bear with and to lohl o on all,I heard the liymn, I heard the vow (Mine car throbs with the m e ve n now!) I saw the young bride’s timidchh eek Blushing beneath her silver veil. I saw LORENzo kneel! Methought (‘Twas but a thought!) he too was pale. But when it ended, and his lip WVas pressed to lhers I saw no more! My heart grew cold,-my brain swam round( I sank upon the cloister floor! I lived,-if that may be called life, From which each charm of life has fledHappiness gone, with hope and love, In all but breath already dead. ONE: evening 1 had roamed beside The windling of the Arno’s tide; Tie slky was flooded with moonlight: Bel,Iw the waters azure bright, Palazzos with their marble halls, Green g-ardenis, silver waterfalls, An.l o;rane groves and citron shades, Anl cavaliers an( dark-eyed maids; Sweet voices sing,ing, echoes sent l roin many a rich-toned instrument. I could not bear this loveliness! It was on such a night as this That love had lighted up my dream Of linz despair and short-lived bliss. I sou’aht the city; wandering on, Unconscious where niy steps might be: MTy heart was deep in other thoughts; All plaees were alike to me:At length I stopped beneath the walls Ot’ San Mark’s old cathedral halls. I entered;-and, beneath the roof, Ten thousand wax-lights burnt on high, And incense on the censers fumed As for some great solemnity. The white-robed choristers were singing, Their cheerful peals the bells were ringing: Then deep-voiced music floated round, As the far arches sent forth soundThe stately organ:-and fair bands Of yoen” girls strewed, with lavish hands, Violets o’er the mosaic floor; And sang while scattering the sweet store. At length I made myself a task To paint that Cretan maiden’s fate, WhIomyi Love tautght such deep happiness, And whom Love left so desolate. I drew her on a. rocky shore:Her black lhair loose, and sprinkled o’er With white sea-loam;-her arms were bare, lun pwars d in their last despair. Her nalked feet the pebbles prest; The testpIest-wind saing in her vest: A wild stare in lher glassy eyes; White lips, as parched by their hot sighs; And cheekl more pallid than the spray, Which, cold and colorless, on it lay:Just such a stattue as should be Placed ever, Love! beside thy shrine; Warning thy victims of what ills What burning tears, false god! are thine. Before her was the darkling sea: Behind the barren mounta,ins roseA fit home for the broken heart To weep away life, wrongs, and woes! I turned irie to a distant aisle Where bht a feeble glimmering came (a:self in darkness) of the smile Sent fromn the tapers’ perfumed flame Antl colored as each pictured pane Shed o’er the blaze its crimson stain:While, from the window o’er my head, A dimn and sickly gleam was shed From the young moon,-enough to show That tomb and tablet lay below. I leant upon one monument,‘Twas sacred to unhappy love: On it were carved a blighted pine  A broken ring-a wounded dove. And two or three brief words told all Her history who lay beneath:“The flowers-at morn her bridal flowers, Formed, e’er the eve, her funeral wreath.” I had now but one ho e:-that when The hand that traced these teints was cold 

Its pulse but in their passion seen LORENZO might these teints behold, And find my grief;-think-see-feel all I felt in this memorial! I could but envy her. I thought, How sweet it must be thus to die! Yoour last looks watched-your last sigh caught, As life or heaven were in that sigh!

Passing in loveliness and light; Your heart as pure,-your cheek as bright As the spring-rose, whose petals shut By gun unscorched, by shower unwet; Leaving behind a memory Shrited in love’s fond eternity. It was one evening,-the rose-light Was o’er each green verandah shining; Spring was just breaking, and white buds Were’mid the darker ivy twining. My hall was filled with the perfume Sent from the early o ra ng e bloom: The fountain, in the midst, was fraught With rich hues from the sunset caught;And the first song came from the dove, Nestling in the shrub alcove. But why p,auise on my happiness? Another step was with mine there Another sigh than mine made sweet WNith its dear breath the scented air! LoRpNzo! could it be my hand, That now was trembling in thine own? LORENZO! could it be mine ear That drank the music of thy tone? But I was wakened from this dream By a burst of light-a gush of songA welcome, as the stately doors Poured in a gay and gorgeous throng. I could see all from where I stood.

And first I looked upon the bride; She was a pale and lovely girl; Balt, 0

Go! who was by her side?Loar.wzo!-No, I did not speak; My heart boat hiih, but could not break. I shrieked not, wept not; but stood there Motionless in my still despair; We sat us by a lat tice, whe re Came in the soothing evening breeze, Rich with the gifts of early flowers, And the soft wind-lute’s symphonies. And in the twiliglht’s vesper-hour, Beneath the hanging jasmine-flower, I lhea.rdi -a tale,.-as fond. as dear As e’er was poured in wNroman’s ear! ii I II I I i i I 2‘7,‘3 Ttat’t-was tli, ’,i -tee (,f feet Made tl,,e fl.we,.-s more I!ian flowei’s sweet. At If-n.,tli LF.:i-llu-,c, dit d. That day, Bark -in,,l!zreen f,,,IiaLe past away lroni ]one tree,-again a th;.ng Of wc)ii lei, aii,.l of perisliig! Rust gathered on the silent chords Of my iie,,,Iected li-re,-the breeze Was now its misti-es;: music brought For me to bitter memories! The ivy darliened o’er my bower; Around, the weeds cooled every flower. I pleased me in this desolateness, As each thing bore my fate’s impress.

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THE PASSION FLOWER. And deemed their green and sunny vales. And calm and fragrant airs, might bring Warmth t a a go pit t he chee k, light to the eye Of her who was too younz to die. It was in vain!-a nd, d ay by day, The gentle creature died away. As parts the odor fi om the roseAs fades the sky at twilight’s close She passed so telder and so fair; So patient, though she knew each breath Might be her last; her own mild smile Parted her placid lips in death. Her grave is under southern skies; Green turf and flowers o’er it rise. O! nothing but a pale spring wreath Would fade o’er her who lies beneath! I gave her prayers-I gave her tears I staid awhile beside her grave; Then led by Hope, and led by Love, Again I cut the azure wave. What have I more to say, my life! But just to pray one smile of thine, Telling I have not loved in vain That thou dost join these hopes of minef Yes, smile, sweet love! our life will be As radiant as a fairy tale! Glad as the sky-lark’s earliest song Sweet as the sigh of the spring gale t All, all that life will ever be, Shone o’er divinest love!

by thee. O, MOCKERY of happiness Love now was all too late to save. False Love! 0 what had you to do With one you had led to the grave? A little time I had been glad To mark the paleness on my cheek; To feel how, day by day, my step Grew fainter, and my hand more weak To know the fever of my soul Was also preying on my frame: But now I would have given worlds To change the crimson’s hectic’s flame For the pure rose of health; to live For the dear life that Love could give. -0, youth may sicken at its bloom, And wealth and fame-pray for the tomb; But can love bear fiom love to part, And not cling to that one dear heart? I shrank away from death,-my tears Had been unwept in other years: But thus, in love’s first ecstasy.

Was it not worse than death to die? LORF.NZO! I would live for thee! But thou wilt have to weep for me! That sun has kissed the morning dews, I shall not see its twilight close! That rose is fading in the noon, And I shall not outlive that rose! Come, let me lean upon thy breast, My last, best place of happiest rest! Once more let me breathe thy sighs Look once more in those watching eye 0! but for thee, and gr ief of thine, And parting, I shouldl not repine! It is deep heappiness to die, Yet live in Love’s dear memory. Thou wilt remember me, my name Is linked with beauty and with fame. Thle summer airs, the summer sky, The soothing retell of Mulsic’s sigh, Stars in their poeetry of night, The silver silence of moonlight,  The dim blush of the twilight hours, The fragrance of the bee-kissed flowers.:  But, more than all, sweet songs will be Thrice sacred unto Love and me. LORrNZO! be this hiss a spell! MY first! myr lust ] FAREXV EI.L! FAREWELI& TITF.RF is a lone and stately hall. Its master dwrells apart from all. I WAs betrothed from earliest youth To a fair orphan, who was left Beneath my father’s roof and care, Of every other friend bereft: An heiress, with her fertile vales, Caskets of Indian gold and pearl; Yet meek as poverty itself, And timid as a peasant girl: A delicate, frail thing, but made For spring sunshine, or summer shade;A slender flowner, unmeet to bear One April shower,-so slight. so fair. I loved her as a brother loves His favorite sister:-and when war First called me from our lonz-shared home To bear my father’s sword afar, I parted from her,-not as one Whose life and soul are wrung by parting: With death-cold brow and throbbing pulse, Arkl burning tears like lifeblood starting. Lost in war dreams, I scarcely heard The prayer that bore my name above: The ”’ Farewell!” that kissed off her tears, Had more of pity than of love! I thought of her not with that deep, Intensest memory love will keep More tenderly than life. To me She was but as a dream of home,One of those calm and pleasant thoughts That o’er the soldier’s spirit come; Remembering him, when battle lowers, Of twilight walks and fireside hours. I came to thy bright FLORENCE when The task of blood was done: I saw thee! Had I lived before? 0, no! my life but then begun. Ay, by that blush! the summer rose Has not more luxury of light! Ay, by those eyes! whose language is Like what the clear stars speak at night, Thy first look was a fever spell!Thy first word was an oracle Which sealed my fate! I worshipped thee. My beautiful, bright deity! Worshipped thee as a sacred thing Of Genius’ high imagining; But loved thee for thy sweet revealing Of woman’s own most gentle feeling, I might have broken from the chain Thy power, thy glory round me flung! But never might forget thy blush The smile which on thy sweet lies hung! I lived but in thy sight!

One night From thy hair fell a myrtle blossom; It was a relic that breathed of thee: Look! it has withered in my bosoni! Yet I was wretched, though I dwelt In the sweet sight of Paradise: A curse lay on me. But now now Thus smiled upon by those dear eyes, Will I think over thoughts of pain. I’ll only tell thee that the line That ever told Love’s misery, Ne’er told of misery like mine! I wedded. I could not have borne To see the young IANTHE blighted By that worst light the spring can know Trusting affection ill requited! 0, was it that she was too fair, Too innocent for this damp earth; And that her native star above Reclaimed again its gentle birth? She faded. O, my peerless queen, I need not pray thee pardon me For owning that my heart thenl felt For any other than for thee! I bore her to those azure isles WNhere health dwells by the side of spring; I. I I I i I 2-i 4 LORENZO’S HISTOITY.

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THE PASSION FLOWER. (For these are as the waves that turn to stone, Till feelings keep their outward show alone) iWhen wearied by the vain, chilled by the cold, Impatient of society’s set mould  The many meannesses, the petty cares, The long avoidance of a thousand snares, The lip that must be chained, the eye so taught To image all but its own actual thought; (Deceit is this world’s passport: who would dare However pure the breast, to lay’t bare?) When worn, my nature struggling with my faite, Checking, my love, but, 0, still more my hate; (Wlhy should 1 love? flinging down pearl and gem To those who scorn, at least care not for them: tV hly should I hate? as blades in scabbards melt, I have no power to make my hatred felt; Or, I should say, my sorrow:-I have borne So much unkindness, felt so lone, so lorn, I could but weep, and tears may not redress, They only fill the cup of bitterness) Wearied of this, upon what eager winds My spirit turns to thee, and birdlike flings Its best, its breath, its spring, and song o’er thee, My lute’s enchanted world, fair Italie. To me thou art a vision half dihine, Of myria(l flowers lit up withl summer shine: The passionate roa, the violet’s Tyrian die, The wild bee loves them not more tenderly; Of vineyards like Aladdin’s gem-set hall, Fountains like fairy ones with music’s fall; Of sorrows, too; for e’en on this bright soil Grief has its shatdow, and care has its coil, But e’en amid its darkness and its crime, Touched with the native beauty of such clime, Till wonder rises with each gushing tear:And hath the serpent brought his curse even here I Such is the tale that haunts me: I would fain Wake into pictured life the heart’s worst pain; And seek I if pale cheek and tearful eye Answer the notes that wander sadly by. And say not this is vain, in our cold world, Where feelings sleep like withered leaves unfurled. ‘Tis much to wash them with such gentle rain, Calling their earlier freshness back again. The heart of vanity, the head of pride, Touched by such sorrow, are half purified; And we rise up less selfish, having known Part in deep grief, yet that grief not our own. A wanderer thro~-zh Italia’s land, One night a refuge there I found. The lightning flash rolled o’er the sky, The torrent rain was sweeping round: These won me entrance. He was young, Th e castle’s lord, but pale like age; His brow, as sculptur e b eautiful, Was wan as grief’s co rroded page, He had no word s, he had no smiles, No hopes: his sole employ to brood Silently over his s i ck heart III sorrow and in solitude. I saw the hall where, Jay by day, He mused h is weary life away; It scarcely seemed a place for wo, But rather like a genie’s home. Around were graceful statues ranged, And pictures shone around the dome But there was one-a loveliest one! One picture brightest of all there! 0! never did the painter’s dream Shape anything so gloriously fair! it was a face!-the summer day Is not more radiant in its light! Dark flashing eyes, like the deep stars Lighting, the azure brow of night; A blush like sunrise o’er the rose; A cloud( of raven hair, whose shade Was sweet as evening’s, and whose curls Clustered beneath a laurel braid. She leant upon a harp:-one hand Wandered, like snow, amid the chords; The lips were opening with such life, You almost heard the silvery words. She looked a form of life and light, All soul, all passion, and all fire; A priestess of Apollo’s, when The morning beams fall on her lvre; A Sappho, or ere love had turned the heart to stone where once it burned. But by the picture’s side was placed A funeral urn, on which was traced The heart’s recorded wretchedness; And on a tablet hung above, Was’graved one tribute of sad words ” LORENZO TO HIS

L’/INSTRFL LOVE!” I. They stood beside the river, that young pairShe with her eyes cast down, fi)r tears were there, Glittering upon the eyelash, though unshed; Hle murmuring those sweet words so often said By parting lover, still as fondly spoken As his could be, the only ones not broken.

The girl was beautiful; her f orehead high Was white as are the marble fanes that lie On Grecian lands, making a fitting shrine Where the mind spoke; the arched and raven line Was very proud, but that was softened now, Only sad tenderness was on her brow. She wore the peasant dress,-the snowy lawn Closely around her whiter throat was drawn, A crimson boddice, and the skirt of blue So short, the fairy ankle was in view; The arm was hidden by the long loose sleeves, But the small hand was snow; around her hair A crimson net, such as the peasants weave, Bound the rich curls, and left the temples bare. She wore the rustic dress, but there was not Aught else in her that marked the rustic’s lot: Her bearing seemed too stately, though subdued By all that makes a woman’s gentlest moodThe parting hour of love. And there they leant, Mirrored below in the clear element That rolled alon!Z, with wild shrubs overhung, And colored blossoms that to,ether clungThat pe.-satnt girl, that high-born cavaler, Whispering those gentle words so swNeet to hear, And answered by flushed cheek, and downcast eye And roselip parted, with half smnile, half sigh. Those subtle poisons which made science crime, And knowledge a temptation; could we doubt One moment the great curse upon our world, We must believe, to find that even good May thus be turned to evil. ANOTHE.R tale of thine! fair ItalieWhat makes my lute, my heart, aye turn to thee? I do not know thy language,-that is still Like the mysterious music of the rill;And neither have I seen thy cloudless sky, Where the sun hath his immortality; Thy cities crowned with palaces, thy halls Where art’s great wonders light the storied valls; Thy fountain’s silver sweep, thy groves,, where dwell The rose and orange, summer’s citadel; Thy songs that rise at twilight on the air, Wedding the breath thy thousand flowers sigh there; Thy tales of other times, thy marble shrines, Lovely, though fallen,-for the ivy twines Its graceful wreath around each ruined fane, As still in some shape beauty would remain. I know them not, yet Italic, thou art The promised land that haunts my dreaming heart. Perchance it is as well thou art unknown: I could not bear to lose what I i.:ve thrown Of,na-ic round thee,-but to find in thee Whalt liilherlto T still have found in allThoui art not stamped with that reality Which makes our besng’s sadness, and its thral’

But now, whenever I am mixed too much W\ith worldly natures till I feel as such; i : I I !I l .1 i 275 ‘77’.,- -‘ – THE VENE’RIAN BRACELET.

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H2^e~ ~ THE P SSION FLI,OWER. Young, loving, an t-l(vel,these are brief words, And yet they touch on all the finer chords, Whose music is our happiness: the tone May (die away and be no longer known In the harsh wisdom brought by after years, Lost in that worldliness which scars and sears, And makes the misery of life’s troubled scene;Still it is much to think that it has been. They loved with such deep tenderness and truth,Feelings forsaking us as does our youth,They did not dream that love like theirs could die, And such belief half iakes eternity. Yes, they were parting; still the fairy hope Had in their clear horizon ample scope For her sweet promises without the showers That are their comrades in life’s after hours. They parted trustingly; they did not know The vanity c.f youtlhful trust and vow; And each believed the other,-for each read In their own hearts the truth of what each sai(l. The dews are drying rapidly:-away, Young warrior! those far banners chide thy stay. Hark! the proudl trumpet swells upon the wind,His first of fields, hlie must not be behind. The maiden’s cheek flushed crimson, and her eye Flashed as the martial music floated by. She saw him spring upon his sno -white steed,It dasihed across the plain with ao owy speed. The beat of heart, the flush of cheek ire gone, AME,NAiDXE but felt she was alone. The vow -which soothed her, an-id the hope which cheered, The pride which nerved, witli him had disappeared. “LEONI, dear LEONI!”-‘‘twas in vain:The mocking echo answered her again. -It is deep wretchedness, this passionate burst Of parting’s earlier grief, but not the woist; It is the lingering days of after care, That try the wasted spirit most to bear. Now listless, languid, as the worldl had left Nothing to interest, of him bereft; Now lulled by opiate thoughts that but restoiere The mind its tone, to make it sink the miore; Now fevered by anxiety, for life Are fears when fancy calls them into life; And then that nameless dread of coming we, Which only those who’ve felt it ere can know; These still have been in absence, still will be, And these, AMEN’A.DE, were all fi(,r thee. The valley in a suimmer twililght layThat fairy confine of the night and (layWhen leant AMENAiDE behind the shade The fragrant shrubs around her lattice made, ]

‘Scaped from her nurse and each consoling phrase p Sinking the spirit that it fain would raise. The roomn was small and dark; but when the wind Moved the green branches of the myrtle-blind, A crimson beauty wooed the maiden’s eye: She looked and saw, where, dark against the sky, His father’s battlements rose on the air;Alas, how haughty and how high they were! An orphan she, a rustic’s nurslina child, 0, how could hope have ever so beguiled! “AMENAiD!” her kind old nurse’s voice; “Nay, come to me, dear child, come and rejoice.” Wondering, she enters,-strangers round her stand. And kindly takes her lordly chief her hand. “So fair a peasant, sooth, but it is shame To tell thee, maiden of another name. In the wild troubles which have rent our state Thy noble father met an exile’s fate:Nay, not that anxious look; he is no more, And sorrowing Genoa can but restore His honors to his child: I was aware, Thanks to that faithful creature’s parent care, His daughter lived; and dear the task to me To bring these words, and let ARF. zz e b e The first to greet and honor, countess, mine, Loveliest, and last of ALFIOln’s line. And carpeted with velvel, where the flowers Companioned those whiere-on the April hours Had shed their beauty; numbers stood around Of vases where each varying lhtue was found, From the white my,-tle-t)ud and lily-bell, Like pearls that in the ocean waters dwell, To those rich teilets which on the tulip lie, Telling their southern birth and sunny sky The wine-cuips of the sun:-each silken blind Waved to and fro upon the scented wind, Now closing till the twilight-haunted room Was in an atmosphero of purple bloom, First scarcely letting steal one crinm.son ray, Then flung all open to the glowing day.

Pictures were hung above; how more than fair! The changing light made almost life seem there A faint rose-color wandered o’er the cheek, Seemed the chance beams fi’oin each dark eye to break; And you could deemn each braided auburn wave Moved, as its gold the glancing sunlight gave. And fitting mistress had the charmed scene: Leant, like a beautiful and eastern queen, Upon a purple couch-how%r soft and wrarm Clung the lrich color to her ivory arm!AMENAi])E reclined. Awhliile she lay,Then, as if movement hutrried time away, She paced the room, gazed on each pictured face, Then wrealhed the fluswers,, then watched, as if to tiace The evening close: again the couch was pressed, But feverish, restless, more fear change than rest: And yet all this was only the excess Of overmuch impatient happiness. Many a weary hour and day had past For that young countess,-this day was the jast. He was returned, with all war could confer Of honorable name, to home and hel. LF.oNi would to-night be in the hall Where Count AREzzi held his festival, Would hear her history; how there was now Nothing to chain the heart or check the vow. -And must they meet first in a careless crowd’? This was a momnent’s grief; though she felt proud That he should see how well she could beseem Her present rank, yet keep her early dream; See her the worshipped of the courtly throng, Sigh of each lip, and idol of each song; Hear the fair flatteries ofiere(l, yet behold Her courtesy so graceful, but so cold; And know it was for him her heart’s young throne Was ever kept, the lovely and the lone. O plheasant was that night the toilet’s careWhat broidered robe to (]on, what gems to wear! Her hair was parted o n her brow, each braid Black as the dark-winged raven’s darkes t shade An(] gathered up with diamonds,few there were, Just stars to light the midnight of her hair.

Well (lid the sweeping robe of emerald green, Wrought in rich gold, suit with her stately mien. “How beautiful she looks this evening!” burst From every lip, when that fair countess first Entered AREzzI’s hall: her heart’s content To every lighted look its lustre lent. Her beauty’s fault had been, it was too cold; Features too tranquil in their perfect mould, A cheek somewhat too p)ale; but not to-nightThe eye was sparkling, and the cheels was brivgt. Gently she glided to a balustrade, Where jessamine a pleasant shadow made; It raised no marvel; never had her hand With its white beauty linkled the saraband; And seldom did she join the converse gay, Where the lighIit flattery gains its gil1led way; They seldom won more than a few cold words, As when unskilful bands awa.lke the chords Of some lorn lute, the music of whlose tone Lives for one touch, an.l only for that one. She dwelt w,itlhin the circle of he; heart A charmed world, lovely, lonely, an, a]art. Where it had seemed to her as sin and shame Aught there had entered, not in his dear name. i 11 I I i 11 I I i i i ii Ii I l, I I i i “I .1 I I I 1; i Ii i I i I I! I; iir. it. Fit for a pal,-tce ,vas that lovely rooin, flnn, with the azure ofan eastern loon,

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I 1-‘,JLO VE R. 277 ._…..;_f. __ _ l ..’.......... Part bitterness, lalt vanity-, [,art woThe palssionate strife wlicil pride and misery know: A burning wish to make i3 vain regrtt In that false one, who now had best forget; To show LEONI how that she, the queen, Made his fair EDITH nothing on the scene; Her rival-hers language has not a word By woman’s ear so utterly abhorred. No marvel, for it robs her only part Of sweet dominion-empire o’er the heart. -It was a spell-touched hour. That gorgeous hall With perfumes floating and with music’s fall, Light steps, and gentle laugh, and whispers bland,Was in their words or the sweet airs that fanned The beauty’s cheek into a redder rose?And starry eyes, like what the clear night shows, But wandering ones; and there were golden curls Like sudden sunshine; and dark braids, whose pearls Were lost on the white neck when there they fell; And there were shapes, such as in pictures dwell; It looked like fairy land. With eager glance She watched the door, and counted every dance; Then time grew long, hope caught a shade of fear“‘LEONrt-but they said he would be here!” When sudden came ARFZZI to her side,“L ook there, the Count Lj:ONI and his bride! She with the violet wreath in her bright hair; Sooth but to say, that English bride is fair! But I must go and have my welcome paid.” Alone AMIFNAiDE stood in the shade,Alone! ay, utterly. A couch was nigh, And there she sank-O, had it been to die! LEONI and his bride have left the hall. Why does that cheek grow pale, that dark eye fall I Why does that lip its wit, its smiling cease? It only passed for beauty’s gay caprice. She lef t t he feast-but 0. not yet alone; Many a cavalier has eager flown Upon her gondola’s home cou rse to w a it, And sigh fiirewelll at her own palace gate. Her maidens gathered r,ound. What more, yet mosst To read the breast now throbbing to the core? She hurried not their task,-each silken braid Of raven hair was in set order laid: But once she showed her weakness,-when her ham Strove vainly to unloose a glittering band, It trembled like a l.at’:-but that passed by; Struggle she might, but no one heard her sighs And when her last good night was courteous said Never more queenlike seemed that lofty head. The last step died up)oni the marble stair,She sprang toward the (,oor,-the bolt is there:She tried the spring, gave one keen look around, Muttered “alone!” and dashed hex on the ground.

Co,‘pselike she lay,-her dark hair wildly thrown Far on the floor before her; white as stone, As rigid stretched each hand,. her face was pressed Close to the earth; and but the heaving vest Told of some I)ang the shuddering frame confessed She seemed as stricken down by instant death.Sudden she raised her head, an,3 gasped for breath; And nature mastered mnisery. She sought, Panting, the air from yonider lattice brought. Ah, there is blood on that white lip and brow!She struggles still-in vain-slhe must weep now. She wept, childlike, till sleep began to press Upon her eyes, for very weariness. She sleeps!-so sleeps the wretch beside the stake: She sleeps!-low dreadful from such sleep to wakel Alas for the young heart thus early thrown Back on itself, the unloved and the lone! For this should be the lesson of long years, The weary knowledge taught and traced by tears, ‘Fill even those are frozen, and we growA Cold as the grave that yawns for us belonw: But this was like those sudden blasts that fling UJnlooked-for winter on the face of spring,And worst wo for the heart, whose early fate Leaves it so young, and, 0, so desolate.

She hal one feeling left-it was of pride  0, misery, how much she had to hide! And steps were now approaching her: she sprung From of] the couch, and every nerve was sotrunt For that worst rack, the rack of outward show, Still haunts such vanity the deepest wo. The heart mnay swell to bursting, but the while The features wear the seeming of a smile: The eye be lessened, and the lip be sealed, And wretchedness be, like the plague, concealed. It was the Count AREZZr: “What still here!Come, thou wild dreamer of another sphere, I must shut out the sky, if thus it share My stars, thine eye, which should be shining there, Making you hall its equal; but to-night You have, AM:ENAiDE, a rival light. The English bride,-see round they crowd to gaze On the new loveliness her form displays. WVhy, slhe should bear the name which once you bore, -The peasant countess,-it would suit her more.” A moment, and( the group were pressed aside, She stood before LEONi and his bride. He knew her history, and each met prepared; Cold looks were given, careless converse shared; At first LsO)NI shulitned to meet her eye,A moment’s awkwardness,-biit that passed by. How much we give to other hearts our tone, And judize of others’ feelings by our own!. Himself has altered: all he sought to do Was to believe that she was altered too. Her cheek was paler than’twas wont to be,  That was its round of midnight gayety: Her smile less frequent, an(l her brow more grave,Twas her new rank its stateliness that gave: New friends pressed round,-their interview is o’er,And( he passed on, to think of it no more; And she to seem as thoughtless. Till to-night, Like some fair planet in its own far light, She shone apart; to-night she sought the crowd, Joined in their mirthfulness, and laughed aloud; Was ready with gay converse,-that light mirth Which lik;e the mntteor his fiomn darkness birth: She witcll1 hter circle,readv smile or sneer,SO,_ars f.)r tile at)qqt ohos. smiles for the near, Till ev,rv othtr hall sent I;-)rtli its tid(le, And halt the aTes. wee o’thered at her sile. It was an evil feeling t,hat which nowi Flushed on her cheekl, and liglhted up her brow I ‘[‘I I E I’A ‘S I (” V. IV. VT. She was both proud and cold: not hei-s the heart Easy to lure, and ready to departA trifle, toy-but that fair countess gave No commop gift when she became a slave; And only did she bold her gifl redeemed, By that high worthiness she had but dreamed. A peasant, 3,et she 1’elt his equal still; And when her lofty state beseemed her will, It was such pride, such pleasure, to have known LEoNi’s love was for herself alone. And in her young romanees loftier view, One touch of vanity i-niglit mingle too. It was the triumph bf her lowlier state, She had been even then a noble’s mate. AmENAiDr, had many faults; her youth Had seen too soon life’s bitterness and truth: The cutting word, the cold or scornful look, All that her earlier d-tys bad bad to brookThe many sli-,hts the humble one receivesLay on he,, memory lilie withered leaves; And hom,,ie from the crowd, and lovers’ praise, Were all too apt disgust and doubt to raise. There was,t something wayward in her mood; She left her heart too much to solitude: For kindly thoughts -,ire social; but,be held A;cornfii] ei-eed,,ind sympathy reached. Tli,qt,,Lilleii I,,rrier l,qcl one gentle I)reaShe l(,v(,(I,,,nd fcr Li(,Nis Believed there were,oi)ie angel,teT,,s cn earth As truth that keel,s ll-.e promise of its birth;

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(‘HE PASSION FLOWER. As faith that will not change, that will not tire, And deems its gold the purer for the fire. Her love was all her nature’s better part, The confidence, the kindness of her heart, T he s ource of all the sweet or gentle there: But this was past what had it left Gave the sweet orphan to his care,-e-nd here Was all to soften, all that could endear. Together wept they o’er the funeral stone, His the sole heart she had to lean upon. Now months had passed away, and he was come To bring his beautiful, his dea,rx one home. Her beauty was like morning’s, breathing, bright, Eyes glittering first with tears, and then with light, And blue, too glad to be the violet’s blue, But that which hangs upon it, lucid dew,Its first clear moment, ere the sun has burst The alure radiance which it kindled first;A cheek of thousand blushes; golden hair, As if the summer sunshine made it fair: A voice of music, and such touching smile, AMENAYDE sighed, ” Well might they beguile!” Love, what a mysterv thou art!-how strange Thy constancy, yet still more so thy change! How the same love, born in the self-same hour, Holds over different hearts such different power; How the same feeling lighted in the breast Makes one so wretched, and makes one so blest; How one will keep the dream of passion born In youth with all the freshness of its morn; How fiom another will thine image fade! Far deeper records on the sand ale made. -Why hast thou separate being? why not die At once in both, and not leave one to sigh, To weep, to rave, to struggle with the chains Pride would fling off, but memory retains? There are remembrances that will not vanish,Thoughts of the past we would but can not banish As if to show how impotent mere will: We loathe the pang and yet must suffer still: For who is there can say they will forget? -It is a power no science teaches yet. 0 love, how sacred thy least words should be, When on them hangs such abject misery! The wind threw back the curtain fraught with rese – Can sorrow be upon such gales as those? Yes, for it waked the countess. Up she sprung, Startled, surprised, to see how she was flung By the verandah, and that open, too; Her hair was heavy with the weight of dew; Scarcely aroused, painful and slow she raised Her weary head, and round in wonder gazed. It was her own fair room,-some frightful dream, But indistinct,-she struggled with a scream: Her eye has caught a mirror,-that pale face,Why lip and brow are sullied by the trace Of blood; its stain is on her tangled hair, Which shroudlike hides the neck that else were bare.

Around that neck there is a fragile chain, And memory’s flood comes rushing o’er her brain: LEONI’s gift,-its slight gold links are broken,So are the vows of which it was the token. Wrho has not loathed that worst, that waking hour, When grief and consciousness assert their power; When misery has morn’s freshness, yet we fain Would hold it as a dream, and sleep again; Then know’tis not illusion of the night And sicken at the cold and early light? How ever shall we pass the weary day, When thus we shudder at its opening ray? She gazed upon the glass, then glanced around, In wonder at the contrast which she found. The walls were faintly covered with the bloom Which comes when morn has struggled through gloom, And blushes for success; the silken veil Of the blue hangings seemed to catch the gale, Then keep its sweetness prisonler: on the floor The Persian loom had spread its velvet store: Vases stood round, each carved with such fine art, The flowers that filled seemed of themselves a part: A sandal lute lay on an inlaid stand, Whose rich wrought ivory spoke its Indian land; Shells of bright colors, foreign toys of gold, And crystals wrought in many a curious mould: Pictures, a prince’s ransom in their worth; Small alabaster statues-all that earth Has rich or varied, all that wealth could buy, Loathing she turned. “Yet what a wretch am I? This must not be!-stained cheek and fevered brow Too much the secret of my soul avow.

Aye deep as i:‘he grave my heart shall keep What burning tears AMIENAiDE could weep. 0, never let LEONt know the worst; ‘Tis well if he believe I changed the first. Too much e’en to myself has been revealed, And thus be every trace of tears concealed.” She sought the alcove where the fountain played, And washed from lip and cheek their crimson shade, And bathed her long hair, till its glossy curls Wore not a trace but of the dewy pearls The waters left, as if in pity she(; She loosed the bolt, and sought her silken bed; But easier far had been the rack, the wheel:Vhen hath the body felt what mind can feel! The fountain’s music murmured through the grove, Like the first plaint that sorrow teaches love; The orange boughs shut out the sul try sky, While their rich scent, as passed the coun tess by, Came homagel ike. For hours that chestnut treeThe only one that grew there-wont to be Her favorite summer seat; but now she paced Hurriedly, though’twas noon; her memory traced Her g alling wrongs, and m any an evil thought Envy and hatred in he r b osom wrought. She felt LEONI had not l oved t ill now; Hers was but youthful phantasy’s light vow. Had he not trifled with her?She, the proud, The cold, had of such mocking suit allowed. Her heart was wrung, and worse, her pride was bowed She hears a step: who is it dares intrude On this her known and guarded solitude? She sees an aged Jew; a box he bore Filled with gay merchandise and jewelled store. Ere she could speak, he spread before her eyes Those glittering toys that loveliest ladies prize:“Fair dame, in sooth so fair thou seemest to be, That almost it is vain to offer thee The many helps for meaner beauty made; But yet these gems would light that dark hair’s shade: Well would these pearls around that white throat show Each purple vein that wanders through its snow.” Angrily turned the countess,” Fool, away!““So young, so fair, has vanity no sway? But I have things most curious, and’mid these Somewhat may chance your wayward fancy please. He took a bracelet,-‘twas of fine wrought gold, And twisted as a serpent, whose lithe fold Curled round the arm:-he spoke in whispering tone”Here, lady, look at this, I have but one: Here, press this secret spring; it lifts a lid,Beneath there is the subtlest l,oison hidl: I come from Venice; cf the w(on(lers there, There is no wonder like this bracelet ra,re.’: She started-evil thouehts, at first repressed, Now struggled like a storm within l er breast. The weary day passed on-night came ag,,ain:MENAiDE. has joined the glittering train; ;elf-torturer-self-deceiver-cold and high, ;he said it was to mock the curious eye. ;uch strength is weakness. Was it not to be Where still, LEoNr, she might gans on thee -She heard the history of his English bride A patient nurse at her pale mother’s side, LEONi saw her first:-that mother’s hand (A stranger she and wanderer in the land) I I I II l i I i I 278 11 i11 I I i i i I l ii i I,: Vil. the IX. vrir.

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PSSION FLOWER. 279 Alas! alas! how plag,ue-spot like will sin Spread ove.- the wrung heart it enters in! Her brow grew dark: ” Aimid thy baubles shine This ruby cross,-but be the bracelet mine.” Around her arm the fatal band is fast, Away its seller, like a vision, passed. Save that red flushes came at each light sound, While the wile eyes g-anced fearfully around; But still she moved not, spoke not,-such distress Seeks no distraction from its wretchedness. There rose loud voices in the outer hall:She nerves her with despair, she will know all: Her ear, acute with agony, can hear A name at once so dreaded and so dear:” Yes, Lady, lie is guilty!”-but no more:They raise her senseless from the marble floor. Long did it last, that stony trance like death; She roused, but scarce it seemed with mortal breath. She showed no weakness, rose from off the bed Distinct, though low and few, the words she said, She took a scroll and wrote,-the phrase was brit! But a life’s sorrow was upon that leaf. “To Count AREZZI this, with all thy speed; And here, my page, is gold for present meed. Now all away,-my spirit is opprest.’ She flung her on the couch as if for rest: They deemed she slept: at length her maidens earv,’

To ask her will, to light the lamp’s sweet flame, Where is the countess?

why, the couch is bare,They search the halls in vain,-she is not there. X.

That night she joined the revel; but not long AMENAiDE was seen amid the throng. No eye beheld her pace her lonely room: Fearing the light, yet trembling in the gloom; The ghastly cheek, as marble cold and white; The wild eye flashing with unholy light; The quivering lip, the forehead’s dew-moist pore, The sudden start, the rapid step once more,As if it would annihilate the time:But who may paint the solitude of crime? That night there was another saddest scene: Halls where mirth, music, festival had been Were as the house of mourning; crowds stood nigh, Horror and pity marked in every eye. Upon a crimson couch-a contrast strange To those pale features in that ghastly changeThe young, the beautiful, the happy lay, Life passing in convulsive sobs away. Still mid her hair the red rose wreath was hung, Mocking her cheek with the rich die it flung; The festal robe still sparkled as it flowed; Still on her neck a few fresh flowers glowed: The warmth her sandalled foot hath scarcely left, Light from the dance, though now of motion reft! The agony is over,-and she raised Her feeble head, and round her faintly gazed: She saw, she leant upon LroNi’s breast, Murmure,d his name, and sank as if to rest. “EDITH, sweet EDITH, speak to me again!” Thou fond one-even thou must ask in vain: Ay, kiss those lips, and fancy they have breath, Till they chill even thee: they’re damp with death. “Gold, O! take dou ble, so m y prayer I win.” When hath such offer failed?-She entered in: Heavily iron chain and barrier fell, Ere she could reach the prisoner’s midnight cell. They grated on her very heart. At last She saw LEONI in his misery cast Abject upon the ground:-not her strange tread Brought aught to make him raise his bowed down head, She gazed upon hinm:-has it come to this, Her passionate love, her youth’s long dream of bliss I She felt her frame convulsed, her pulse grow weak”.LEONT, 0 LEONR! hear me speak.” He started at her voice: ”

AMENADiE! I did not merit this from thee indeed; And yet thy name was heavy on my heart: I pray thee pardon me betore we part.” He sought to take her hand; but back she flung The shrouding mantle that around her clung. ” Ah! start you at my livid lip and brow? You are familiar with such signs ere now! 0 for a few short words! I’ve owned the whole: Ere this the Count AREzzI has gny scroll.The darkness gathers on my failing eye,LEoNI, let me gaze on thee and die! 0 God, unloose this bracelet’s fiery clasp!“Her spirit passed in that convulsive gasp. The struggle’s o’er,-that wild heart does not beat; She lies a ghastly corpse before his feet. The night is over,-night which seemed to be Endless, 0 lost AMFNAiDF.! to thee: Yet what has daylight brought?-a haunting dread. Hark!

the hall echoes to a stranger’s treadIt is the Count AREZZr:-” My fair child, How now!-thy cheek is wan, thine eyes are wild. Ah, well the rose is brightening on thy cheek: I was too hasty with my sudden break Upon thy solitude; scarce may I tell The crime and horror which last night befell.

I have no time. The Count LEONI’s bride You saw her-by some sudden poison died; And strange suspicions on her husband fall: There were so many present who recall He gave her the sherbet:-‘twas not all drained; Part of the venom in the cup remained. Some say’twas jealousy:-I’m on my way To the tribunal that will sit to-day. -AMENAiDE, dear, thou art very pale: I would I had not told thee of this tale.Ha!‘tis the summons of the council bell,I loathe my task,-sweet, hast y farewell.” She strove to speak,-to only wave her hand,To rise,-hcr trembling limnbs refused to stand: She sought her cross, she strove to think a prayer,She gasped for breath,-no ruby cross is there; But full in view the fatal bracelet shone: “L LoNIr, this is what my love has done; I who would willingly have died for thee, The fiend has triumphed in my misery. I’ll rush before the judges,-is there time?lut no, I can not bear to own the crime! And there is nauizht of proof,-there can be none,And then his known love for that happier one; rHis n oble house,-his brave and stainless namne’:He must escaspe his doom,and I my shame.” Lon blozrs passel by, she stirred not from her place, A very statue, with that cold set face, I i I I i i iI i Xi. xrrr.

Xii. XIV. They show the traveller still a lonely tomb, Hid in the darkness of a cloister’s gloom; As scarcely worthy of such holy ground, No other monument is near it found. .A figure closely veiled bends o’er the stone, Only the arm with its strange bracelet shown A serpent twining round: beneath are graved A few brief words, that passing pity craved “Pray for the wounded heart, the sinful deed;” And, half ell’aced, a name-”

AMENAIDE.” LOVE, HOPE, AND BEAUTY. LovE may be increased by fears, May be fanned with sighs, Nurst by fancies, fed by doubts; But without Hope it dies! As in the far Indian isles Dies the young,, cocoa tree, Unless within the pleasant sbade Of the I)arent plant it be So Love m,ay springs,, tip at first Lizlited at Be,-tutv”s eyes; But Beauty is not all its life, For without Hope it dies.

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‘!‘IlIE P’\SS I ON F1I,(VEIR. Till, mixing with the throng too much) The cold, the vain, he feel s a s such; Then marvels that his silent lute Beneath that worldly hand is mute. Awav! th ese sc enes are not f or t hee: Go dream beneath some lonely tree; Away to some far woodland spring, Dash down thy tinsel crown, and wring The scented unguents from thine hair If thou dost hope that crown to share The laurelled bards immortal wear: Muse thou o’er leaf and drooping flower, Wander at evening’s haunted hour; Listen to stockdove’s plaining song Until it bear thy soul along; Then call upon thy freed lute’s strain, And it will answer thee again. 0 mine own son,, did I not hold Such faith as held the bards of old,That one eternal hope of fame Which sanctifies the poet’s name,I’d break my lyre in high disdain, And hold my gift of song as vain As those forced flowers which only bloom One hot night for a banquet-roo mi. -But I have wandered from my tale,The ivory bark, the purple sail, That bore Prince CYRIS o’er the sea,Content with that slow ebb to be Danced on the wave. By nightfall shaded, The red lights from the clouds are faded; Leaving one palest amber line To mark the last of day’s decline; And all o’er heaven is that clear blue The stars so love to wan(der through. They’re rising fiom the silent deep, Like bright eyes openinc after sleep. Young CYriS watched them till their ray Grew sad-so fa~ they were a1way. He felt so earthly, thus to see What he might never hope to be. He thought upon ealth’s loveliest eyes; What were they to those shining there? He thought upon earth’s sweetest sighs: What were they to the lullina air? “0 no, my heart,” he mournful sighed, “‘To ttfee is that dear boon denied; That wilderinz dream whose fair deceit Makes languid earth a temple meet For lig ht, such light as dwells above,I have no faith in thee, false love! I’ve knelt at many a beauteous shrine, And called, but thought them not, divine. I’ve dived in many a beating heart, But searched them only to depart; For selfish care, or heartless pride, Were all they ever had to hide. I’m weary, weary: one by G ne, The life charms of my youtL are gone. I had a dream of stirring famneIt was a promise, and a name, Thrice glorious, shining from afar, But nearer earth had touched the star; With toil and trouble wvon from many, Yet trembling on the breath of any. Tshe bard, the warrior, and the sage, What wvin they but one lying pag~e, Where deeds and words, at hazard thrown, May be or may not be their coon.2 Andl pleasure, lighted halls, redl wine, Brig~ht smiles, say wordls, have all been mine, they only left what haunts me now,  A wasted heart, a1 weary browv. Yre distant stars, so cal’m, so briahlt, Would I had portion in yoyer liaht, Could readl th e secrets of y ol;r bi rth,  Aught, anything bult this duill earth!”  It alas not longs, ere, still and deep, Those restless eyes wcr’e closed in sleep. There lay he like a statue 5~le, His canopy that silken st:A. ‘‘ItE

I,OSTl’ I’I,EIAD. A stoly from tile star.; el. t!ler a one Of starry fable frome tTle mIdel t ti;h e, Wheri young I,aiat i as a s freshi As the faii world it peopled with itself. The Poe t’s spirit doe s so looe to loe ink Its feelings, thouglits, with nlatur-e’s loveliness: And hence tlie t-iliht grove, the lonely spring, Thie ocea-caves, thle distat plaiets, all] Were filled with radiant creatures; and the heart 3Became interpreter, ard language inade From its ow war m sad sympatlies, for those Of whom the dreami vas beauty. mm HE was weary of flinging the feathered reed, He was weary of curbing his raven steed; He heard the gay din from the palace hall, But he was not in mood for the festival. There was that crimson, the last on the sky, Blushes that fade in the moon’s cold eye; The sigh of the flowers arose sweet on the air, For the breath of the twilight was wandering there. He looked to the west, and the tranquil main Was branched with many a lifelike vein; Hues of the rosebud the clouds had cast, Like a cheek on its mirror in gliding past. It tempted him forth,-to the lulling gale Prince CYRvais has opened his silklien sail, And the little boat went over the sea Like foam, for it was of ivorie, And carved and shaped like a wreathed shell, And it was lined with the rose as well; For the couch was made of those plumes that fling The one warm teint neath the wood-dove’s wing. O()‘er the purple sail the golden flowers ruin, For it was wrought for a monarch’s son; And as it passed on, the air was filled With odors, fir only waters distilled From clove, and sandal, and cinnamon, E’er washed that boat when its task was done: ‘Twas left in the care of maidens three, Lovely they were as maidens should be; And in the soil airs that around it flew, Perhaps their own breath left a perfume too. -There lay Prince CYais, and his mood Made harmony with the solitude. -0 pleasant is it for the heart To gather up itself apart; To think its own thoughts, and to be Free, as none ever yet were free, When, prisoners to their gilded thrall, Vain crowd meets crowd( in lighted hall; With frozen feelings, tutored eye, And smile which is itself a lie. -O but for lonely hours like these, Would every finer current freeze; Those kindlier impulses that g.low, Those clear and diamond streams that flow Only in crystal, while their birth, Is all unsoiled with stain of earth. Ever the lover hath gainsayed The creed his once religion made,That pure, that high, that holy creed, Without which love is vain indeed; While that which was a veiled shrine, Whose faith was only not divine, Becomes a vague, forgotten dream,A thing of scorn-an idle theme. Denied, degraded, and represt, ove die’s beneath the heartless jest. 0 vain! for not with such can be One trace of his divinity. Ever from poet’s lute hath flown The sweetness of its early tone, When from its wild flight it hath bowed. To seek for homage’mid the crowd; Be the one wonder of the night, As if the soul could be a sight; As all his burning numbers speak, Were written upon brow and cheek; And he forsooth must learn his part, Must choose his words, and school his heart To one set mould, and pay again Flattery with flattery as vain; i I I i i I h, 0 Is i i I t i iI i I i I i I iI i i i i

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T’HE PASSION FLOWER. ThJere lay he as Endymion slept AWhen Dian came to him, and wept Beside the sleep she might not break, Love, thus we sorrow for thy sake. There lay lihe:-well might CYais seem The being of a poet’s dream. Ay, beautiful as a star in the sky, When the clouds are gloom, and the storm is high, But still in defiance keeps shining on, Till the shades are past, and the wind is done. His hair was gold, like the pheasant’s wing,N And curled like the hyacinth flower in spring And his eye was that blue so clear, so dark, Like the falcon’s when flying his highest mark.

And telling a tale of gallant war, On his brow was a slight but glorious scar. His voice had that low and lutelike sound, Whose echo within the heart is found. His very faults were those that win Too dazzling and ready an entrance in. Daring, and fiery, wild to range, RIteckless of what might ensue from the change; Too eager for pleasure to fill up the void, ‘Fill the very impatience their nature destroyed; Restless, inconstant, he sought to possess,‘lhe danger was dared, and the charm grew less. Beut, 0!

these were only youth’s meteor fires, t’he ignis blaze that with youth expires. No never!-the heart should childlike be trained, Andl its wilful waywardness somewhat enchained.  Vas it the spell of morning dew That o’er his lips its influence threw, Clearing those earthly mists away, That erst like v eils before them lay? \hliether fair dream, or actual sight, It was a vision of delig ht: lFor free to his charmed eyes were given The spirits of the starry heaven. It was that hour, when each faint die Of rose upon the morning’s cheek Varns the bright watchers of the sky Their other ocean home to seek. He saw the Archer with his bow, Guide now his radiant car below; He saw the shining Serpent fold Beneath the wave his scales of gold. But of all the pageants nigh, Only one fixed CYRis’ eye: Borne by music on their way, Every chord a living ray, Sinkling on a songlike breeze, The lyre of the Pleiades, With its seven fair sisters bent O’er their starry instrument; Each a star upon her brow, Somewhat dim in daylight’s glow, That clasped the flashing coronet On their midnight tresses set. -All were young, all were fairBut one-O! CYRrs gazed but there. Each other lip wore sterner mould,Fair, but so proud,-bright, but so cold; And clear pale cheek, and radiant eye Wore neither blush, nor smile, nor sigh, Those sweet signs of humanity. But o’er CYvRENE’s cheek the rose Like moon-touched water, ebbs. flows; And eyes that droop like summreo aowers Told they could change with shine and showers. The starry lyre has reached the sea,Started young Cvars to his knee: Surely her dark eves met his own; But, ah! the lovely dream is flown.W I need not tell how long the day Passed in its weariness away; [ need not say how CYvIS’ sight Pined for the d:,rkness of the night. But darkness came, and with it brought The vislio’ which the watcher sought. He saw the starry lyre arise Th~ seems Fiji s’ ters’ ~litterii., car’Till lo:’. amlt th(!CYRIS leant: the solitude Suited such visionary mood; For love hath delicate delights, The silence of the summer nights; The leaves and buds, whose languid sighs Seem like the echo of his own; The wind which like a lute note dies; The shadow by the branches thrown, Although a sweet uncertain smile Wanders through those bougfhs the while, As if the young Moon liked to know Her fountain mirror bright below; Linking his thoughts with all of’ these, For love is full of phantasies.  Why starts young CYaIS from his dream? There is a shadow on the stream, There is an odor on the air; What shape of beauty fronts himn there! He knowes her by her clear dark eye, Touched with the lieht that rules the sky; The star up on her forehead set, Hrer w~ild hair’s sparkl i ne coronet; Her white arm<) andl her silvery vrest, The lovely Peia4l stands conlest.  I can not sinz,as I have suln(; !?rlrv h.alsr i~ thlanzeal,!,re,l?n~trulnf; Olnce saidl I tht::. my,> et.ti’ly ciifords

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‘TIIE PASSION FI,OWE Ri. *, _ _ _…..... _.. Were vowed to love or sorrow’s words: But love has likle an odor past, Or echo, all too sweet to last: And sorrow now holds lonely sway O’er my younz heart, and lute, and lay. Be it for those whose uinwaked youth Believes that hope and love are sooth The loved, the happy-let thenr dream This meeting bv the forest stream. No more they parted till the night Called on her starry host ibr light,t And that bright lyre arose on high With its fair slouchers to their skiy. Then came the wanderings long and lonely,. As if the woil,i held them, them only; The gathered flower which is to bear Some gentle secret whisp)ered there; The seat beneath the forest tree; The breathless silence, which to love Is all that eloquence can be; The looks ten t!onsandl worlds above; The fond deep gaze, till the fixed eye Casts each on eacil a minzlel die; The interest round each little word, Though scarcely said, and scarcely heard. Little love asks of language aid, For never yet hath vow been made In that young hour when love is new: He feels at first so deep, so true, A promise is a useless token, When neither dream it can be broken. Alas! vows are his after sien! We prop the tree in its decline The ghosts that lihaunt a parting hour, With all of grief, and naught of power; A chain half sundered in the makinr, rhe plighted vows already breaking. From such dreams all too soon we wake; For like the moonlight on the lake, One passing, cloud, one waving bough-T The silver light, what is it now? Said I not, that young prince was one Who wearied when the goal was won: To whom the charm of change was all That bound his heart in woman’s thrall? And she now lingering at his side, His bright, his half-immortal bride, Though she had come with him to die, Share earthly tear, and earthly sigh; Left for his sake her glorious sphere,What mattered that?-she now was here. At first’twas like a frightful dream: Why should such terror even seenm? Again-again-it can not be! Wo for such wastina miserv!This watching love’s o’erclouding sky, Though still believing it must clear; This closing of the trusting eye; The hope that darkens into fear; The lingering change of doubt and dread; All in the one dear presence fled. Till days of anguish passed alone, Till careless look, and altered tone Relieve i,s from the rack, to know Our last of fate, our worst of wo. And she, the euileless, pure, and brieht, Whose nature was her mornine’s light: Who deemed of love as it is given The sunniest element to heaven; Whose sweet belief in it was caught Only from what her own heart taught-T Her woman’s heart, that dreamy shrine, Of what itself made halfl divine,C(R. s, when thy shadow came With thy first step that touched the earth, It was an omen how the same Doth sorrow haunt all mortal birth. Thou hast but left those starry spheres For woman’s destiny of tears. -They lparted as all lovers part,She with her wronged and breaking hear 1 1 i 2,.; But he, rejoicing he is free, Bounds like the captive from his cliaiii, And wilfully believing she Hath found her liberty again: Or if dark thoughts will cioss his mind, They are but clouds before the wind. -Thou false one, go!-but deep and dread Be minstrel curse upon thy bead -Go, be the first in battle line, Where banners sweep, and falcbions &hine; Go tbou to lighted festival Be there the peerless one of,-ill; Let bright cheeks wear yet bri,bter rays If they can catch Prince CYRIS’ gaze; Be thine in all that honored name Men hold to emtil,,tte is fame; Yet not the less my curse shall rest, A serpent coiling in thy breast. Weariness, like a weed, shall sprin, Wberever is thy wandering. Thy heart a lonely shrine shall be, Guarded by no divinity. Thou shalt be lonely, and shalt know It is thyself has made thee so. Thou hast been faithless, ay,d shalt dread Deceit in aught of fondness said. Go, -with the doorr, thoulst made thine own! Go, false one!

to thy grave-alone. ‘Twas the red bue oftwilight’s hour That lighted up the forest bower; Where that sad Pleiad looked her last. The white wave of his plume is past; She raised her listening head in va’in, To catch his echoing step,i,,ain; Then bowed her face -upon her hand, And once or twice a burning tear Wandered beyond their white command, And min,led with the waters clear. ‘Tis said that ever from that day Those waters caught their diamond ray. The evenin shades closed o’er the sky, The ni-ht winds sang their melody They seemed to rouse her from the dream That chained her by that lonely stream. She came when first the starry lyre Tinged the green wave with kindling fire; 11 Come, sister,” sang they, 11 to thy place.’*

The Pleiad gazed, then bid her face. Slowly that lyre rose while they.

sung,Alas! there is one ebord unstrung. It rose, until CyiRF-N-f’s ear No longer could its music hear. She sought the fountain, and flung there The crown that bound her raven bair; 17he starry crown, the sparlles died, 7)arkening within its fated tide. She sinks by that ]one wave:-‘tis past; There the lost Pleiad breathed her last. No mortal hand e’er ma(le her grave; But one pale rose was seen to wave, Guarding a sudden growth of flowers, Not like those sprung in summer hours, But ale and droo in, each -i ears

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And once, when worn will toil and care, All wak the s ol sier h as to bear, With none to sooth an l none to bles~ His houvr of sicklyl loneliness, When, wa~ked to conscioulsness azaln, The fire gone from his heart and brain, He could remember somne fair’ thing Around his pillow hovering; Of white arms in whose clasp he slept; Of youn~ blue eyes that o’er him wept; How, when on the parched lip and brow Burnt the red fever’s hottest glow, Some one had brought dew of the spring, With woman’s own kind solacing. And he hadl heard a voice, whose thrill Was echoed by his bosom still. It was not hers it could but be A dream, the fever’s p~hantasie… Pale as the gleam on the white orange-flower, And counting the wearying moments o’er For his return, who returns no more! There was a time-a time of bliss, When to have met his INEZ’ kiss, To but look in her deep-blue eye, To breathe the air sweet with her sigh, Young JUAN would have urged his steed With the lightning of a lover’s speed,- O Ere she should have shed one single tear, He nad courted danger, and smiled at fear; But he had parted in high disdain, And sworn to dash from his heart the chain Of one who, he said, was too light to be Holy and pure in her constancey. Alas! that woman, not content With her peculiar element Of gentle love, should ever try The meteor spells of vanity! Her world should be of love alone, Of one fond heart and only one. For heartless flattery, and sighs And looks false as the rainbow’s dies, Are very worthless. And that morn Had JUAN from his INEZ borne All woman’s pettiness of scorn; Had watched for her averted eye In vain,-had seen a rival nigh And smiled upon: he wildly swore To look on the false one no more. Who thus could trifle, thus could break A fond heart for the triumph’s sake. Ana yet she loved him,-O! how well, Lot woman’s own fond spirit tell. When the warriors met in their high career, Went not her heart along with his spear? The dance seemed sad, and the festival dim, If her hand was unclaimed by him; Waked she her lute, if it breathed not his name? Lay she in dreamn, but some thought of him came? No flowers, no smiles, were on life’s dull tide, When JUAN was not by his INEZ’ side. And yet they parted! Still there clings An earth-stain to the fairest things; And love, that most delicious gift Upon life’s shrine of sorrow left, Has bs own share of suffering: A shade falls from its radiant wing, A spot steals o’er its sunny brow, Fades the rose-lip’s witching glow. ‘Tis well,-f,ir earth were too like heaven, If length of life to love were given. 1 Deadly has been the fight to-day; But now the infidels give watt, And cimeter and turbanled band Scatter before the foeman’s hand; And in the rear, with sword and spur Follows the Christian conqueror. And one dark chief rides first of all  A warrior at his festival  Chasing his prey, till none are near To aid the single soldier’s spear, Savre one slight boy. Of those who tier Three turn, the combat to renew; They fly, but death is on the field  That page’s breast was JUAN’s shield. He bore the boy where, in the shade Of the green palm, a fountain made Its pleasant music; tenderly He laid his head upon his knee, And from the dented helm unrolled The blood-stained curls of summer gold Knew he not then those deep)-blue eyes That lip of rose, and smiles, and sighs 1 His INEZ! his!-could this be her,Thus for his sake a wanderer! He spoke not, mlovedi not, but sate then A statue in his cold despair, Watching the lip and( eheekt seeay, As.

faded life’s last hue awray, While she lay sweet and motionless, As only faint with h~appi~nes~s. At length she spoke, in that sweet ton, Women and love have for their owvn “(This is what I have prayed might beHas death npxt sealed mny truth to thee ]

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THE PASSION FI,OW’EIZ. A cypress springs by yonder grave, And music from the fountain wave Sings its low dirge to the pale roseH That, near, in lonely beauty blows. Two lovers sleep beneath. 0, sweet, Fven in the grave, it is to meet; Sweet even the death-couch of stone, When shared with some beloved one; And sweeter than life the silent rest ()f IN~z on her JUAN’S breast. How far I f-ill l T t’he Anred of..m; i..-a I purpose to l-yself; yet if ona bee a Has stolen f rom th e ese unec h’I;a r Recatlletd one lover to fidelity, Which is the hol iness of loves, clrk.

One maiden sicken at cold variewty When dreaming o’er affection’s tcn et’s sent The d ee np, ue the true, the honored of mt sacid. If but one worldly soil has be en effaced, That song has not b een w ctterly in vain. All true deep feeling pirifies the hearts Am I not better by my love for you?

At least, I am less selfish; I would give My life to buy you happin ess:Hush., he}bLI o I must not let you know how much I love,.-. So to my tale.‘rwas on an eve like this, When purple shadows floated round, and igh% Crimson and passionate, o’er the statues fell. Like life, for that fair gallery was filled With statues, each one an eternity Of thought and beauty: there wer e lovelystwher-do And noble ones; some which the poet’s seng Had touched with its own immorta lity; Others whose glory flung o’er history’s page Imperishable lustre. There she stood, Forsaken An IADNE; round her brow Wreathed the glad vine leaves; but it wore a f;’.~‘W. Of early wretchedness, that which once flung May never be effaced; and near her leant ENDYMION, and his spiritual beaulty store The likeness of divinity; for love Doth elevate to itself, and she who watched Over his sleeping face, upon it left The brightness of herself. Around the walls Hung pictures, some which gave the summer al Summer can wish, a more eternal bloom; And others in some youns and lovely face Imbodied dreams into reality. There hung a portrait of St. ROSALIE, She who renounced the world in youth, and mta-e Her heart an altar but for heavenly hopes Thrice blessed in such sacrifice. Alas! The weakness, yet the strength of earthly ties! Who hath not in the weariness of life Wished for the wings of morning or the dove, To bear them heavenward, and have wished in vaitn For wishes are effectual but by will, And that too much is impotent and void In frail humanity; and times steal by, Sinful and wavering, and unredeemed. Bent by a casement, whence her eye could dwell Or on the countenance of that sweet saint, Or the fair valley, where the river astound Like to a fairy thing, now li.ght, now shade, Which the eye watches in its wandering, A maiden passed each summer eve away. Life’s closing color was upon her cheek, Crimson as that which marks the closing day. And her large eyes, the radiant and the clear, Wore all the ethereal beauty of that healven Where she was hastening. Still her rosebud moutk4

Wore the voluptuous sweetness of a spring Haunted by fragrance and by melody. Her hair was gathered in a silken net, As if its luxury of auburn curls Oppressed the feverish temples all too mulch; For you might see the azure pulses beat In the clear forehead painfully; and oft Would her small hands be pressed upon her brow~ As if to still its throbbing. Days passed by, And thus beside that casement would she spend The sumnmer evenings.

Well she kinew her doom; And sought to lineer with such loveliness: Surely it soothed her passage to the grave. One gazed upon her, till his very life Was dedicate to that idolatry With which young Lovre makes offering o! 1!elf. In the vast world he only sawe her face. The morning blush alas lighted lup by hope, The hope of meeting her; thle noo~ntide hours Werev counted fear h er sloe; in l!.e soft chink, When it had passed o’er early flowsers, he caught A SUMMER EVENING’S’PALE. ConiLE, let thy careless sail float on the wind; Comne, lean by me, andl let thy little boat Follow like thee its will; comne, lean by me. Freighted with roses which the west has flung, over its waters on the vessel glides, Save -whlere the shadowy bcughs hut out the sky, And snake a lovelv darkness, while the wind Stirs the sad music of their plaining leaves. The skly grows paler, as it burnt away Its crimson passion; and the falling dew Seeims likle the tears that follow such an hour. I’ll tell thee, love, a tale,-just such a tale As you once said my lips could breathe so well; Speaking as poetry should speak of love, And askingi from the depths of mine own heart The truth that touches, and by what I feel For thee, believe what others’ feelings are.

There, leave the sail, and look with earnest eyes; Seem not as if the worldly element In which thou movest were of thy nature part, But vield thee to the influence of those thoughts That haunt thy solitude;-ah, but tor those I never could have loved thee; I, who now Live only in my other life with thee; Out on our beings’ falsehood!-studied, cold, Are we not like that actor of old time, Who wore his maski so long, his features took Its likeness?thus we feien we do not feel, Until our feelings are forgotten things, Their nature warped in one base selfishness; And generous imnpulses, and lofty thoughts, Are counted folly, or are not believed: And he who doubts or mocks at excellence (Good that refines our nature, and subdues), Is riveted to earth by sevenfold chains. 0, never had the poet’s lute a hope, An aim so glorious as it now mav have, In this our social state, where petty cares And mercenary interests only look Upon the present’s littleness, and shrink From the bold future, and the stately past,Where the smooth surface of society Is polished by deceit, and the warm heart With all its kind affections’ early flow, Flung back upon itself, forgets to beat, At least for others;‘tis the poet’s gift To melt these frozen waters into tears, By sympathy with sorrows not our own, By wakening memory with those mournful notes, Whose music is the thoughts of earlier years,, When truth was on the lip, and feelings wore The sweetness and the freshness of their morn. Young poet, if thy dreams have not such hope To purify, refine, exalt, subdue, To touch the selfish, and to shame the vain Out of themselves, by gentle mournfulness, Or chords that rouse some aim of enterprise, Lofty and pure, and meant for general good; If thou hast not some power that may direft The mind from the mean round of daily life, Waking affb,tions that might else have slept, Or high resolves, the petrified before, Or rousing in that mind a finer sense Of inward and external loveliness, Makling imagination serve as guide To all of heaven that yet remains on earth, Thine is C,:.,less l,i’,e: 1hreal it, anoi die. Lole mine, I know ml weakness, and I knot I 2.,7 1 I iii, 11 i

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THE PASSION FI,OWER The odor of her sigh; upon the lose He only saw the color of her cheek. He watched the midnight stars until they wore Her beauty’s likeness-love’s astrology. His was the gifted eye, which grace still touched As if with second nature; and his dreams, His childish dreams, were lit by hues from heaven-k Those which make genius. Now his visions wore A grace more actual, and one worshipped face Inspired the young sculptor, till like life His spirit warmed the marble. Who shall say The love of genius is a common thing,, Such as the many feel-half selfishness, Half vanity?-for genius is divine, Andl, like a god, doth turn its dwelling-place into a temple; and the heart redeemed By its fine influence is immortal shrine For love’s divinity. In common homes He dies, as he was born, in nothingness, But lo-e, inspiring genius, makes the world Its glorious witness; hence the poet’s page Wake-s its haunting sympathy of pain; And hence the painter with a touch creates Feelings imperishable.‘Twas from that hour CAN:)‘A took his inspiration: love Made him the sculptor of all loveliness; The overflowing of a soul imbued By moast ideal grace, the memory Which liiners rounI first passion’s sepulchre.  Wvhy do I say first love?-there is no second. Who asks in the same year a second growth Of sl)pring leaves fiom the tree, corn from the field? They are exhausted. Thus’tis with the heart; ‘Tis not so rich in feelin~ or in hope To bear that one be crushi(d, the other faded, Yet find th*m iecad(1 to put forth aigain. It does not alwai-s last; man’s temper is Oftlen torgetftl, fickle, -ind throws down The temple he can never build again; But when it does last, and that asks for much, A fixed yet passionate spirit, and a mind Master of its resolves,-when that love lasts, It is in noblest natures. After yea-rs Tell how CANOVA felt the influence. They never spoke: she looked too spiritual, Too pure for human passion; and her face Seemed hallowed by the heaven it was so near. An-( lays passed on: is was an eve in June How ever could it be so fair a one?.

And she came not: hue after hue forsook The clouds, likle Hope, which died with them, and night Camre all too soon and shadowy. He rose, And wandered through the city, o’er which hung The darkness of his thoughts. At length a strain Of ominous music wailed alone the streets: It was the mournful chanting for the dead, And the long tapers flung upon the air A wild red light, and showed the funeral train: Wreaths-O what mockeries!-hang firom tb a; And there, pale, beautiful, as if in sleep. Her dark hair braided graceful with whitc flowers, She lay,-his own beloved one! No more, no more!-love, turn thy boat to land,-S I am so sorrowful at my own words.

Affection is an awful thing! Alas! We give our destiny from our own hands, And trust to those most frail of all frail things, The chances of humanity. The wind hath a deep sound, more stern than sweet; And the dark sky is clouded; tremulous, A few far stars-how pale they look to-night!

Touch the still waters with a fitful light. There is strange sympathy between all things, Though in the hurrying weariness of life We do not pause to note it: the glad day, Like a young king surrounded by the pomp Of goldsand purple, sinks but to the shade Of the black night:-the chronicle I told ehar, with hope, fair slies, an-I lovely shapesT And ended in Il,p.air. Even thus our life to tiese has liiejaiss; with its many joys, Its sears. its ecei hess, its varying page, YouR skies are blue, your sun is bright; But sky nor sun has that sweet light Which gl eam ed upon the summer sky Of my own lovely ITALY! ‘Tis long since I have breathed the air, Which, filled with odors, floated there,Sometimes in sleep a gale sweeps by, Rich with the rose ad myrtle’s sigh; ‘Tis long since I have seen the vine With Autumnn’s topaz clusters shine; And watched the laden branches beudiri,And heard the vintage son’s ascendinr, ‘Tis very lonz since I have se(cai The ivy’s sleath wrieath, cold and green, Hung round the old and broken stone Raised by the hands now (le,ad3

-n(! -one! I do remember one lone spot, By most unnoticed or forgctWould that I too recalled it not! It was a little temple, Cl ayWith half its )illams wrortn away, No roof left,-but one cypress tree Flinging its branches mournfully: In ancient days this was a shrine For goddess or for nymph (livie. And somnetimes I have dreamed I heard A step soft as a lover’s word, And caught a perfume on the air, And saw a shadow gliding fair, Dim, sad as if it came to sigh O’er thoughts, and things, and time passed b On one side of the temple stood A deep and solitary wood, Where chestnuts reared their giant length, And mocked the fallen columns strength; It was the lone wood-pigeon’s home, And flocks of them would ofttime. merne And, lighting on the temple, pou: A cooing dirge to days no more!r And by its side there was a lake With only snow-white swans to bre(akc, With ebon feet and silver witirng, The quiet waters’ glittering.

And when sometimes, as eve closed in, I waked my lonely mandolin, The gentle birds came gliding near, .ks if they loved that song to hear. i I I i i i i i I i t i i I i i I I i ii ! I I I I i I 28-,j -7: – -  I Marlie(i witti its thoi)sand color.,z, or)li ten(IF, To darkness, ind to silence, and the grave! ,rl-IE PAIN’FERS IOVE. 0 ‘Tis past, Itis past, my liapl)ines,; Was all too pure and passionless! I waked from calm and ple-,is,-int dreamed To watch the morning’s e,-ii-liest gle,-iin,3, Wandering with feet’mid the dew, Till my check caught its rosy hiie; And when uprose the bi-i,-ht-eved nioon, I sorrowed day was done so soon; Save that T loved the sweet starli’ht, The soft, the b,,ippy sleep of night!

Time has changed since, and I have wept The day away; and wbrn T slept, Aly sleeping eyes ceased not their tears; And jealousies, Ezrief,,;, hopes, -ind fears, Even in slumber held their reign, And gnawed i-ny heart, and racked my brain 0 much -most withering’tis to feel The hours like guilty creatures steal, To wish the weary day was past, And yet to have no hope at last! All’s in that curse, aught else above, That fell on me-betraved love! There was a -tran-gf-r sought our land, A yorth, wlio -Nvith t r,,tintei‘,g han(I Traccil oiir sweet vpllf,i-s anf] oiir vinen The tn the i-.nine]

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[HE PASSION FLOWER. And now and then the brow of pearl And black eyes of the peasant girl: We met and loved-ah! even now My pulse throbs to recall that vow Our first kiss sealed, we stood beneath The cypress tree’s funereal wreath, That temple’s roof. But what thought I Of aught like evil augury! I only felt his burning sighs, I only loo’ed] within his eyes, I saV no dooming star above, There is such happiness in love! I left, witl- him, my native shore, N-ot as a bride who passes o’er Her father’s threshold with his blessing, With flowers strewn and friends caressing, Kind words, and purest hopes to cheer The bashfulness of maiden fear; But I-I fled as culprits fly, P! night, watched only by one eye, \ Ihose look was all the world to me, An,I it met mine so tenderly, I thought not of the days to come, I thiouLght not of my own sweet home, Nor of mine aged father’s sorrow, Wild love takes no thought for to-morrow. I left my home, and I was left A stranger in his land, bereft Of even hope; there was not one Familiar face to look upon.Their speech was strange. This penalty Was meet; hut surely not from thee, False love!-‘twas not for thee to break The heart but sullied for thy sake! I could have wished once more to see Thv “,!:a hills, loveliest ITALYv! I couI wished yet to have hung Upon the nmutsli of thy tongue; I could have wished thy flowers to bloomThy cypress planted by the tomb! This wish is vain,-my grave must be Far distant firom my own country! [ must rest here. 0 lay me then By the white church in yonder glen, Amid the darkeninz elms, it seems, Thus silvered over by the beams Of the pale moon, a very shrine For wounded hearts-it shall be mine!

There is one corner, green and lone, A dark yew over it has thrown Long, nig-htlike boughs;‘tis thickly set With primrose and with violet. Their bloom’s now past; but in the spring They will be sweet and glistening.

There is a bird, too, of your clime, That sines there in the winter time; My funeral hymn his song will be, W\hich there are none to chant, save he An(] let there be memorial none, No name lupon the cold white stone: The only heart where I would be Remembered, is now dead to me! ! woaild not even have him weep O’er his Italian’s love last sleep. O. hears ar e a most worthless token When hearts they would have soothed are broken! Is like the opiate which niav lull a while, Then tmake to double to rture; b y the days Passed in lone watching av and in anxious fears. When a breath sent the crimson to my cheek, Like the red gushing of a sudden wound; By all the careless looks anti careless words Which have to m e bee n like the seorpion’s stninging; By happiness blighted, and by thee, for ever; By th e eternal wo rk o f wr etchedness; By all my withered feelings, ruined health, Crushed hopes, and rifled heart, I will forget thee! Alas! my words are vanity. Forget thee! Thy work of wasting is too surely done. The April shower may pass and be forgotten, The rose fall and one fresh spring in its place, And thus it may be with light summer love. It was not thus with mine: it did not spring, Like the bright color on an evening cloud, Into a moment’s life, brief, beautiful; Not amid lighted halls, when Latteries Steal on the ear like dew upon the rose, As soft, as soon dispersed, as quickly passed; But you first called my woman’s feelings forth, And taught me love ere I had dreamed love’s name. I loved unconsciously; your name was all That seemed in language, and to me the world Was only made for you; in solitude, When passions hold their interchange together, Your image was the shadow of my thought; Never did slave, before his Eastern lord, Tremble as I did when I met your eye, And yet each look was counted as a prize; I laid your words up in my heart like pearls Hid in the ocean’s treasure cave. At last I learned my heart’s deep secret: for I hoped, I dreamed you loved me; wonder, fear, delight, Swept my heart like a storm; my soul, my life, Seemed all too little for your happiness; Had I been mistress of the starry worlds That light the midnight, they had all been yours. And I had deemed such boon but poverty.

As it was, I gave all I could-my love, My deep, my true, my fervent, faithful love; And now you bid me learn forgetfulness: It is a lesson that I soon shall learn. There is a home of quiet for the wretched, A somewhat dark, and cold, and silent rest, But still it is rest,-for it is the grave. She flung aside the scroll, as it had part In her great misery. Why should she write? What could she write? Her woman’s pride forba To let him look upon her heart, and see It was an utter ruin;-and cold words, And scorn and slight, that may repay his own, Were as a foreign language, to whose sound She might not frame her utterance. Down she leis Her he ad upon an a rm so whit e that tears Seemed but the natural melting of its snow, Touched by the flushed cheek’s crimson; yet life-b)( 1 Less wrings in shedding than such tears as those. And this then is love’s ending! It is like The history of some fair southern clime. Hot fires are in the bosom of the earth, And the warmed soil puts forth its thousand flov As, Its fruits of goll, summer’s regality, And sleep and odors float upon the air: At length the subterranean element Breaks from its secret dwelling-place, and lays All waste before it; the red lava stream Sweeps like the pestilence; and that which was A garden in it s color s and its breath, Fit for the princes of a fairy tale, Is as a desert, in whose burning sands, And ashy waters, who is there can trace A sign, a memory of its former beauty? It is thus with the heart; love lights it up With hopes like youing. comipanions, and wai j>,: Dreamini g deliciously of their sweet selves. T.EACH it me, if you can,-forgetfulness f surely shall forget, if you can bid me; I who have worshipped thee, nmy god on earth, I who have bowed me at thy lightest word. Your last command, ” Forget me,”

will it not Sirnk dee)ply down within my inmost soul? Forget thee!-ay, forgetfulness will be A mercy to mne. By the in-ny ni’lhts WVhen I have wept f)r tha t I (ltrel not sleep,A dream hal nmade me live my wo(es again, Actinz mvy wretchedness, without the hope ,IV foolish heart still elings to, though thay. hat l I 286 I LOVE’S LAST LESSON. This i,3 at first; btit Nviiat is the result? Hopes th,-tt lie inute in their own sullennew i,

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THE PASSION FLOWER. For they have quarrelled evei with themselves; And joys indeed like birds of Paradise: * And in their stead despair coils scorpionlike Stinging itself; and the heart, burnt and crushed With passion’s earthquake, scorched and withered up, Lies in its desolation,-this is love. What is the tale that I would tell? Not one O)f strange adventure, but a common tale Of woman’s wretchedness; one to be read Daily in many a young and blighted heart. The lady whom I spake of rose again From the red fever’s couch, to careless eyes Perchance the same as she had ever been. But 0, how altered to herself! She felt That birdlikle pining for some gentle home To which affection might attach itself. That weariness which hath but outward part In what the world calls pleasure, and that chill Which makes life taste the bitterness of’death.

Withgu such sad tenderness the chlild, which came Wh en tired to nestle in his bosom, s ur e That it was welcome,anee the grave was kept So fresh see, so green, so covered with swe(t flowers, I deemed’twas some you ng widower, whose loven Had passed away, or ever it had known One sting of sorrow or o ne cl oud of car e, Passed in its first d elicious confidence Of vow’d aflection;‘twas the grave, I thought, Of his young wife, and that the child was left A dear memo rial of tha t cheri sh ed one. I read his history wrong. In early youth, When h opes and pleasures flit like butterflies Around ouir p)le-.ant spri d, had EIdwar( loved, And sought in Mlarion’s deep blue eves his world, Loveds withuh the truth, the fervor of tirst love, That delicate bloom which can come o’er the soul But only once. All other thlou hits an(l feelings The heart may know aga,in, ubloft fit love never! Its hopes, blig,,ht as the aztzuIIe flower that springs Where’er the radiance of the rainbow fallse Its fears, soft as the leais that sha re the lil Its fairyland r onance, it s teoonde ness, Its timid, and yet lmssionate (Itenotion These are not annual blooms, thatt die, then rise Again into analheri- stumtmlel IN’olld. They may live long, and e the life of life, But, like the rose, when the, y ale once destroyed They perish utterly. And, like that tree, How sweet a memorvy too, remains!

though dead The green leaves, ain(d decay,ed the stem, yet still The spirit of fragrance ling,ers, loath to leave Its dear abode. Just so l(-)i-e hautints the heart, Though withered, and to be revived no mole. O, nothing has the memory of love! It was a summer twilight; crimson lights Played o’er the bridal bowers of the west, And in the gray horizon the white moon Was faintly visible, just where the sky Met the green rollin, of the slis.n,o,)wy sea. Upon a little hill, whose broken ri(dge Was covered with the go(lden ftirze and heath Gay with its small pink blossoms, in: shade Formed of thick hazels andl the graceful sweep Of the ash-boughs, an oldl beach-trunkc the seat, With a sweet canopy of honey-suckle Mixed with the wild br-ier-r-oses, EdIwalrdi sat Happy, for Marion leaned I porn his bosom In the deep fondness of the p)arlin’

lhouri; One of those partinzs ip’ mor- will ];eel Among its precious flyings.‘Fle?etlin~ sun Shed such rich color o’er the cli, ek l, which pressed Closer and closer, like a rose, that solught A shelter next his heart; the radiant eyes, Glorious as though the si3y’s own li,l-t wfe re there, Yet timid, blue, and ten,ler as the (love’s; The soft arm thrown around his neck; the Iair Falling in such profusion o’er a face That nestled like a bird upon his breast. Murmurs, the very breath of lia~niness; Low and delighted sighs, an4 lt. nzthenied looks, As life were looking words inaudible, Yet full of music; whispers such as are What love should ever streak in, soft yet {h ep, As jealous even that the air should share In the delieious feelings. Andl around3 All seemed the home and atmoesphlere of love: The air sweet with the woodbine andl the rose; The rich red izht of evenin.-.; the far sea, So still, so ealm; the vtale, wnith its cornfieldss Shooting their green sp~ears’midl the scarlet bannerl Of the wild poppies; mead3ows with the hey Scattered in fragrance, clover yet uncut. _nd in the distance a small wood, where oaks Exnd elms threwv griant shadowvs; and a river Windin.% now hidden and1 nowv vis~ible, Till close beside their bower it held3 its course, And fed a little wvaterfi1ll, the harp That answered to the woodlark’s twiligrht hymn Their last, last eveninz! Ah, the many rows That Edwvardl andl his.Mfarion rpledzed! Shle took A golden ring, and broke it. h.id one half And he she loved so well,-what opiate Lulled consciousness into its selfish sleep?He said he loved her not; that never vow Or passionate pleading won her soul for him; And that he guessed not her deep tenderness. Are words, then, only false? are there no looks, Mute but most eloquent; no gentle cares That win so much upon the fair weak things They seem to guards? And had he not long read Her heart’s hushed secret in the soft dark eye Lighted at his approach, and on the cheek Coloring all crimson at his lightest look? This is the truth; his spirit wholly turned To stem am,)ition’s dream, to that fierce strife Which leads to life’s high places, and recked not What lovely 9o.wers might perish in his path.

And here at length is somewhat of reveng-e: For man’s most golden dreams of pride and power Are vain as any wonman-dreams of love; Both end in weary brow andl withered heart, And the grave closes over those wtose hopes Have lain there long before. .. How the spirit clings To that which once it loved, with the same feeling That makes the traveller turn from his way To look upon some boyish haunt, though dark And very desolate grown, no longer like I’liat which was dear to him. IT was a low white church: the elmn which grew Beside it shadowed half the roof; the clock Was placed where full the sunbeams fell;-what deep, Simple morality spoke in those hands, Going their way in silence, till a sound, Solemn and sweet, made the;cir appeal to Time, And the hour spoke its onl]

warning!-Strange To note how mute the soft song of the wren, Whose nest was in that old elm tree, became When the clock struck: aud when it ceased again, Its music like a natural anthem breathed. Lowly the osiered graves around, wild flowers Their epitaph, and not one monument WVas there rich with the sculptor’s graceful art. There sat one, by a grave whose weeded turf _’owed( more than common care, his face bent down, A fine and inanly brow, though sun and wind Had darkened it, and that a shade of grief Seemed natural from long habit; by his side A little laughing child, with clear blue eyes, Cheek like s dimnpled rose, and sunny curls, Was gathering blossoms, gathering but to crash, Till the sod was all colors with the leaves. Even in childhoo,1’s innocence of pleasure Lives that d(lestroyine spirit which in timune Will waste, then want, the best of happiness. I marked the bey’s comrpanion: he was yet In life’s first summer: an hie seemed to watch ‘ [n Eastern tales, the li.,] a. P’:rl]se never rests on earth. I I I i l i I i i i I 281, A VILLAGE TALE.

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*iilE PASSION FIO\k,IWR. Next lh,lr awl hen,t, t!e), c:t;‘i;in curl, As hbrihilt as the bright gift, ant round his neck Fastene(l the silken brai 1, auld t)a,le him keep The ring and hair fu)r Marion’s sake. They talked Of pleasant hopes, of Edward’s quick return With treasure gathered on thle stormy deep, And how they then would build a little cot; T-e- choose the very place; and the bright moon Shone in her midnight, ere their schemes Were half complete. They parted. The next morn With the day-blush had Marion sought the bower Alone, and watched upon the distant sea A ship just visible to those long looks With which love gazes…. How most sweet it is To have one lonely treasure, which the heart Can feed upon in secret, which can be A star in sorrow, and a flower in joy; A thought to which all other thoughts refer; A hope, from whence all other hopes arise, Nursed inl the solitude of happiness! Love, passionate young Love, how sweet it is To have the bosom made a Paradise By thee-life lighted by thy rainbow smile! Edward lived in one feeling, one that made Care, toil, and suflering pleasant; and he hailed England, dlear England, happy in success, In hope, -!nd love. It was a summer mornThe very season he had left that valeWhen he returned. How cheerfully the fields, Spread in their green luxuriance of corn, The purple clover, and the newcut hay, Loading the air with fragrance! the soft river Winding sQ gently! there seemed nothing changed, And E(lward s heart was filled with gladness: all He fancied, looked as if they welcomed him. His eyes filled with sweet tears, and hasty words Of love and thankfulness came to his lips. His path lay through the churchyard, and the bells Were iinging for a wedding What fond thoughts They w akened, of how mei-rilv their round Would peal for him and Marion! He kissed The broken ring, the biaid of golden hair, Anl boundeli, with light step and lighter heart, Across the clhurchyard; from it he could see The cottage whelre his (own tiue maiden dwelt. Just then the bridal party left the church, An-l, half unconsciously, young Edward looked Upon the bride-that bride was Marion! He stopped not in the villare,n-spke to none,But went again to sea; and never smile Lighted the settled darkness in his eyes: His cheek grew pale, his hair turned gray, his voice Became so sad and low. He once had loved To look upon the sunset, as that hour Brought pleasant memories, such as feed sweet hopes; Now ever gazed he on it with the look Of the young widow over her fair child, Her only child, in the death agony. His heart was withered. Yet, although so false, He never parted with his Marion’s gift: Still the soft curl and the bright ring were kept, Like treasures, in his bosom. Years passed by, And he grew tired of wandering; ba; – he came To his own village, as a place of restL ‘Twas a drear autumn morning, and thi.rees Were bare, or covered but with yellow leaves; The fields lay fallow, and a drizzling rain Fell gloomily: it seemed as all was changed, Even as he himself was changed; the bell Of the old church was tolling dolefully The farewell of the living to the dead. The grave was scant, the holy words were said Hurriedly, coldly; but for a poor child, That begged the pit to give him back his mother, There had not been one single tear. TIle boy Kept on his wvail; but all his prayers were made To the dark tomb, as conscious those around Would chide if he asked them; and when they threw The last earth on the coffin, down he laid His little head, a.id sobbed most bitterly. An:l Edward took him in his arms, and kissed Fis wet!3ale cheeks: while the child clung to him, They saw her wandering’miid the woods, Lone, with the cheerless dawn, And then they said, ” Can this be her We called I The Startled Fawn.’” I I i I I I I I i I i 1 1 i i i i i i i i i 2’” Not with the shyness of one petted, loved, An,d careless of a stranger’s fond cares,;, But lilie one knowing well what kindness was But knew not where to seek it, as be pined Beneath neglect and harshness, fear and want. ‘Twas strange, this minglin,- of their destinies: That boy was Marion’s-it was Marion’s Errave! She had died voun!z, and poor, and brokenhearted. Her husband h.-,id deserted her: one child Was bui-ie(I with its mother,, one was left An orphan unto chance; but Edward took The boy unto Iiiin even as his own. He buried the remembrance of his wronger, Only recalling that be once had loved, And that his love was dead. THE

INDIAN GIRL. SHF. sat alonc beside her hearth For many nigbts alone; She slept not on the pleasant couch Where fragrant herbs were strown. At first she bound her raven h,-,tir With feather and with shell; But then she hoped; -it len,-tb, hire night, Around her neck it fell. H-er he,-t.-t w,ts in her large sad eyes, Half sunshine and half shade; And love, as love first sprinzs to life, Of everythin, Etfraid. The red leaf fair more heavily Fell down to autumn earth, Than her light feet, which,eeme(I to movw To music,ind to rnirth. I With the li,-bt feet of earlv youth, What hopes and joys depart! Ah! nothing like the heavy step Betrays the heavy heart. Tt is a usual bistory That Indian girl could tell; Fate sets apart one common doom For all who love too well. The proud-tbe sby-tlie sensitive, Life has not many such; They dearly buy their happiness, By feeling it too rnticb. stran-,er to her fores.’ home, That f-,iir young Stringer came They raised for him the funeral son For him the funeral flanie. Love spran- from pity,-,in(I ber,,irms Around his arms she threw; She told her father, 11 If be dies, Your d,-tu!zhter dieth,too.”

For her sweet sake tbev set him free He lingered at her side; And many a native song yet tells Of that pale stran_zer’s bride. Two years have p,is,,,ed-how muell two veare Have taken in their fli;-Zbt! They’ve taken from the lip its smile, And from the eye its light. Poor cliil(l! she ,v,is t child in years So timi(I an4 so yotin!z; With wli,it -t fon(i an,l earnest faith To deqpcr,-tte hope she clung!

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‘FIlE PASSION FLOWER. I deemed that I knew thee as none ever knew; That’twas mine to subdue thee, and thine to be true. I deemed to my keeping thy memory had brought The depths that were sleeping of innermost thought. The bitter concealings life’s treacheries teach, The long-subdued feelings the world can not reachThy mask to the many was worn not for me; I saw thee-can any seem like unto thee? No other can know thee as I, love, have known, No future will show thee a love like mine own. That love was no passion that walketh by day, A fancy-a fashion that flitteth away. P oor chi ld! w hat lonely days she passed. With nothing to recall But bitter taunts, and careless words, And looks more cold than all. ‘Twas life’s whole emotion-a storm in its might  ‘Twas deep as the ocean, and silent as night. It swept down life’s flowers, the fragile and fair, The heart had no powers from passion to spare. Thy faults but endeared thee, so stormy and wild My lover! I feared thee as feareth a child. They seemed but the shrouding of spirit too high, As vapors come crowding the sunniest sky. He leftht her, but she followed him She thought he could not bear When she had left her home for him To look on her despair. I worshipped in terror a comet above; Ah! fatal the error-ah! fatal the love! For thy sake life never will charm me again; Its beauty for ever is vanished and vain.

Thou canst not restore me the depth and the truth Of the hopes that comrne o’er me in earliest youth. Their gloss is departed-their magic is flown, And sad and faint-hearted I wander alone. r’Tis vain to regret me-you will not regret; You will try to forget me-you can not forget. We shall hear of each other-O! misery to hear Those names fi-om another that once were so dear! What slight words will sting us that breathe of the past And slight things will bring us thoughts fated to hlst. The fond hopes that centred in thee are all dead, But the iron has entered the soul where they fed.

Yet still adown the gloomy stream She plied her weary oar; Her husband-he had left their home, And it was home no more. She found him-but she found in vain He spurned her from his side; He said, her brow was all too dark, For her to be his bride. She grasped his hands,-her own were cold, And silent turned away, As she had not a tear to shed, And not a word to say.

Like others in seeming, we’ll walk through life’s part, Cold, careless, and dreaming-with death in the heart, No hope-no repentance; the spring of life o’er; All died with that sentence I love thee no more! And pale as death she reached her boat, And guided it along; With broken voice she strove to raise A melancholy song. CAN YOU FORGET ME? None watched the lonely Indian girl, She passed unmarked of all, Until they saw her slight canoe Approach the mighty Fall!* Upright, within that slender boat They saw the pale girl stand, Her dark hair streaming far behind Upraised her desperate hand. CAN you forget me?-I who have so cherished The veriest trifle that was memory’s link; The roses that you gave me, although perished, Were precious in my sight; they made me think You took them in their scentless beauty stooping Flom the warm shelter of the garden wall; Autumn, while into languid winter drooping, Gave its last blossoms, opening but to fall. Can you forget them? The air is filled with shriek and shout They call, but call in vain; ‘he boat amid the waters dashed-C

‘Twas never seen again I Can you forget me? I am not relying On plighted vows-alas! I know their worth Man’s faith to woman is a trifle, dying Upon the very breath that gave it birth But I remember hours of quiet gladness, When, if the heart had truth, it spoke it then, When thoughts would sometimes take a tone of sadness And then unconsciously grow glad again.

Can you forget them? “A fair young face-yet mournful in its youth Brooding above sad thoughts.” IT is the last token of love and of thee! Thy once faith is broken, thou false one to me. I think on the letters with which I must part; Too dear are the fetters which wind round my heart. Can you forget me? My whole soul was blended: At least it sought to blend itself with thine; My life’s whole purpose, winning thee, seemed ended; Thou wert my heart’s sweet home-my spirit’s shrine. Can you forget me? when the firelight burning, Flung sudden gleams-around the quiet room,, Heow would thy words, to long past moments turning, Trust me with thoug.hts soft aq the shadowy gloom! Can you forget thenm Thy words were enchanted-and ruled me at will; My spirit is haunted, remembering them still. So earnest, so tender-the full heart was there; Ah! song might surrender its lute in despair. i 289 His eyes zrew cold-his vo’ grew,,tran,-e They oiily grew more dear. She served him meelilv, anx;,,)iisly, With love-half faith, half fear. And can a foiid and faithful heart Be worthless in those eyes For which it beats?-Ah! wo to those Who such a heart despise. Alas! for love, that sits at home, Forsaken, aiid yet fond; The -rief that sits beside the hearth, Life hast no gi-ief beyond. Adown the strange and mighty stream She took her lonely way! The stars at night her pilots were, As was the sun by day. Yet mournfully-how mournfully; The Indian looked behind, When the last sound of voice or step Died on the midnight wind.

THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. I Niazar&

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290 There is no truth in love, wlIate’er its And heaven itself could scarcely see Sadly have I awakened from the dream Whose charmed slumber-false one! I gave mine inmost being to thy keepin I had no thought I did not seek to sh Feelings that hushed within my soul w Waked into voice, to trust them to th Can Alh, farewell!wilt hath wo ord d ing, Hope and lose roust perish too: For thy sake themselves denying, What is truth with thee untrue? Farewell!‘tis a dreary sentence, Like the death-doom of the grave, May it wake in thee repentance, Stinging when too late to save I Can you forget me? This is vainly tasking The faithless heart where I, alas! am not. roo well I know the idleness of asking The misery-of why am I forgot? The happy hours that I have passed while kneeling Half slave, half child, to gaze upon thy face. -But what to thee this passionate appealing Let my heart break-it is a common case. You have forgotten me.

The rose has faded from thy cheek There’s scarce a blush left now; And there’s a dark and weary sign Upon thine altered brow. Thy raven hair is dashed with gray, Thine eyes are dim with tears; And care, before thy youth is past, Has done the work of years. DISENCHANTMENT. Do not ask me why I loved hinm, Love’s cause is to love unknown; Faithless as the past has proved him, Once his heart appeared mine own. Do not say he did not merit All my fondness, all my truth; Those in whom love dwells inherit Every dream that haunted youth. Beautiful wreck! for still thy face, Though changed, is very fair: Like beauty’s moonlight, left to show Her morning sun was there. Come, here are friends and festival, Recall thin e ear ly smile; And wear yon wreath, whose glad red rose Will lend its bloom awhile. He might not be all I dreamed him, Noble, generous, gifted, true, Not the less I fondly deemed him, All those flattering visions drew. All the hues of old romances By his actual self grew dim; B itterly I mock the fancies That once found their life in him. Come, take thy fite, and s ing again The song you used to singThe birdlike song:-See, though unused The lute has every string, From the hour by him enchanted, From the moment when we met, Henceforth with one image haunted, Life may never more forget. All my nature changed-his being Seemed the only source of mine.

Fond heart, hadst thou no foreseeing Thy sad future to divine? The smile may come, the smile may go, The blush shine and depart; But farewell when their sense is quenched Within the breaking heart. Once, upon myself relying, All I asked were words and thought; Many hearts to mine replying, Owned the music that I brought. Eager, spiritual, and lonely, Visions filled the fairy h our, Deep with love-though love was only Not a presence, but a power. But from that first hour I met thee, All caught actual life from you. Alas! how can I forget thee, Thou who madest the fancied true? Once my wide world was ideal, Fair it was-ah! very fair; Wherefore hast thou made it real I Wherefore is thy image there? Ah! no more to me is given Fancy’s far and fairy birth; Chords upon my lute are riven, Never more to sound on earth. Once, sweet music could it borrow From a look, a word, a tone; I could paint another’s sorrow Now I think but of mine own. And such i s thine:‘tis vain to s eek The shades of past delight: Fling down the wreath, and break the lute; They mock our souls to-night. SHE prest her slight hand to her brow, or pain Or bitter thoughts were passing there. The room Had no light but that from the fireside, Which showed, then hid her face. How very palq It looked when over it the glimmer shone! Is not the rose companion of the spring? Then wherefore has the red-leaved flower forgotten Her cheek? The tears stood in her large dark eyes Her beautiful dark eyes-like hyacinth stars, When shines their shadowy glory through the dew That summer nights have wept;-she felt them not, Her heart was far away! Her fragile form, Like the young willow when from the first time The wind sweeps o’er it rudely, had not lost ItS own peculiar grace; but it was bowed By sickness, or by worse than sickness-sorrow! And thus is Love why should woman love; Wasting her dearest feelings, till health, hope, Happiness, are but things of which henceforth She’ll only know the name? Her heart is seared e A sweet light has been thrown upon its life, To mnake its darkness the more terrible. And this is Love! Naught its sweetness may restore: For I know how vainly given Life’s most precious things may be, I ove that might have looked on heaven, Even as it looked on thee. ‘FIIE PASSION FT,OAI’Uli?,.

THE CHANGE. THY features do not wear the light They wore in happier days; Though still there may be much to love, There’s little left to praise.

What, doth thy hand forget the lute 7 Thy brow reject the wreath? Alas!

whate’er the change above, There’s more of change beneath I LOVE.

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THE PASSION FLOWER. 291 JULIET AFTER THE MASQUERADE. SHE left the festival, for it seemed dim Now that her eye no longer dwelt on him, And sought her chamber,-gazed (then turned away) Upon a mirror that before her lay, Half fearing, half believing her sweet face Would surely claim within his memory place. The hour was late, and that night her light foot Had been the constant echo of the lute; Yet sought she not her pillow, the cool air Came from the casement, and it lured her there. The terrace was beneath, and the pale moon Shone o’er the conch which she had pressed at noon, Soft-lingering o’er some minstrel’s lovelorn page,Alas, tears are the poet’s heritage! First around thy couchal shall sweep Odors, such as roses weep When the earliest spring rain Calls them into life again; Next upon thine ear shall float Many a low and silver note, Stolen from a darkeyed maid When her lover’s serenade, Rising as the stars grew dim, Wakened from her thoughts of him. There shall steal o’er lip and cheek Gales, but all too light to break Thy soft rest,-such gales as hide All day orange-flowers inside, Or that, while hot noontide, dwell In the purple hyacinth bell; And before thy sleeping eyes Shall come glorious pageantries, Palaces of gems and gold, Such as dazzle to behold.Gardens, in which every tree Seems a world of bloom to be,Fountains, whose clear waters show The white pearls that lie below.During slumber’s magic reign Other times shall live again; First thou shalt be young and free In thy days of liberty,Then again be wooed and won By the stately OBERON. Or thou shalt descend to earth, And see all of mortal birth. No, that world’s too full of care For e’en dreams to linger there. But, behold, the sun is set, And the diamond coronet Of the young moon is on high Waiting for our revelry; f4nd the dew is on the flower, A.nd the stars proclaim our hour; Long enough thy rest has been, Wake, TITANIA, walke our queen! She flung her on that couch, but not for sleep; No, it was only that the wind might steep Her fevered lip in its delicious dew: Her brow was burning, and aside she threw Her cap and plume, and, loosened from its fold, Came o’er her neck and face a shower of gold, A thousand curls. It was a solitude AMade for young hearts in love’s first dreaming mood:  Beneath the garden lay, filled with rose trees Whose sighings came like passion on the breeze. Two graceful statues of the Parian stone So finely shaped, that as the moonlight shone The breath of life seemed to their beauty given, But less the life of earth than that of heaven. ‘Twas PsYCHE and her boy-god, so divine They turned the terrace to an idol shrine, With its white vases and their summer share Of flowers, like altars raised to that sweet pair.

And there the maiden leant, still in her ear The whisper dwelt of that young cavalier; It was no fancy, he had named the name Of love, and at that thought her cheek grew flame: It was the first time her young ear had heard A lover’s burning sigh, or silver word; Her thoughts were all confusion, but most sweet,Her heart beat high, but pleasant was its beat.

She murmured over many a snatch of song That might to her own feelings now belong; She thought upon old histories she had read, And placed herself in each high heroine’s stead, Then woke her lute,O! there is little known Of music’s power till aided by love’s own. And this is happiness: 0! love will last When all that made it happiness is past, When all its hopes are as the glittering toys Time present offers, time to come destroys,When they have been too often crushed to earth, For further blindness to their little worth,-S When fond illusions have dropt one by one, Like pearls from a rich carkanet, till none Are left upon life’s soiled and naked string,-W And this is all what time will ever bring. -And that fair girl,-what can the heart foresee Of her young love, and of its destiny?

There is a white cloud o’er the moon, its form Is very light, and yet there sleeps the storm: It is an omen, it may tell the fate Of love known all too soon, repented all too late. A CHILD SCREENING A DOVE FROM A HAWIL

WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE OF A GIRL BURNING & LOI LETTER. The lines were filled with many a tender thing, All the impassioned heart’s fond communing She lay upon a bank, the favorite haunt Of the spring wind in its first sunshine hour, For the luxuriant strawberry blossoms so-ead Like a snow-shower there, and violets Bowed down their purple vases of perfume About her pillow,-linked in a gay band Floated fantastic shapes, these were her guards, Her lithe and rainbow elves. I TOOK the scroll: I could not brook, An eye to gaze on it save mine; I could not bear another look Should dwell upon one thought of thine. My lamp was burning by my s ide, I held thy letter to the flame, I marked the blaze swift o’er it glide, It did not even spare thy name. Soon the light from the embers past, I felt so sad to see it die, So bright at first, so dark at last, I feared it was love’s history. WE: have been o’er land and sea Seeking lovely dreams for thee,Where is there we have not been Gathering gifts for our sweet queen?

We are come with sound and sight Fit for fairy’s sleep to-night, THE

PASSION FLOWER. 291 Ay, screen thy favorite dove, fair child, Ay, screen it if you may,Yet I mi4oubt thy trembling hand Will scare the hawk away.

That dove will die, that child will weep, — Is this their destinie? F,ver amid the sweets of life Some evil thing must be. Ay, moralize,-is it not thus We’ve mourned our hope and love 7 Alas! there’s tears for every eye, A hawk for every dove. LINES THP, FAIRY QUEEN SLEEPING.

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TIlE PASSION FLOWER. CUPID AND SWALLOWS FLYING FROM WINTER. How can they hope that ev er links with hold Formed, as they form them now, of the harsh gold? Or worse than even this, how can they think That vanity will bind the failing link? How can they dream that thy sweet life will bear Crowds’, palaces’, and cities’ heartless air? Where the lip smiles while the heart’s desolate, And courtesy lends its deep mask to hate; Where looks and thoughts alike must feel the chain, And naught of life is real but its pain; Where the young spirit’s high imaginings Are scorned and cast away as idle things; Whetz, think or feel, you are foredoomed to be A marvel and a sign for mockery; Where none must wander from the beaten road,All alike champ the bit, and feel the goad. It is not made for thee, young Love! away To where the green earth laughs to the clear day. To the deep valley, where a thousand trees Keep a green court for fairy revelries,To some small island on a lonely lake, Where only swans the diamond waters breakWhere the pines hang in silence o’er the tide, And the stream gushes from the mountain side; These, Love, are haunts for thee; where canst thou brood With thy sweet wings furled but in Solitude. AWAY, aw ay, o’er land and s ea, This is now no home for me; My light wings may never bear Northern cloud or winter air. Murky shades are gathering fast, Sleet and snow are on the blast, Trees from which the leaves are fled, Flowers whose very roots are dead, Grass of its green blade bereft, These are all that now are left. -Linger here another day, I shall be as sad as they; My companions fly with spring, I too must be on the wing. Where are the sweet gales whose song Wont to waft my darts along? Scented airs! 0, not like these, Rough as they which sweep the seas; But those sighs of rose which bring Incense from their wandering. Where are the bright flowers that kept Guard around me while I slept? Where the sunny eyes whose beams Wakened me from my soft dreams? These are with the swallows gone,Beauty’s heart is chilled to stone. SHE was just risen from her bended knee, But yet peace seemed not with her piety; For there was paleness upon her young cheek, And thoughts upon the lips which never speak, But wring the heart that at the last they break. Alas! how much of misery may be read In that wan forehead, and that bowed down head:Her eye is on a picture, wo that ever Love should thus struggle with a vain endeavor Against itself: it is a common tale, And ever will be while earth soils prevail Over earth’s happiness; it tells she strove With silent, secret, unrequited love. 0! for some sweet southern climne, Where’tis evr s umer summer time.Whe re, if blossoms fall, their tomb Is amid new birth of bloom,Wh ere green leav es are ever springing, Where the lark is always sinking,-W One of those bright isles which lie Fair beneath an azure slky, Isles of cinnamon-and spice, Shadow each of Paradise,Where the flowers shine with dies, Teinted bright from the sunrise,Where the birds which drink their dew, Wave wings of yet brighter hue, And each river’s course is rolled Over bed of pearl and gold! It matters not its history; love has wings Like lightning, swift and fatal, and it springs Like a wild flower where it is least expected, Existing whether cherished or rejected; Living with only but to b e c ontent, Hopeless, for love i s i ts own element,Reqliring nothing so that it may be The martyr of its fond fidelity. A mystery thou art, thou mighty one! We speak thy name in beauty, yet we shun To own thee, Love, a guest; the poet’s songs Are sweetest when their voice to thee belongs, And hope, sweet opiate, tenderness, delight, Are terms which are thy own peculiar right; Yet all deny their master,-who will own His breast thy footstool, and his heart thy throne I O! for those lime-scented groves Where the Spanish lover roves, Tuning to the western star, His soft song and light guitar,Where the dark-haired girls are dancing Fairies in the moonlight glancing, With pencilled brows, and radiant eyes, Like their planet-lighted skies! Or those clear Italian lakes Where the silver cygnet makes Its soft nest of leaf and flower, A white lily for its bower! Each of these a home would be, Fit for beauty and for me: I must seek their happier sphere While the Winter lords it here. ‘Tis strange to think if we could fling aside The masque and mantle that love wears from pride, How much would be, we now so little guess, Deep in each heart’s undreamed, unsought recess. The careless smile, like a gay banner borne, The laugh of merriment, the lip of scorn,And for a cloak what is there that can be So difficult to pierce as gayety? Too dazzling to be scanned, the haughty browr Seems to hide something it would not avow; But rainbow words, light laugh, and thoughtless jest, These are the bars, the curtain to the breast, That shuns a scrutiny: and she, whose form Now bends in grief beneath the bosom’s storm, Has hidden well her wound,’-now none are nigh To mock with curious or with careless eye, (For love seeks sympathy, a chilling yes, Strikes at the root of its best happiness, And mockery is wormwood,) she may dwell On feelings which that lpicture m,y not tell Ar, surely, it is here that Love should come, And find (if he may find on earth) a home; Here cast off all the sorrow and the shame That cling like shadows to his very name. Young Love, thou art belied: they speak of thee, And couple with thy mention misery; Talk of the broken heart, the wasted bloom, The spirit blighted, and the early tomb; As if these waited on thy golden lot,They blame thee fior the faults which thou hast not. Art thou to blame for that they brin, on thee The s5;l and wseight of their morality? I i I I 292 11 We ily from the cold.’ A GIRL AT HER DEVOTIONS. LOVE NURSPD BY

SOLITUDE.

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*; rAbSION FLOWER. Her feelings!-no: pray, struggle, weep, condemn,Her feelings,-there was b’,it one grave for them. ‘Twas her last night, and she had looked her last, And she must live henceforward in the past. She lingered in the hall,-he had been there; Her pale lips grew yet paler with the prayer That only asked his happiness. She took A blank leaf from an old emblazoned book, Which told love’s chronicles; a faint hope stole,A sweet light o’er the darkness of her soulMight she not leave remembrance, like the wreath, Whose dying flowers their scents on twilight breathe Just one faint tone o f music, lo w and clear, Coming when other songs have left the ear? Might she not tell him how she loved, and pray A mournful memory for some distant day? I She took the scroll:-what! bare perhaps to scorn The timid sorrow she so long had borne! Silent as death, she hid her face, for shame In rushing crimson to her forehead came; Through the small fingers fell the bitter rain, And tremblingly she closed the leaves again.

-The hall is lit with rose, that morning hour, Whose lights are colored by each opening flower: A sweet bird by the casement sat and sang A song so glad, that like a laugh it rang, While its wings shook the jessamine, till the bloom Floated like incense round that joyous room. -They found the maiden: still her face was bowed, As with some shame that might not be avowed; They raised the long hair which her face concealed.And she is dead, her secret unreveale(d. a. Mere is silence in that lonely hall, Save where the waters of the fountain fall. And the wind’s distant murmuring, which takes Bweet messages from every bud it wakes. ‘Tis more than midnight; all the lamps are gone, rheiri fragrant oils exhausted,-all but one, A little silver lamp beside a scroll, Where a young maiden leant, and poured her SOusoul In those last words, the bitter and the brief. How can they say confiding is relief? Light are the woes that to the eyelids spring, Subdued and softened by the tears they bring; But there are some too long, too well concealed, Too deeply felt,-that are but once revealed: Like the withdrawing of the mortal dart, And then the lifeblood follows from the heart; Sorrow, before unspoken by a sigh, But which, once spoken, only hath to die. Young, very young, the lady was, who now Bowed on her slender hand her weary brow: Not beautiful, save when the eager thought In the soft eyes a sudden beauty wrought: Not beautiful, save when the cheek’s warm blush Grew eloquent with momentary flush Of feeling, that made beauty, not to last, And scarcely caught, so quickly is it past.

-Alas! she knew it well; too early thrown Mid a cold world, the unloved and the lone, With no near kindred ties on whom could dwell Love that so sought to be beloved as well. Too sensitive for flattery, and too kind To bear the loneliness by fate assigned, Her life had been a struggle: long she strove To fix on things inanimate her love; On pity, kindness, music, gentle lore, All that romance could yield of fairy store. In vain! she loved:-she loved and from that hour Gone were the quiet loves of bird or flower; The unread book dropped listless on her knee, The untouched lute hung on the bending tree Whose unwreathed boughs no more a pleasant shade For the lone dreamings of her twilight made. -Well might she love him: every eye was turned On that yqung knight, and bright cheeks brighter burned, Save one, that grew the paler for his sake: Alas! for her, whose heart but beat to break; Who knew too well, not hers the lip or eye For which the youthful lover swears to die. How deep, how merciless, the love represt, That robs the silent midnight of its rest; That sees in gathered crowds but one alone; That hears in mingled footsteps only one; That turns the poet’s page, to only find Some mournful image for itself designed; That seeks in music, but the plaining tone Which secret sorrow whispers is its own! Alas for the young heart, when love is there, Its comrade and its confidant, despair! How often leant in some unnoticed spot, Her very being by the throng forgot, Shrunk back to shun the glad lamp’s mocking ray, Passed many a dark and weary hour away, Watching the young, the beautiful, the bright, Seeming more lovely in that lonely light; And as each fair face glided through the dance, Stealing at some near mirror one swift glance, Then, starting at the contrast, seek her room, ro weep, at least in solitude and gloom! And he, her stately idol, he, with eye Dark as the eagle’s in a summer sky, And darker curls, amid whose raven shade The very wild wind amorously delayed, With that bright smile, which makes all others dim, So proud, so sweet,-what part had she in him? And yet shie loved him: who may say, be still, To the fined heart that beats not at our will? ‘Twas to,, inmc,h wretche!ness:-the convent cell, Thero,ni,.l’t te iniai lIon wilh her misery dwell. And teat, t-lorrow was her clhosen doom: There inilit her hopes, her feelings, find a tomb. WHEN -HOULD LOVERS

BREATHE THEIR VOWS 1 WHEN should lovers breathe their vows.? When should ladies hear them? When the dew is on the boug-hs, When none else are near them; When the moon shines cold and pale, When the birds are sleeping, When no voice is on the gale, When the rose is weeping; When the stars are bright on hig,h, Like hopes in young Love’s dreaming, And glancing round the light clouds fly, Like soft fears to shade their beaming. The fairest smiles are those that live On the brow by starlight wreathing; And the lips their richest incense give When the sigh is at midnight breathing. O, softest is the cheek’s love-ray When seen by moonlight hours, Other roses seek the day, But blushes are night flowers. O, when the moon and stars are bright, When the dew-drops glisten, Then their vows should lovers plight, Then should ladies listen! -419,% ‘I’HE NEGLECTED THE EMERALD

RING. A SUPERSTITION. IT is a gem which hath the power to show If pligbted lovers keep their faith or no If faithful, it is like the leaves of spring; If faithless like those leaves when withering. Take back again your emerald gem, There is no color in the stone It might have araced a diadem, But now its bue and light are,gone! Take back your!zift, and give me mine The kiss that sealed our last lov-e-vow; Ab, other lip,; have been on tbine, My kiss is lost and iiow The aem i- pale, the kiss orgot, Anfl, more than either, voii are chanced; But my true love his nltere,,l n,,)t, Aty heart is brol,,-e,,i-not eEtr,,tn,-,ed!

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THiE PASSION FLOWER. Sky of wild beauty, in those distant ages Of which time hath left scarce a wreck or a name, Say were thy secrets laid bare to the sages, Who held that the stars were life’s annals of flame? Spirit, that ruleth man’s life to its ending, Chance, Fortune, Fate, answer my summoning now; The storm o’er the face of the night is descending, Fair moon, the dark clouds hide thy silvery brow. A NIGHT IN MAY. A night not sacred to Spring’s opening leaves, But one of crowded festival. LIGHT and glad through the rooms the gay music is waking, Where the young and the lovely are gathered to-night; And the soft cloudless lamps, with their lustre, are making A midnight hour only than morning less bright. There are vases,the flowers within them are breathing Sighs almost as sweet as the lips that are near; Light feet are glancing, white arms are wreathing, Le 0 temple of pleasure! thou surely art here. 1 gazed on the scene;‘twas the dream of a minute; But it seemed to me even as fairy land fair; Twas the cup’s bright inside; and on glancing within it, What but the dres and the darkness were there? -False wave of the desert, thou art less beguiling Than false beauty over the lighted hall shed: What but the smiles that have practised their smiling, Or honey words measured, and reckoned as said? 0, heart of mine! turn from the revellers before thee; What part hast thou in them, or have they in thee? What was the feeling that too soon came o’er thee? Weariness ever that feeling must be.

Praise-flattery opiates the meanest, yet sweetest, Are ye the fame that my spirit hath dreamed? Lute, when in such scenes, if homage thou meetest, Say, if like glory such vanity seemed? O for some island far off in the ocean, Where never a footstep has pressed but mine own: With one hope, one feeling, one utter devotion To my gift of song, once more, the lovely, the lone! My heart is too much in the tEf,n., wnicn profane t, The cold, and the worldly, why am I like them? Vanity! with my lute chords I must chain it, Nor thus let it sully the minstrel’s best gem. It rises before me, that island, where blooming, The flowers in their thousands are comrades for met Anjid where if one perish, so sweet its entombing, The welcome it seems of fresh leaves to the tree. I’ll wander among them when morning is weeping Her earliest tears, if such pearls can be tears; When the birds and the roses together are sleeping, Till the mist of the daybreak, li;ke hope fulfilled, clears. Grove of dark cypress, when noontide is flinging Its radiance of light, thou shalt then be my shrine; I’ll listen the song which the wild dove is singing, And catch from its sweetness a lesson for mine. And when the red sunset at even is dying, I’ll watch the last blush as it fades on the wave; While the wind, through the shells in its low music sighing, Will seem like the anthem pearled over its grave. And when the bright stars which I worship are beaming, And writing in beauty and fate on the sky, Then, mine own lute, be the hour of thy dreaming, And the night-flowers will open and echo thy sigh. Let these bring thy answer, and tel l me if sad ness For ever m ean’s penan ce and portion must be; Doth the morning come forth from a birthplace of gladness I Is there peace, is there rest, in thine empire or thee? Spirit of fate, from yon t roubled west lea ning, As its meteor-piled rack were thy home and thy shrine, Grief is our knowledge,‘twill teach me thy meaning, Although thoui but speakest it in silence and sign. I marked a soft arch sweep its way over heaven; It spanned as it ruled the fierce storm which it bound; The moonshine, the shower, to its influence seemed given, And the black clouds grew bright in the beautiful round. I looked out again, but few hues were remaining On the side nearest earth; while I gazed, they were past: As a steed for a time with its curb proudly straining, Then freed in its strength, came the tempest at last. And this was the sign of thy answer, darlk spirit! Alas! and such ever our pathway appears; Tempest and change still our earth must inherit, – Its glory a shade, and its loveliness tears. THE SULTANA’S REMONSTRANCE IT suits thee well to weep, As thou lookest on the fair land, Whose sceptre thou hast held With less than woman’s hand. On yon bright city gaze, With its white and marble halls, The glory of its lofty towers, The strength of its proud walls. And look to yonder palace, With its garden of the rose, With its groves and silver fountains, Fit for a king’s repose. There is weeping in that city, And a cry of wo and shame, There’s a whisper of dishonor, And that whisper is thy name. And the stranger’s feast is spread, But it is no feast of thine; In thine own halls accursed lips Drain the forbidden wine. And aged men are in the streets, Who mourn their length of days, And young knights stand with folded arms, And eyes they dare not raise. There is not one whose Wlood was not As the waves of ocean free, – Their fathers died for thy fathers, They would have died for thee. Weep not,‘tis mine to weep That ever thou wert born; Alas, that all a mother’s love Is lost in a queen’s scorn! Yet weep, thou less than woman, weep, Those tears become thine eye, It suits thee well to weep the land For which thou darest not die.* * these lines allude to the flightt of the lIs-t king of Giensda Alas! but my dream has like sleep’s visions vanished; The hall and the crowd are before me again: Sternly my sweet thoughts like fairies are banished; Nay, the faith which believed in them now seems but vain. I left the gay circle:-if I found it dreary, Were all others there, then, the thoughtless and glad? Methinks that fair cheek in its paleness looked weary, Methinks that dark eye in its drooping was sad. -I went to my chamber,-I sought to be lonely, I leant by the casement to catch the sweet air; The thick tears fell blinding; and am I then only Sad, weary, although without actual care? The heart hath its mystery, ani who may reveal it; Or who ever read in the depths of their own?-s Row much, we never may speak of, yet feel it, But, even in feeling it, know it unknown!

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THE PASSION FLOWER. Can life’s dreams again be cheris i,. When its dearest one have per;si t I know Love will not endure;Nothing now to me seelns sure. Maiden, by the thousand tcaris Lava floods on my first years; By the nights, when burning l.i Fed upon my heart and brain; By the wretched days now past, By the weary days to last; Be thou warned, for still the samIs Love, beneath whatever name. Keep thy fond faith like a thing Where Time never change may br’.i. Vow thee to thy idol’s shrine,Tlhen, maiden!

read thy fate in m’:~. PRAY thee, maiden, hear him nuol t ‘lake thou warning by my lot; IRead my scroll, and mark thou all I can tell thee of thy thrall. Thou hast owned that youthful breast Treasures its most dangerous guest; Thou hast owned that Love is there: Though now features he may wear, Such as would a saint deceive, Win a skeptic to believe, Only for a time that brow, WVill seem what’tis seeming now. I have said, heart, be content! For Love’s power o’er thee is spent. That I love not now, 0 true!I have bade such dreams adieu: Therefore deemest thou my heart Saw them tranquilly depart; That they past, nor left behind Wreck and ruin in my mind. Thou art in the summer hour Of first passion’s early power; I am in the autumn day, Of its darkness, and decay. -Seems thine idol now to thee Even as a divinity? Such the faith that I too held; Not the less am I compelled All my heart-creed to gainsay, Own my idol gilded clay, And yet pine to dream again What I know is worse than vain. Ay, I did love, and how well, Let thine own fond weakness tell: Still upon the softened mood Of my twilight solitude, Still upon my midnight tear, Rises image all too dear; Dark and starry eyes, whose light Make the glory of the night; Brow like ocean’s morning foam, For each noble thought a home. Well such temple’s fair outline Seemed the spirit’s fitting shrine. -Is he hero, who hath won Fields we shrink to think upon? Patriot, on whose gifted tongue Senates in their wonder hung? Sage, before whose gifted eyes Nature spreads her mysteries? Bard, to whose charmed lute is given All that earth can breathe of heaven? Seems thy lover these to thee? Even more mine seemed to me. Now, my fond belief is past; Strange, methinks, if thine should last. “Be content, thou lovest ec t now:” Free, thou sayest,dreamest thou how I Loathing wouldst thou shun dismayed Freedom by such ransom paid. -Girl, for thee I’ll lay aside Veil of smiles and mask of pride; Shrouds that only ask of Fate Not to seem so desolate. -I am yound,-but age’s snow Hides not colder depths below; I am gay-but such a light Shines upon the grave by night. -Yet mine is a common tale; Hearts soon changed, and vows were frail Each one blamed the other’s deed, Yet both felt they were agreed; Ne’er again might either prove Those sweet fallacies of love. -Still for what so vain I hold Is my waisted heart grown cold. Can hopes be again believed, When their sweetest have deceived? Nan affection’s chain he trusted, When its dearest links have rusted? HIere thousands might have slept, whose name Had been to thee a spell, To light thy flashing eyes with flame, To bid thy young heart swell. See, I have named your favorite two, Each had been glad to crave Rest’neath this turf’s unbroken dew, And such a nameless grave! 11 i I I i ,n, -, WARNING. THE NAMELESS A NA31E:LFSS grave,-there is no El.(!.

,rosanctify the dead: O’er it the willow droops alone. With only wild flowers sprc,-i.I 0, there is naught to interest No record of a name, A trumpet call upon the ear, High on the roll of fame. cc I will not pause beside a toirb Where nothing calls to mind Aught that can brighten mortal glocif, Or elevate mankind; “No glorious memory to efface The stay of meaner clay; No intellect whose hefvenly trace Redeemed our earth:away!’‘ Ah, these are thoughts that well may rl-ie On youth’s ambitious pride; But I will sit and moralize This lowly stone beside. Here might have been a warrior’s rest, Some chief who bravely bled, With waving banner, sculptured crest, And laurel on his head. That laurel must have had its blood, That blood have caused its tear, Look on the lovely solitude What! wish for warfare here! I A poet might have slept,what! he Whose restless heart first wakes Its lifepulse into melody,. Then o’er it pines and breaks T He who hath son of passionate love, His 1-fe a feverish tale 0! not the nightingale, the dove Would suit its quiet vale.

THMK OF ME. FA FWIELL!-and never think of me 1. lighted hall or lady’s bower! Fare vell!-and never think of me In spring sunshine or summer hour I But xhen you see a lonely gravc, Ju;’, where a broken heart nii,-ht be, With iot one mourner by its sod, The,i and then only-THINK oir mic!

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TIlE PASSION FLOWER. I PRAY THEE LET ME WEEP TO-NIGHT. I PRAY thee let me weep to-night, ‘Tis rarely I am weeping; My tears are buried in my heart, Like cave-locked fountains sleeping. ANOTHER day-another day And yet he comes not nigh; I look amid the dim blue hills, Yet nothing meets mine eye. But 0, to-night, those words of thine, Have brought the past before me; And shadows of long-vanished years Are passing sadly o’er me. I hear the rush oi mountain streams Upon the echoes borne; I hear the singing of the birds, But not my hunter’s horn. The eagle sails in darkness past, The watchful chamois bounds; But what I look f or come s not near, My Uxic’s hawk and hounds. The friends I loved in early youth, The faithless and forgetting, Whom, though they were not worth my love, I can not help regretting;  Three times I thus have watched the snow Grow crimson with the stain, The setting sun threw o’er the rock, And I have watched in vain. The hopes that are like falling lights Around my pathway dying; The consciousnes none others rise, Their vacant place supplying; The knowledge by experience taught, The useless, the r epelling; For what avails to know how false Is all the charmer’s telling? I love his dark hounds, and I love His falcon’s sweeping flight; I love to see his manly cheek With mountain colors bright. I would give worlds, could I believe One half that is professed me; Affection! could I think it thee, When Flattery has caressed me’ I’ve waited patiently, but now Would that the chase were o’er: Well may he love the hunter’s toil, But he should love me more. Why stays he thus?-he would be here If his love equalled mineMethinks had I one fond caged dove, I would not let it pine. But, hark! what are those ringing steps That up the valley come? I see his hounds,-I see himself, My ULIaic, welcome home! NAY, fling not down those faded flower, Too late they’re scattered round: And violet and rose-leaf lie Together on the ground. THou art flowing, thou art flowing, O, small and silvery brook; The rushes by thee growing, And with a patient look 9 The pale narcissus o’er thee bends Like one who asks in vain for friends. How carefully this very mo r n Those buds were culled and wreathed; And’mid the cloud of that dark hair, How sweet a sigh they breathed! And many a gentle word was said Above their morning die, How that the rose had touched thy cheek, The violet thine eye. I bring not back my childhood, Sweet comrade of its hours; The music of the wild wood, The color of the flowers; Th e y do no t b ring again the dream That haunted me beside thy stream. Methinks, if but for memory, I should have kept these flowers; Ah! all too lightly does thy heart Dwell upon vanished hours. When black-lettered old romances Made a world for me alone; 0, days of lovely fancies, Are ye for ever flown? Ye are fled, sweet, vague, and vain, So I can not dream again. Already h as thine ea ger hand Stripped yonder rose-hung bough i The wreath that bound thy raven curls Thy feet are on it now. I have left a feverish pillow For thy soothing song; Alas, each fairy billow An image bears along, Look where I will, I only see One face too much beloved by me. That glancing smile, it seems to say “Thou art too fanciful: What matters it what roses fade, While there are no more to cull?” Ay, I was wrong to ask of thee Such gloomy thoughts as mine: Thou in thy Spring, how shouldst thou dream Of Autumn’s pale decline? In vain my heart remembers What pleasure used to be, My past thoughts are but embers Consumed by love for thee. I wish to love thee less-and feel A deeper fondness o’er me steal. Young, lovely, loved,-O! far from thee Life’s afler-death and doom; Long ere thou learn how memory clings To even faded bloom I i 296 SONG OF THE HUNTER’S BRIDE..

My feelings, once the kind, the warm, But now the hard, the frozen; The errors I’ve too long pursued, The path I should have chosen; I love to see the graceful bow Across his shoulder slung,I love to see the golden horn Beside his baldric hung. I can not bear to think of this, 0, leave me to my weeping; A few tears for that grave my heart, Where hope in death is sleeping. THE WREATH. THE WOODLAND BROOK.

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‘T’HE PLEA OF THE MID SUMME R FAIRIE S. BY THOMAS HOOD. IT is my design, in the following Poem, to celebrate, by an allegory, that immortality, which Shakspere has conferred on the Fairy mythology by his Midsummer Night’s Dream. But for him, those pretty children of our childhood would leave barely their names to our maturer years; they belong, as the mites upon the plum, to the bloom of fancy, a thing generally too frail and beautiful to withstand the rude handling of time: but the Poet has made this most perishable part of the mind’s creation equal to the most enduring; he has so intertwined the Elfins with human sympathies, and linked them by so many delightful associations with the productions of nature, that they are Qs real to the mind’s eye as their green magical circles to the outer sense. It would have been a pity for such a race to go extinct, even though they were but as the butterflies that hover abut the leaves and blossoms of the visible world. I. V.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ‘TWAS in that mellow season of the year, When the hot Sun singes the yellow leaves Till they be gold,-and with a broader sphere The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves; When more abundantly the spider weaves, And thie cold wind breathes flom a chillier clime; That forth I fared, on one of those still eves, Touched with the dewy sadness of the time, To think how the bright months had spent their prime. VI. So that, wherever I addressed my way, I seemed to track the melancholy feet Of him that is the Father of Decay, And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet; Wherefore regretfully I made retreat To some unwasted regions of my brain, Cha.rned with the light of summer and the heat, And bade that bounteous season bloom again, And sprout fresh flowers in mine own domain. And for any sylvan company, in lieu Of Pampinea with her lively peers, Sat Queen Titania with her pretty crew, All in their liveries quaint, with elfin gears, For she was gracious to my childish years, And made me free of her enchanted round; Wherefore this dreamy scene she still endears, And plants her court upon a verdant mound, Fenced with umbrageous woods and groves profound, VII. It was a shady and sequestered scene, Like those famed gardens of Boccaccio, Planted with his own laurels evergreen, And ro)ses that for endless summer blow; And there were fiount springs to overflow Their marble basins,-and cool green arcades Of tall o’erarchiinr sycamores, to throw Athwart the dappled path their dancing shades,With timid conies cropping the green blades. IV. And there were crystal pools, peopled with fish, Ardent and gold; and some of Tyrian skin, Some crinson-barred;and ever at a wish They rose obsequious till the wave grew thin As glass upon their backs, and then dived in, OQ,onchin th-;r arlent scales in watery gloom; Ad’:i:~ tt,+:,:s,it‘5 f;;.sl ),,,,:-‘v:’:’ forth to win 51r;’ cid’tamealbe reA’lrl1,-for s(, \ oe h bosso Things born of thought to vanish to bloom. And lo! upon m y f ix elihed delighted ken Appeared the loyal Fays. Some by degrees Crept from the primrose buds that opened then, And some from bell-shaped blossoms like the bees, Some from the dewy meads, and rushy leas, Flew up like chafers when the rustics pass; So)me from the rivers. others froill tall trees Dropp)ed, like shed blossoms, silent to the gr:ass) Spirits wand el,ins small, of eveily class. 1. V. And there were many birds of many dies, From tree to tree still faring to and fro, And stately peacocks with their splendid eyes, And gorgeous pheasants with their golden glow Like Iris just bedabbled in her bow, Besides some vocalists, without a name, That oft on fairy errands come and go, With accents magical; and all were tame, And peckled at my hand where’er I came. II. iff. “Ah me,” she cries, 11 was ever inoonli,-ht seen, So clear and tender forour midnight trips? Go some one fortli, and with a trump convene My lieges all!” Away the,,oblin skips A pace or two apart, and deftly strips The ruddy skin from a sweet rose’s cheek Then blows the shuddering leaf between his lips, Making it utter fortli a shrill small shriek, Like a frayed bird in te gray owlet’s beak. viri.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. The horridest shape that ever raised my awe, A monstrous giant, very huge ard tall, Such as in elder times, devoid of.,aw With wicked might grieved the priineval ball, And this was sure the deadliest of them all I Peri and Pixy, and quaint Puck the Antic, B3roughlit Robin Goodfellow, that merry swain; And stealthy Mab, queen of old realms romantic, Came too, from distance, in her tiny wain, Fresh dripping from a cloud-some bloomny rain, Then circling the bright MAIoon, had washed her car, And still bedewed it with a various stain: Lastly came Ariel, shooting from a star, Who bears all fairy embassies afar. “Gaunt was he as a wolf of Languedoc, With bloody jaws, and fiost upon his crown: So from his barren poll one hoary lock Over his wrinkled front fell far adown, Well nigh to where his frosty brows did frown Like jagged icicles at cottage eaves; And for his coronal he wore some brown And bristled ears gathered from Ceres’ sheaves, Entwined with certain sere and russet leaves. But Oberon, that night elsewhere exiled(, Was absent, whether some distempl)ered spleen Kept him and his fair mate unreconciled, Or warfare with the Gnome (whose race had been Sometime obnoxious), kept him from his queen, And made her now peruse the starry skies Prophetical with such an absent mnien; Howbeit, the tears stole often to her eyes, And oft the Moon was incensed with her sighs- – XVIIJ. “,And lo! upon a mast reared far aloft, He bore a very bright and crescent blade, The which he waved so dreadfully, and oft, In meditative spite, that, sore dismayed, I crept into an acorn-cup for shade; Meanwhile the horrid effigy went by: I trow his look was dreadful, for it made The trembling birds betake them to the sky, For every leaf was lifted by his sigh. Which made the elves sport d(Irearily, and soon Their hushing (lances languished to a stand, Like midnight leaves when, as the Zephyrs swoon, All on their drooping stemns they sink unftanned,So into silence drooped the fairy band, To see their empress dear so pale and still, Crowding her softly round on either hand, As pale as frosty snow-drops, and as ch ll, To whom the sceptred dame reveals her ill. XIX. “,And ever as he sighed, his foggy breath Blurred out the landscape like a flight of smoke: Thence knew I this was either drearv Death Or Time, who leads all creatures to his stroke. Ah wretched me!” Here, even as she spoke, The melancholy Shape ca me gliding in, And leaned his back against an antique oak, Folding his wings, that were so fine and thin, They scarce were seen against the Dryad’s skin. XIi. ”

Alas,” quoth she, “ye know our fairy lives Are leased upon the fickle faith of men; Not measured out against fate’s mortal knives, Like human gossamers, we perish when We fade, and are forgot in worldly ken,Though poesy has thus prolonged our date, halnks be to the sweet Bard’s auspicious pen that rescued us so long!-howbeit of late I feel some dark misgivings of our fate. Then what a fear seized all the little rout! Look how a flock of panicked sheep will stare And huddle close-and start-and wheel about, Watching the roaming mongrel here and there, So did that sudden Apparition scare All close aheap those small affrighted things; Nor sought they now the safety of the air, As if some leaden spell withheld their wings; But who can fly that ancientest of Kings? XlIi. “And this dull day my melancholy sleep Hath been so thronged with images of wo, That even now I can not choose but weep To think this was some sad prophetic show Of future horror to befall us so,Of mortal wreck and uttermost distress,Yea, our poor empire’s fall and overthrow,For this was my long vision’s dreadful stress, And when I waked my trouble was not less. Whom now the Queen, with a forestalling tear And previous sigh, beginneth to entreat, Bidding him spare, for love, her lieges dear: “Alas!” quoth she, “is there no nodding wheat Ripe for thy crooked weapon, and more meet, Or withered leaves t o ravish from the tree, I Or crumbling battlements for thy defeat? i Think but what vaunting monuments there be i Builded in spite and mockery of thee. “Whenever to the clouds I tried to seek, Such leaden weight drawged these Icarian wings, My faithless wand was wavering and weak, And slimy toads had trespassed in our ringsThe birds refused to sing for me-all things Disowned their old allegiance to our spells; The rude bees pricked me with their rebel stings; And, when I passed, the valley-lily’s )ells Rang out, inethought, most melancholy knells. XXII. ‘0 fret away the fabric walls of Fame, And grind down marble Caesars with the dust: Make tombs inscriptionless-raze each h igh  tame And waste old armors of renown with rust Do all of this, and thy revenge is just: Make such decays the trophies of thy prime, And cheek Ambition’s overweening lust, That dares exterminating war with Time,But we are guiltless of that lofty crime. ” And evei on the faint and flagging air A doleful spirit with a dreary note Cried in my fearful ear,’ Prepare! prepare!’ Whicl, soon I knew came from a raven’s throat, Perched on a cypress bough not far remote, A cursed bird, too crafty to be shot, That alway cometh with his soot-black coat To make hearts dreary:-for he is a blot Upon the book of life, as well ye wot! “,Frail feeble sprites! the children of a dream!

Leased on the sufferance of fickle men, Likes motes dependant on the sunny beam, Living but in the sun’s indulgent ken, And when that light withdraws, withdrawing the, So do we flutter in the -la nce of y outh And fervi(d fancy, andl so parish when The eye of faith gr(o,ws igerl;-in sad truth, Feeling thv sway, 0 Timne! though not thy tooth I XVI. “Wherefore some while I bribed him to be mute, With bitter acorns stuffing his foul maw, Which barely I appeased, when some fresh bruit Startle,’ me *tI aheap!-and soon I saw I I i i I ‘I 298 IX. XVII. X. Xr. XX. XXI. XIV. XV.

XXITI.

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THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMERl FAIRIES.‘99 ; _ _ _ _.

==........~~~~~~~............ =_…........_ And oft, like echoes, answering remote, We hid(le in thickets from the feathered throng, And strain in riv’alship each throbbing throat, Singing in shrill res ponses all day long, Whilst the glad truiantt listens to our song. XXIV. “Where be those old divinities forlorn, That dwelt in trees, or haunted in a stream? Alas! their memories are dimmed and torn, Like the remainder tatters of a dream: So will it fare with our poor thrones, I deem; For us the same dark trench Oblivion delves, That holds the wastes of every human scheme. O spare us then, and these our pretty elves, We soon, alas! shall perish of ourselves!” XXXII. “Whe refore, Olreiit Kinge of Yeains, as thou dost love The raining imu-sic fr;‘omn a m-oring cloud., When vanishe(l lakis a,e careolling above, To wake Apollo with their pil)inus loud; If ever thou hast lier,l iii leify- shroud The sweet allt l1l:,i lit S:,plho of the dell, Show thy sweet!:lelCrv on this littlcl crow(], And we will muflte ui Em the sheeipfoll bell Whene’er thou listenest to Pliloreel.”

XXV. Now as she ended, with a sigh, to name Those old Olympians, scattered by the whirl Of fortune’s giddy wheel and brought to shame, Methought a scornful and malignant curl Showed on the lips of that malicious churl, To think what noble havocks he had made; So that I feared he all at once would hurl The harmless fairies into endless shade.Howbeit he stopped awhile to whet his blade. Then Satturni thus: “Sweet is the merry laik, That carols in mi,ani’s ear so clear andi strong; And yrouth roust love to listen i the dari k That tunefill (.fery (,f T wr,‘c,s’ wr)ng; But I have h l’iriI tha!t Icient straini too long, For sayt dis swed;t T)ut wahen a little strange, And I gr’w weeary fai’:(,me newer song; For wheteft)e hail I wi,niLs, iinlc~ss to range Through tll things rrmii,tble fi’on change to change I XXVI. Pity it was to hear the elfins’ wail Rise up in concert from their mingled dread; Pity it was to see them, all so pale, Gaze on the grass as for a dying bed; But Puck was seated on a spider’s thread, That hung between two branches of a brier, And Igan to swing and gambol heels o’er head, Like any Southwark tumbler on a wire, For him no present grief could long inspire. XXXIV. “But would tho u ea the melteelo(ies of Time, Listen when sleep anif] (drowsy darkness roll Over hlushed cities, an(] the mnidnight chime Sounds foiao their hundred clocks, and deep bells toll Like a last knell over the dead world’s soul, Saying, Time shall be final of all things, Whose late, last voice must elegize the whole,0 then I clap aloft my brave broad wings, And make the wide air tremble while it rings!” XXVII. Meanwhile the queen with many piteous drops, Falling like tiny sparks full fast and free, Bedews a pathway from her throne; and stops Before the foot of her arch enemy, And with her little arms enfolds his knee, That shows more gristly from that fair embrace; But she will ne’er depart. “Alas!” quoth she, “My painful fingers I will here enlace Till I have gained your pity for our race. XXXV. Then next a fair Eve-Fay made meek address, Saying, ” We be the handmaids of the Spring, In sign whereof, May, the quaint broideress, Hath wrought her samplers on our gauzy wing. We tend upon buds’ birth and blossoming, And count the leafy tri butes that they oweAs, so much to the earth-so much to fling In showers to the brook-so much to go In whirlwinds to the clouds that made them grow. XXVIII. ” What have we ever done to earn this grudge, And hate-(if not too humble for thy hating?)Look o’er our labors and our lives, and judge If there be any ills of our creating; For we are very kindly creatures, dating With na+lire’s charities still sweet and bland: 0 think this murder worthy of debating!” Herewith she makes a signal with her hand, To beckon some one from the Fairy band. XXXVI. “The pastoral cowslips are our little pets, And daisy stars, whose firmament is green; Pansies, and those veiled nuns, meek violets, Sighing to that warm world from which they screen; And golden daffodils, plucked for May’s Queen; And l on ely harebells, quaking o n the heath; And Hyacinth, long since a fair youth seen, Whose tuneful voice, turned fragrance in his breath, Kissed by sad Zephyr, guilty of his death. XXIX. Anon I saw one of those elfin things, Clad all in white like any chorister, Come flutteringz forth on his melodious wings, That made soft music at each little stir, But something louder than a bee’s demur Before he lights upon a bunch of broom, And thus’gan he with Saturn to confer,And 0 his voice was sweet, touched with the gloom Of that sad theme that argued of his doom! XXXVII.

” Thie widowed primrose weeping to the moon, And saffron crocus in whose chalice bright A cool libation hoarded for the noon Is kept-andl she that purifies the light, The virgin-lily, faithful to her white, Whereon Eve wept in Eden for her shame; And the most dainty rose, Aurora’s spright, Our every godchild, by whatever nameSpare us our lives, for we did nurse the same!” XXX. Qnoth he, “We make all melodies our care, That no false discords may offend the Sun, Music’s great master-tuning everywhere All pastoral sounds and melodies, each one Duly to place and season, so that none Ma) harshly interfere. We rouse at morn The shrill sweet.ark; and when the day is done, Hush silent pauses for the bird forlorn, That singeth with her breast against a thorn. XXXVIII. Then that old Mower stamped his heel, and struck His hurtful scythe aainast the harmless,round, Saying, “Ye foolish imps, when am I stuck With caudy budls, or like a wooer crowned With flowery ehaplets, save when they are found Withered? Whenever have I plucekled a rose, EFxcept to scatter its vain leaves around? For so a-ll loss of bfeauity I oppose, And bring decay on every flower that blows. “We gather in loud choirs the twittering race, That make a chorus with their single note; And tend on new-fledzeel birds in every place, That duly they may get their tunes by rote; I! XXXIII.

xxxr.

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300 THE MIRROR XXXIX. ” Or when am I so wroth as when I view The wanton pride of Summer; how she decks The birth-day world with blossoms ever new, As if time had not lived, and heaped great wrecliks Of years on years? 0 then I bravely vex And catch the gay months in their gaudy plight, And slay them with the wreaths about their necks, Like foolish heifers in the holy rite, And raise great trophies to my ancient might.” And wore the livery of Robin Hood, Who wont in forest shades to dine and sup,So came this chief right frankly, and Lade good His haunch against his axe, and thus spoke up, Doffing his cap, which was an acorn’s cup: XLVII. “We be small foresters and gay, who tend On trees, and all their furniture of green, Training the young boughs airily to bend, And show blue snatches of the sky between: Or knit more close intricacies, to screen Birds’ crafty dwellin,s as may h ide the m best But most the timid blackbird’s-she, that seen, Will bear black poisonous berries to her nest, Lest man should cage the darlings of her breast. XL. Then saith another, “We are kindly things, And like her offspring nestle with the dove,Witness these hearts embroidered on our wings, To show our constant patronage of love: We sit at even, in sweet bowers above Lovers, and shake rich odors on the air, To mingle with their sighs; and still remove The startling owl, and bid the bat forbear Their privacy, and haunt some other where. XLVIII. “W We bend each tree in proper attitude, And founting willows train in silvery falls; We frame all shady roofs and arches rude, And verdant aisles leading to Dryad’s halls, Or deep recesses where the Echo calls; We shape all elumy trees against th e sky, And carve tall elms’ Corinthian capitals,When sometimes, as our tiny hacthets ply, Men say, the tapping woodpecker is nigh. XLI. And w e a re near the nlmother when she sits Beside her infant in its wicker bed; And we are in the fairy scene that flits Across its tender brain; sweet dreams we shed, And while the tender little soutil is fled Away, to sport with our young elves, the while We touch the dimpled cheek with roses red, And tickle the soft lips unt il they smile, 8o that their careful parents they beguile. XLIX. “Sometimes we scoop the squirrel’s hollow cell, And sometimes carve quaint letters on trees’ rind, That haply some lone musing wight may spell Dainty Aminta,-Gentle Rosalind,Or chastest Laura,-sweetly called to mind In sylvan solitudes, ere he lies down; And sometimes we enrich gray stems, with’willed And fragrant ivy, or rich moss, whose brown Burns into gold as the warm sun goes dozen. ” 0 then, if ever thou hast breathed a vow At Love’s dear portal, or at pale moon-rise Crushed the dear curl on a regardfui brow That did not frown thee from thy honey prizeIf ever thy sweet son sat on thy thighs, And wooed thee from thy carefol thoughts within To watch the harmless beauty of his eves, Or glad thy fingers on his smooth soft skin, For Love’s dear sake, let us thy pity win!” “And, lastly, for mirth’s sake and Christmras chlcer, We bear the seedling berries, for increase, To graft the Druid oaks, from year to year, Careful that mistletoe may never cease; Wherefore, if thou dost prize the shady peace Of sombre forests, or to see light break Through sylvan cloisters, and in spring release T hy spirit among leaves from e alreful ake, Spare us our lives for the Green Dryad’s sake.” XLIII. Then Saturn fiercely thus: ” What joy have I In tender babes, that have devoured mine own, Whenever to the light I heard them cry, Till foolish Rhea cheated me with stone? Whereon, till now, is my great hunger shown, In monstrous dints of my enormous tooth; And,-but the peopled world is too full grown For hunger’s edge,-I would consume all youth At one great meal, without delay or ruth! LI. Then Saturn, with a frown: “Go forth, and fell Oak for your coffins, and thenceforth lay by Your axes for the rust, and bid farewell To all sweet birds, and the blue peeps of sky Through tangled branches, for ye shall not spy The next green gene ration of the tree; But hence with the dead leaves, whene’er they fly,Which in the bleak air I would rather see, Than flights of the most tuneful birds that be. XLIV. “For I am well nigh crazed and wild to hear How boastful fathers taunt me with their breed, Saying, We shall not die nor disappear, But in these other selves, ourselves succeed, Even as ripe flowers pass into their seed Only to be renewed fromnt prime to prime, All of which boastings I am forced to read, Beside a thousand challenges to Time Which bragging lovers have compiled in rhyme. ” For I dislike all prime, and verdant pets, Ivy except, that on the aged wall Preys with its worm-like roots, and daily frets The crumbled tower it seems to league withal, King-like, worn down by its own coronal: Neither in forest haunts love I t o won, Before the golden plumage’gins to fall, And leaves the brown bleak limbs with few leaves on, Or bare-like Nature in her skeleton.

XLV. “Wherefore, when they are sweetly met o’ nights, There will I steal, and with my hurried hand Startle them suddenly from their delights Before the next encounter hath been planned, Ravishing hours in little minutes spanned; But when they say farewell, and grieve apart, Then like a leaden statue I will stand, Meanwhile their many tears encrust my dart, And with a ragged edge cut heart from heart.” ” For then sit I among the crooked boughs, Wooing dull Memory, with kindred sighs; And there in rustling nuptials we espouse, Smit by the sadness in each other’s eyes; But Hope must have green bowers and blue skies, And must be courted with the gauds of spring; While Youthl leains do(-like on her lap, and cries, What shall we always do, but love and sing?And Time is reckon(( a (!iscarde’l tling.:: XLVI. Then next a merry Woodsman, clad in green, Steipt v.anvar’l fromn his tnatcs, th’tt idly stood Each at his proper ease, as they had been Nurse3l ili the liberty of old Sherwood, .1.I il XLIT. L. Lrr. LTIT.

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THE PLIEA OF THE MIDSUM-NIEit FAIRIES. And lang,uid fish, unpoised, grow sick and yearn,Then scoop we hollows in some sandy nook, And little channels dig, wherein we turn The thread-worn rivulet, that all forsook The NaiadI-lily, pinirng for her brook. Here in my dream it made me fret to see How Puck, the antic, all this dreary while Had blithely jested with calamity, With mistimed mirth mocking the doleful style Of his sad comrades, till it raised my bile To see him so reflect their grief aside, Turning their solemn looks to half a smileLike a straight stick shown crooked in the tide: But soon a novel advocate I spied. LXIF. “Wherefore, by thy delight in cool green meads. With living sapphires daintily inlaid,In all soft songs of waters and their reeds,And all reflections in a streamlet made, Haply of thy own love, that, disarrayed, Kills the fair lily with a livelier white,By silver trouts unspring,ing from green shade, And winking stars reduplicate at night, Spare us, poor ministers to such delights. Quoth he-” We teach all natures to fulfil Their fore-appointed crafts, and instincts meet,The bee’s sweet alchymy,-the spider’s skill,The pismire’s care to garner up his wheat,And rustic masonry to swallows fleet,The lapwing’s cunning to preserve her nest,But most, that lesser pelican, the sweet And shrilly ruddock, with its bleed ing breast, Its tender pity of poor babes distrest. Howbeit his pleading and his gentle looks Moved, not the spitefill Shade: Quoth ha, “Your taste Shoots wide of mine, for I despise the brooks And slavish rivulets that run to waste In noontide sweats, or, like poor vassals, haste To swell the vast dominion (if lhe sea In whose great presence I am hel(d disgracet, And neighbored with a king that rivals:me In ancient might an(d hoary} majesty.

“Sometimes we cast our shapes, and in sleek skins Delve vsith the timid mole, that aptly delves From our example; so the spider spins, And eke the silk-worm, patterned by ourselves: Sometimes we travail on the summer shelves Of early bees, and busy toils commnence, Watched of wise men, that know not we are elves, But gaze anrd marvel at our stretch of sense, And praise our human-like intelligence. LXIV. “Whereas I ruled in Chaos, and still keep The awful secrets of that ancient dearth, Before the briny fountains ef the deep Brimmed up the hollow cavities of earth; I saw each trickling Sea-God at his birth, Each pearly Naiad with her oozy locks, And infant Titans of enormous girth, Whose huge young feet yet stumbled on the rocks, Stunning the early world with frequent shocks. LV TI. “Wherefo)re, by thy delight in lhat (i,1, tale, And plaintive dirges the late robins s,ing,, What time the leaves are scattered by the gale, huindful of that old forest burying; As thou dost love to watch each tiny thing, For whom our craft most curiously contrives, If thou hast caugyht a bee ul)ok c the wing,To take his honey-bag, spare us our lives, And we will flay the ransom in full hives.” I’ Where now is Titan, with his cumbrous brood, That scared the world? By this sharp scythe they fel~ And half the sky was curdled with their blood: So have all primal giants sighed farewell. No Wardens now by sedgy fountains dwell, Nor pearly Naiads. All their days -are done That strove with Time, untimely, to excel; Wherefore I razed their progenies, and none But my great shadow intercepts the sun!” LVIII.

‘ SNow by my glass,” quoth Time, “ye do offend In teaching the brown bees that careful lore, Anl frugal ants, whose millions would have end, But the) lay up for need a timely store, And travail with the seasons evermore; Whereas Great Mammoth long hath passed away, And none but I can tell what hide he wore; Whilst purblind men, the creatures of a day, In riddling wonder his great bones survey.” Then said the timid Fay, ” Oh, mighty Time! Well hast thou wrought the cruel Titans’ fali, For they were stained with many a bloody crime: Great giants work great wrongs,-but we are small, For love goes lowlv; but Oppression’s tall. And with surpassing strides goes foremost still Where lov e indeed can hardly reaeh ait all; Like a poor dwarf o’erburthened with good will, That labors to efface tt,e tracks of ill. LIXo trhen came an elf, right beauteous to behold, Whose coat was like a brooklet that the sun Hath all embroidered with its crookedr gold, It was so quaintly wrought, and overrun With spangled traceries,-most meet for one That was a warden of the pearly streams; And as he stept out of the shadow’s dun, His jewels sparkled in the pale moon’s gleams, And shot into the air their pointed beams. LXVII. “Man even strives with Man, but we eschew The guilty feud, and all fierce strifes abhor; Nay, we are gentle as sweet heaven’s dew, Beside the red and horrid drops of war, Weeping the cruel hates men battle for, Which worldly bosoms nourish in our spite For in the gentle breast we ne’er withdraw, But oanly when all love hath taken flight, And youth’s warIn gracious’eart is hardened quite. LXo Quoth he, “We bear the cold and silver keys Of bubbling springs and fountains, that below Course through the veiny earth, which when they freeze Into hard crysolites, we bid to flow, Creeping like subtle snakes, when, as they go, We guide their windings to melodious falls, At whose soft murmurings, so sweet and low, Poets have tuned their smoothest madrigals, To sing to ladies in their banquet halls. ‘ So are our gentle natures intertwined With sweet humanities, and closely knit In kindly sympathy with human kind. Witness how we befriend, with elfin wit, All hopeless maids and lovers, nor omit Magical succors unto hearts forl orn: We charm man’s life, and do not perish it; So judge u1s by the hellps we showed this morn, To one who hell his wetched (avs in scorn. ‘1 And when the hot sun with his steadfast heat Parches the river sod, whose dusty urn Dri ps miserly, till 1s.n his crystal feet Against his pelbbly floor wax plaint and burn, ii i I I 301 !,IV. LV. LXIII. LVI. LXV. LXN,I.

LXVIII. LXT.

Page 302 view page image v0 T}’ MIRRLBAY Where only foxes and wild cats intrude, Till we were come beside an ancient tree Late blasted by a storm. Here he renewed His loud complaints,-choosing that spot to be The scene of his last horrid tragedy.

a’Twas nigh sweet Amwell; for the queen had tasked Our skill to-day amid the silver Lea, Whereon the noontide sun had not yet basked; W’Vherefore some patient man we thought to see, Planted in moss-grown rushes to the knee, Beside the cloudy margin cold and dim; Howbeit no patient fisherman was he That east his sudden shadow from the brim, Making us leave our toils to gaze on him. LXXVII. “It was a wild and melancholy glen, Made gloomy by tall firs and cypress dark, Whose roots, like any bones of buried men, Pushed through the rotten sod for fear’s remark; A hundred horrid stems, jagged and stark, Wrestled wi th crooked arms i n hi deous fray, Beside sleelk ashes with their dappled bark, Like crafty serpents climbing for a prey, With many blasted oaks moss-grown and gray. “His face was ashy pale, andl leaden care Had sunk the levelled arches of his brow, Once bridges for his joyous thoughts to fare Over those melancholy springs and slow, That from his piteous eyes began to flow, And fell anon into the chilly stream; Which as his mimicked image showed below, Wrinkled his face with many a needless seam Makin, grief sad ler in its own esteem. LXXVIII.

“But here upon his final desperate clause Suddenly I pronounced so sweet a strain, Like a panged nightingale, it made him pause, Till half the phrensy of his grief was slain, The sad remainder oozing from his brain In timely ecstasies of healing tears, Which through his ardent eyes began to drain;Meanwhile the deadly Fates unclosed their shears So pity me and all my fated peers.” ” And lo! upon the air we saw him stretch His passionate arms; and, in a wayward strain, He’gan to elegize that fellow wretch That with mute gestures answered him again, Saying,’ Poor slave, how long wilt thou remain Life’s sad weak captive in a prison strong, Hoping with tears to rust away thy chain, In bitter sersvitude to w orldly wrong? Thou wearest that mortal livery too long! Thus Ariel ended, and was sometime hushed: When with the hoary shape a fresh tongue pleads, And red as rose the gentle Fairy blushed To read the record of her own good deeds: “It chanced,” quoth she, “in seeking through the mead For honeyed cowslips, sweetest in the morn, While yet the buds were hung with dewy beads, And echo answered to the huntsman’s horn, We found a babe left in the swarths forlorn. LXXII. “This, with more spleenful speeches and some tears, When he had spent upon the imaged wave, Speedily I convened my elfin peers Under the lily-cups, that we might save This woful mortal from a wilful grave By shiewd diversions of his mind’s regret, Seeing he was mere melancholy’s slave, That sank wherever a dark cloud he met, And straight was tangled in her secret net. LXXX. “,A little, sorrowful, deserted thing, Be,ot of love, and yet no love begetting; Guiltless of shame, and yet for shame to wring; And too soon banished fronm a mother’s petting, To churlish nurture and the wide world’s fretting, For alien pity and unnatural care; Alas! to see how the cold dew kept wetting His childish coats, and dabbled all his hair, Like gossamers across his forehead fair.

LXXIII. “Therefore, as still he watched the water’s flow, Daintily we transformed, and with bright fins Came glancing through the gloom; some from below Rose like dim fancies when a dream begins, Snatching the light upon their purple skins; Then under the broad leaves made slow retire; One like a golden galley bravely wins Its radiant course,-another glows like fire,Making that wayward man our pranks admire. LXXXT. “His pretty pouting mouth, witless of speech, Lay half-way open like a rose-lipped shell; And his young cheek was softer than a peach, Whereon his tears, for roundness, could not dwell, But quickly rolledl themselves to pearls, and fell, Some on the grass, and some against his hand, Or haply wandered to the dimpled well, Which love beside his mouth had sweetly plannet, Yet not for tears, but mirth and smnilings bland. LXXrV. “And so he banished thought, and quite forgot &ll co(ntemplation of that wretched face; ndl so we wiled him from that lonely spot Alonh the river’s brink; till, by heaven’s grace, He met a gentle haunter of the place, Fuill of sweet wisdom fathered firm the brooks, lWh, tlhse discussed his melancholy case With wholesome texts learned from kind nature’s books, Meanwhile he newly trimmed his lines and hooks.” “Pity it was to see those frequent tears Falling regardless from his friendlless eyes; There was such beauty in those twin-blue sphere,, As any mother’s heart might leap to prize; Blue were they, like the zenith of the skies Softened betwixt two clouds, both clear and mild;Just touched with thought, and yet not over wise They showed the gentle spirit of a child, Nor yet by care or any craft defiled. Herewith the Fairy ceased.

Quoth Ariel now. – ‘ Le,et me remember how I saved a man, Whose fatal noose was fastened on a bough, Intended to abridge his sad life’s span; For hal)1y I was by when he began Ilis stern soliloquy in life’s dispraise, And overheard his melancholy plan, How he had made a vow to end his days, And therefore followed him in all his ways. “Pity it was to see the ardent sun Scorching his helpless limbs-it shone so warm; For kindly shade or shelter he had none, Nor mother’s gentle breast, come fair or storm. Meanwhile I bade my pitying mates transform Like grasshoppers, and then with shrilly cries, All rouin(d the infant noisily we swarm, Haply sonme passing rtustic to adviseWhile pr(ov ide ntial Heaven our care espies. -LXXVT. ” Through brake an( tan!Zled copse, for much he loathed All populous haunts, an,] roamei in forests rudeA To hide himself from man. But I had clot’he.l A[y delicate limbs with plumes., and still pursued, i I I 302 ROR I I LXRX. LXX. LXXT. LXXIX. LXXXIT. LXXV. LXXXIII.

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THE PLET OF THE MlDSUMMIER FAIRIES. But only sorrowing when sorrow must; We ruminate no sage’s solemn cud, But own ourselves a pinch of lively dust To frisk upon a wind,-wwhereas the flood Of tears would turn us into heavy mrud. ” And sends full soon a tender-hearted hind, Who, wondering at our loud unusual note, Strays curiously aside, and so doth find The orphan child laid in the grass remote, And laps the foundling in his russet coat, Who thence was nurtured in his kindly cot: But how he prospered let proud London quote, How wise, how rich, and how renowned he got, And chief of all her citizens I wot. “Beshrew those sad interpreters of nature, Who gloze her lively universal law, As if she had not formed our cheerful feature To be so tickled with the slightest straw! So let them vex their motmpiog mouths, and draw The corners downw-ar(l, lilke a watery moon, And deal in gtusty sighs an(] rainy flagWe will not woo fotbl weather all too soon, Or nurse November on the lap of June. LXXXV. :Witness his goodly vessels on the Thames, Whose holds were fraught with costly merchandise,Jewels from Ind, and pearls for courtly dames, And gorgeous silks that Samarcand supplies: Witness the Royal Bourse he bade arise, The mart of merchants from the East and W’est; Whose slender summit pointing to the skies, Still bears, in token of his ~rateftil breast, The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest “For ours are Mwinking sprites, like any bird, That shun all stagnant settltqlels of brief; And even in our rest otur hearits are stirred, Like insects settled on a (lancing leaf: This is our small philosoplhy in brief; Which thus to teach has set me,gape: But dost thou relish it? 0 hoary chief! Unclasp thyO croole(d fin,er,,-s firom my nape, And I will show thee many a pleasant scrape. LXXXVI. “The tender grasshopper, his chosen crest, I’hat all the summer, with a tuneful wing, Makes merry chirpings in its zrassy nest, Inspirite(l with dew to leap and sing: So let us also live, eternal King! Partakers of the green andl pleasant earth:Pity it is to slay the meanest tlhing, That, like a mote, shines in the smile of mirthEnough there is of joy’s decrease and dearth!

XCIV. Then Saturn thus:shakin~ his crooked blade O’erheacd, which madle aloft a lihtning, flash In all the fairies eyes, dismally fe’ayed! His ensuing voice camrre like the thundcr crashMeanwhile the bolt shatters some pine or ash”Thou feeble, wanton, foolish, fickle thing! Whom naught can frighten, sadden, or abash,To hope my solemnn countenance to wring To idiot smiles!but I will prune thyi wing! LXXXVII. “Enough of pleasure, and delight, and beauty, Perished and zone, and hasting to decay; T’ ugh to sadden even thee, whose duty Or spite it is to havoc and to slay: Too many a lovely race razed quite away, Hath left large gaps in liie and human loving:Here then begin thy cruel war to stay, And spare fresh sighs, and tears, and groans, reproving Thy desolating hand for our removing.”

XCV. “Lo! this most awfifi handle of my, scythe Stood once a May-pole, wilth a flowery crown, Which rustics danced roun(d, and maidens blithe, To wanton pipings; but I plucke.l it down, And robed the May Queen in a clhuirchyard gowrn Turnings her buds to ro~ei-iry an(] rue; And all their merry ininstrelsey di(t dirown, And laid each lusty lei,,,er in th,e dew;-_ So thou shalt fare-o(nd every jovial clew.!” LXXXVIII. Now here I heard a shrill and sudden cry, And, looking up, I saw the antic Puck Grapplin with Time, who clutched him like a fly, Victim of his own sport,-the jester’s luck! He, while his fellows grieved, poor wight, had stuck His freakish gauds upon the Ancient’s brow, And now his ear, and now his beard, would pluck; Whereas the angry churl had snatched him now, Crying, “Thou impish mischief, who art thou?” Here he lets Co the sti-rualinz imnnp, to clutch His mortal engine with each grisly t~and, Which frigzhts the elfin progeny so mntich, They huddle in a heap, and tremrblinz stand All round Titania, like the queen bee’s band, With sighs and tears and very shrieks of wo! Meanwhile, some moving argument I planned, To make the stern shade mereiflf, when lo! He drops his fatal scythe without a blow T LXXXIX. “Alas!” quoth Puck, “a little random elf, Born in the sport of nature, like a weed, For simple sweet enjoyment of myself, But for no other purpose, worth, or need; And yet withal of a most happy breed;And there is Robin Goodfellow besides, My partner dear in many a prankish deed To makle dame Laughter hold her jolly sides, Like r.erry mummers twain on holy tides. XCNIIo. For just at need, a timely A pparition Steps in between to bear the atfitl brunt; Making him change his horrible position, To marvel at this comer, brave and blunt, That dares Time’s irresistible affuont, Whose strokes havte scarred even the gods of old Whereas this seemed a mortal, at mere hunt For conies, lighted by the moonshine cold, Or stalker of stray deer, stealthy and bold. xc. “‘Tis we that bob the analer’s idle cork, Till e’en the patient man breathes half a curse; We steal the morsel from the gossip’s fork, And curdling looks with secret straws disperse, Or stop the sneezing chanter at mid verse: And when an infant’s beauty prospers ill, We change, some mothers say, the child at nurse; But any graver purpose to fulfil, We have not wit enough, and scarce the will. XCVITT. litho, turning to the small assembled fays, Doffs to the lily queen his courlteous cap, An l hol(ds her beautv for a while in gaze, WVith bright eyes kin.ling at this pleasant hap; And thence upon the fair moon’s silver map, Asq if in question of this mastic chance, L,aiid like a (Iream upon the,reen earth’s lap; And then upon old, Saturn turns askance, Exclaiminz, with a glad and liinlly glance: “We never let the canker melancholy To gathtler on our faces like a rust, But gloss our feattires wvith sonme change of folly, Talinrg life’s fhble] nmiseries on trust, I I 303 LXX K-TV. xcir. xcrrr. xcvr. XCT.

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THE MIRROR LIBRAiY. Giving thee glimpses of our magic scheme Such as no mortal’s eye hath ever seen; And for thy love to us in our extremes, Will ever keep thy chaplet fresh and green, Such as no poet’s wreath hath ever been! xcrx. ‘ Oh, these be Fancy’s reveMrers by night! Stealthy companions of the downy mothDiana’s motes, that flit in her pale light, Shunners of sunbeams in diurnal sloth; These be the feasters on night’s silver clothThe gnat with shrilly trump is their convener, Forth from their flowery chambers, nothing loath, With lulling tunes to charm the air serener, Or dance upon the grass to make it greener. CVII. “And we’ll distil the aromatic dews, To charm thy sense, when there sliall be no lowers And flavored sirups in thy drinks infuse, And teach the nightingale to haunt thy bowers, And with our games divert thy weariest hours, With all that elfin wit s can e’e r devise. And, this churl dead, there’ll be no hasting hours To rob thee of thy joys, as now joy flies:” Here she was stopped by Saturn’s furious cries. “These be the pretty genii of the flowers, Daintily fed with honey and pure dewMidsummer’s phantoms in her dreaming hours, King Oberon, and all his merry crew, The darling puppets of romnance’s view; Fairies, and sprites, and goblin elves we call them, Famous for patronage of lovers true; No harm they act, neither shall harm befall them, So do not thus with rapid frowns app)al them.” Whom, therefore, the kind Shade rebukes anew, Saying, ” Thoui haggard Sin, go forth, and scoop Thy hollow coffin in some churchyard yew, Or make th’

autumnal flowers tubrn pale and droop; Or fell the bearded corn, till gleaners stoop Under fiat sheaves-or blast the piny grove; But here thou shalt not harm this pretty group, Whose lives are not so frail and feebly wove, But leased on Nature’s loveliness and love. O what a cry was Saturn’s then! it made The fairies quake. “What care I for their pranks, However they may lovers choose to aid, Or dance their roundelays on flowery banks? Long must they dance before they earn my thanks, So step aside, to some far safer spot, While with my hungry scythe I mow their ranks, And leave them in the sun, like weeds, to rot, And with the next day’s sun to be forgot.” CIX. “‘Tis these that free the small entangled fly, Caught in the venomed spider’s crafty snare; These be the petty surgeons that apply The healing balsams to the wounded hare, Bedded in bloody fern, no creature’s care! These be proider sfor the orphan b rood, Whose tender mother hath been s!-ain in air Quitting with gaping bill her darliing’s food, Hard by the verge of herdomestic wood. CII. Anon, lie raised afresh his weapon keen; But still the gracious Shade disarmed his aim, Stepping with brave alacrity between, And made his sere arm powerless and tame. His be perpetual glory, for the shame Of hoary Saturn in that grand defeat! But I must tell how here Titania came With all her kneeling lieges, to entreat His kindly succor, in sad tones, but sweet. CX. “‘Tis these befriend the timid trembling stag, When with a bursting heart beset with fears. He feels his saving speed begin to flag; For then they quench the fatal taint with tears, And prompt fresh shifts in his alarumed ears, So piteously they view all blood) morts; Or if the gunnel, with his arm, appears, Like noisy pyas and jays, with harsh reports, They warn the wild fowl of his deadly sports. CIII. Saying, “Thou seest a wretched queen before thee, The fading power of a failing land, Who for her kingdom kneeleth to implore thee Now menaced by this tyrant’s spoiling hand; No one but thee can hopefully withstand That crooked blade, he longeth so to lift. I pray thee blind him with his own vile sand, Which only tinmes all ruins by its drift, Or prune his eagle wings that are so swift. ” For these are kindly ministers of nature, To sooth all covert hurts and dumb distress; Pretty they be, and very small of statureFor mercy still consorts with littleness; Wherefore the sum of good is still the less, And mischief grossest in this world of wrong; So do these charitable dwarfs redress The tenfold ravages of giants strong, To whom great malice and great Dlight belong. X Or tase him by that sole and grizzled tuft, That hangs upon his bald and barren crown; And we will sing te see him so rebuffed, And lend our little mights to pull him down, And make brave sport of his malicious frown, For all his boastful mockery o’er men. For thou wast born I know for this renown, By my most magical and inward ken, lThat rea,‘teth even at Fate’s forestalling pen. CXIl, ” Likewise to them are poets much beholden For secret favors in the mnidnight glooms; Brave Spenser quaffed out of their goblets golden, And saw their tables spread of prompt mushrooms And heard their horns of honeysuckle blooms Sounding upon the air most soothing soft, Like humming bees busy about the brooms, And glanced this fair queen’s witchery full oft, And in her magic wain soared far aloft. “Nay by the golden lustre of thine ey-e, And by thy brow’s most fair and ample span, Thought’s glorious palace, framed for fancies high, And by thy cheek thus passionately wan, I know the signs of an immortal manNature’s chief darling, and illustrious mate, Destined to foil old Death’s oblivious plan, And shine untarnished by the fogs of Fate, Time’s famous rival till the final date I ” Nay I myself, though mortal, once was nursed By fairy gossips, friendly at my birth, And in my childish ear glib Mab rehearsed Her breezy travels round our planet’s girth, Telling me wonders of the moon and earth: My gramarye at her grave lap I conned, Where Puck hath been convened to make me mirth b I have had from Queen Titania tokens fond, And to(ved with Oberon’s permitted wand.

“0 shield us thenr froim this usurping Time, And we will visit.gee in moonlight dreams; And teach thee tunes, to wed unto thy rhyme, And dance about thee in all midnight gleams, I I II I I I 304 C. CVIII. Cl. CXI.

CIV. CV. CXIII. CVI.

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T’HE DRZEAM OF EUGENE ARAM. And meadow-sweet, under the hedges set, To mingle breaths with dainty eglantine And honeysuckles sweet, nor yet forget Some pastoral flowery chal)lets to entwine, To vie the thoughts about his brow benign! CXIV. With figs, and plums, and Persian dates they fed me, And delicate eates after my sunset meal, And took me by my childish hand, and led me By craggy rocks crested with keeps of steel, Whose awful bases deep dark woods conceal, Staining some dead lake wvits their verdant dies: And when the WVest sparkled at Phoebus’ wheel, With fairy euphrasy they pureed mine eyes, To let me see their cities in the skies. “,Let no wild things astonish him or fear him, But tell them all how mild lie is of heart, Till e’en the timid hares go frankly near him, And eke the dappled does, yet never start; Nor shall their fawns into the thickets dart, Nor w ren s forsake their nests among the leaves, Nor speckled thrushes flutter far apart; But bid the sacred swallow haunt his eaves, To guard his roof from lightning and from thieves. “‘Twas they first schooled my y oung imagination To take its flights like any new-fledged bird, And showed the span of winged meditation Stretched wider than things grossly seen or heard. With sweet swift Ariel how I soared and stirred rhe fragrant blooms of spiritual bowers! ‘Twas they endeared what I have still preferred, Nattrre’s blest attributes and balmy powers, Her hills and vales and brooks, sweet birds and flowers! CXXIII. ” Or when he goes the nimble squirrel’s visiter. Let the brown hermit bring his hoarded nuts, For, tell him, this is Natuire’s kind inquisitor,Though man keeps cautious doors that conscience shua For conscious wrong all curious quest rebus,Nor yet shall bees unease their jealous stings, However he may watch their straw-built huts; So let him Learn the crafts of all small things, Which he will hint most aptly when he sings.” CXN’I. “Wherefore with all true loyalty and duty Will I regard them in my honoring rhyme, With love for love, and honmages to beauty, And magic thoughts gathered in night’s cool clime, With studious verse trancing the dragon Time, Strong as old Merlin’s necromantic spells; So these dear monarchs of the summner’s prime Shall live unstartled by his dreadful yells, Till shrill larks warn them to their flowery cells.” Here she leaves off, and with a graceful hand Waves thirice three splendid circles round his head; Which, though deserted by the radiant wand, Wears still the glory which her waving shed, Such as erst crowned the old Apostle’s head, To show the thoughts there harbored were dlivirp And on immortal contemplations fed:. Goodly it was to see that glory shine Around a brow so lofty and benign! CXVII. Look how a poisoned man turns livid black, Dragged with a cup of deadly hellebore, That sets his horrid features all at rack,So seemed these words into the ear to pour Of ghastly Saturn, answering with a roar Of mortal pain and spite and utmost rage, Wherewith his grisly arm he raised once more, And bade the clustered eminews all engage, As if at one fell stroke to wreck an age. Goodly it w;.s to see the elfin brood Contend for kisses of his gentle hand, That had their mortal enemy withstood, And stayed their lives, fiast ebbing with the sand. Long while this strife engaged the pretty band; But now bold Chanticleer, from farm to farm, Challenged the dawn creeping o’er eastern land, And well the fairies knew that shrill alarm, Which sounds the knell of every elfish charm. CXVIII. Whereas the blade flashedl on the dinted ground, Down through his steadfast foe, yet made no scar On that immortal Shade, or death-like wound; But Time was long benumbed, and stood ajar, And then with baffled rage took flight afar, To weep his hurt in some Cimmerian gloom, Or meaner fames (like mine) to mock and mar, Or sharp his scythe for royal strokes of doom, Whetting its edge on some Old Cesar’s tomb. cxxvr. And soon the rolling mist, that’gan arise From plashy mead and undiscovered stream, Earth’s morning incense to the early skies, Crept o’er the failing landscape of my dream. Soon faded then the Phantom of my themeA shapeless shade, that fancy disavowed, And shrank to nothing in the mist extreme. Then flew,%v Titania,-and her little crowd, Like flocking linnets, vanished in a cloud.

CXlX. Howbeit he vanished in the forest shade, Distantly heard as if some grumbling pard, And, like Narcissus, to a sound decayed; Meanwhile the fays clustered the gracious Bard, The darling centre of their dear regard: Besides of sundry dances on the green, Never was mrortal man so brightly starred, Or won snen pretty homages, I ween. “Nod to him, Elves!” cries the melodious queen. ‘Twas in the prime of summer time, An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys, Came bounding out of school: There were some that ran, and some that leapt Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped with gamesome minds, And souls untouched by sin; To a level mead they came, and there They drave the wickets in: Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over the town of Lynn. CXX. ‘ Nod to him, Elves, and flutter round about him, And quite enclose him with your pretty crowd, And touch him lovingly, for that, without him, The silk-worm now had spun our dreary shroud; But he hath all dispersed death’s tearful cloud, And Time’s dread effily scared quiiite’away: Bow to him then, as though to me ye bowed, And his dear wishes prosper and obey Wherever love and wit can find a way!

Like sportive deer they coursed a bout, And shouted as they ran; Turning to mirth all things of earths As only boyhood can; But the Usher sat remote from all, A melancholy man I CXXTo ,x’Noint him with fairy dews of magic savors, Shaken from orient buds still pearly wet, Roses and spicy pinks,-and, of all favors, Plant in his walkls thie purple violet, I I I 11 I I SOS CXXII. CXNI. CXXIV. CXXNI. THE DREAM OF EUGENIE ARAM.

Page 306 view page image m T M His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven’s blessed breeze; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease: So he leaned his head on his hands, and reas Thb book between his knees! Leaf after leaf, he turned it o’er, Nor ever glanced aside; For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide. Much study had niade him vel y lear, And pale, and leaden-eyed. At last he shut the ponderous tome, With a fast and 1ervent grasp He strained the dusky covers close, And fixed the brazen hasp: ‘ 0 God! could I so close my mind, And clasp it with a clasp!” ” 0 God! it made me quake to se e Such sense within the slain! But when I touched the lifeless clay, The blood gushed out amain; For every clot, a burning spot Was scorching in my brain! Then leaping on his feet upright, Some moody turns he took; Now up the mead, now down the mead, And past a shady nook; S. And lo! he saw a little boy That pored upon a book! ” My gentle lad, what is’t you read Romance or fairy fable?

Or is it some historic page, Of kings and crowns unstable?” The young boy gave an upward glance; ” It is’ The Death of Abel.’” The Usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain; Six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again; And then he sat beside the lad, And talked with him of Cain: “Down went the corse, with a hollow plunge And vanished in the pool:’ Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, And washed my forehead cool; And sat among the urchins young That evening in the school! And, long since then, of bloody men Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves; Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves; “Oh heaven, to think of their white soulk – And mine so black and grim! I could not share in childish prayer, Nor join in evening hymn: Like a devil of the pit, I seemed, Mid holy cherubim! And how the sprites of injured men Shriek upward from the sod; Ay, how the ghostly hand will point To show the burial clod; And unknown facts of guilty acts Are seen in dreams from God! “And peace went with them, one and al% And each calm pillow spre a d; But Guilt was my grim chamberlain That lighted me to bed, And drew my midnight curtains round, With fingers bloody red! He told how murderers walk the earth Beneath the curse of Cain; With crimson clouds before their eyes, And flames about their brain: For blood has left upon their souls Its everlasting stain! ”

And well,” quoth he, “I know for truth, Their pangs must be extreme;Wo, wo, unutterable wo Who spill life’s sacred stream I Far why 7 Methought last night, I wrought A murder in a dream! “All night I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime, With one besetting horrid hint, That raclked me all the time; A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime! ”

One that had never done me wrong A feeble man, and old: I led him to a lonely field, The moon shone clear and cold. ‘Now here,’ said I,’ this man shall die, And I will have his gold!’ ‘ Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, And one with a heavy stone; One hurried gash with a hasty knife, And then the deed was done. Th,ere was nothing lying at my foot, But litfless flesh anl bone; I II II I-: i I 306 THE MIRROR LIBRAIZY. “Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, That could not do me ill; And yet I feared him all the more, For lying there so still: There was a manliood in his look, That murder could not kill! ,,And, lo! the unive sal air Seemed lit with ghastly flame; Ten thousand thousand dreadful (%yes ‘A ere lo -)king down a bib me: I too.z the t’ead i,an b) the I. and, And called upon his naune.1 ,‘My head was like an ardent coal; My heart as solid ice; My wretched, wretched soijl, I knew, Was at the devil’s price. A dozen times I groaned; the dead Had never groaned but twice! ,,And now, from forth the frowning sky From the heaven’s topmost height, I heard a voice-the awful voice Of the blood-avenging Sprite:I Thoii guilty man! take up thy dead, And hide it from my sight!’ cl I took the dreary body up, And cast it in a stream; A sluggish water, black as ink, The depth was so extreme.My gentle boy, remember this Is nothing but a dream! I I II i -: 11 All night I lay in agony, In anguish dark and deep; My fevered eyes I dared not close, But stared aghast at sleep; For sin had rendered unto her The keys of hell to keep I 11 One stern tyrannic thoaght that mad All other thou,-hts its slave; Stronger and stron,,,,,et every pulse, Di,] ttiat tenptition cr,,ive: SI ill uruiii-z ine i.o!,-o and see Tlle de,-il t,-in – in Iiis grave!

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MISCELI,LANEOUS POEMS. My marbles-once my bag was storedNow I must play with Elgin’s lord, With Theseus for a taw! My playful horse has slipt his string, Forgotten all his capering, And harnessed to the law! ,s Heavily I rose up, as soon As light was in the sky, And sought the black accursed pool With a wild misgiving eye; And I saw the dead in the river bed, For the faithless stream was dry! “Merrily rose the lark, and shook The dewdrop from its wing; But I never marked its morning flight, I never heard it sing: For I was stool)ing onec agi;n lindcr the horrid thing. My kite-how fast and far it flew! Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, drew My pleasure from the sky! ‘Twas papered o’er with studious then-,esThe tasks I wrote my present dreams AVilh never soar so high! ” Witil breathless speec’ike a soul in chase, I took him up and ran; There was no time to dig a grave Before the day began: In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, I hid the murdered man! “And all that day I read in school, But my thought was other where; As soon as the mid-d(lay task was done, In secret I was there: And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, An(l still the corse was bare! My football’s la id upon tke self; I am a shuttlecock myself The world knocks to and fro; My archery is all unlearned, And grief against myself lhas turned My alirows and my bow! “Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep; For I knew my secret then was one That earth r efuse d to keep: Or land, or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep! No more in noontide sun I bask; My authorship’s an endless task; My head’s ne’er out of school. My heart is pained with scorn and slight, I have too man y f oes to fight, And friends grow strangely cool! ”’ So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, Till blood for blood atones! Ay, though he’s buried in a cave, And trodden down with stones, And years have rotted off his flesh The world shall see his bones! The very churn that shared my cake Holds out so cold a hand to shake It makes me shrink and sigh; On this I will not dwell and hang, The changeling would not feel a pang Though these should meet his eye! “0 God! that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now awake! Again-again, with a dizzy brain, ‘I’he human life I take; And my red right hand grows raging hot, Like Cranmer’s at the stake. “And still no peace for the restless clay Will wave or mould allow; The horrid thing pursues my soul It stands before me now!” The fearfoil boy looked up and saw Huge drops upon his brow! O, for the garb that marked the boy, The trowsers made of corduroy, Well inked with black and red; The crownless hat, ne’er deemed an illIt only let the sunshine still Repose upon my head! That very night, while gentle sleep The urchin eyelids kissed, Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, Through the cold aud heavy mist; And Eugene Aram walked between, With gyves upon his wrist.* 0 for that small, small beer anew! And (heaven’s own type) that mild sky-blue That washed my sweet meals down; The master even!-and that small Turk That fagged me!-worse is now my work A fag for all the town! OH, when I was a tiny bey My days and nights wer e full of joy, My mates were blithe and kind! No wonder that I sometimes sigh, And dash the tear-drop from my eye, To cast a look behind! A hoop was an eternal round Of pleasure. In those days I found A top a joyous thing; But now those past delights I drop; My head, alas! is all my top, And careful thoughts the string! 0 for the lessons learned by heart! Ay, though the very birch’s smart Should mark those hours again; I’d ” kiss the rod,” and be resigned Beneath the stroke, and even find Some sugar in the cane! The Arabian Nights rehearsed in bed I The Fairy Tales in school-time read, By stealth,‘twixt verb and noun! The an.el form that alwayi’s -,walked In all mny dr)ams, anti looked l arid talked Exactly I. Miss Br-owin! “The late Admniral Burney went to school at an establishment where the unappy Etgene Aramn was usher sulisequent to his crime. TvIe adiriral stated, that Aram was generally liled by the ‘ovs; awl,hat lie used to discourse to then abbout murder, in s cis hait of thlie Fsi-it which is attributed to him it this poem.ai I .I i I i i I I I i II 11 -1 .i i I ii .i I l I I l 307 My joys are win,less all and dead; My dumps are made of more than lead; My flights soon find a fall. My fears prevail, my fancies droop, Joy never cometh with a hoop, And seldom with a call! No skies so blue or so serene As then;-no leaves lool half so green As clothed the playground tree! All things I loved are altered so, Nor does it ease my heart to kno,%,v That chan!ze resides in me I 0, for the riband round the neck! The careless dog’s e.ars al)t to deck My book and collar both! How can this formal man be styled Merely an Alexandrine child, A boy of larger growth? A RETROSPECTIVE REVIE-W.

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TIlE MIRROR I,IB1ZAiYV. The omne bene-Christmas come! The prize of merit, won for home Merit had prizes then! But now I write for days and days ‘For fame-a deal of empty praise, Without the silver pen! Then home, sweet home I the crowded coachThe joyous shout-the loud approach The winding horns like rams’! The meeting sweet that made me thril, The sweetmeats almost sweeter still, No “satis” to the “jams.” Whhen that I was a tiny boy My days and nights were full of joy, My mates were blithe and kind! ?o wonder that I sometimes sigh, And dash the tear-drop from my eye, To cast a look behind! June it was jolly; 0 for its folly! A dancing leg and a laughing eye; Youth may be silly, Wisdom is chilly,What can an old man do but die?

FAIR INES. HYMN TO THE SUN. 0 SAW ye not fair Ines? She’s gone into the west, To dazzle when the sun is down, And rob the world of rest. She took our daylight with her, The smiles that we love best, With morning blushes on her cheek, And pearls upon her breast. GIvT:R of glowein g l i aght!

Though but a god of other days, The kings and sages Of wiser ages Still live and gladden in thy genial rays! King of the tuneful lyre, Still poet’s hymns to thee belong; Though lips are cold Whereon of old Thy beams all turned to worshipping and soag! 0 turn again, fair Ines, Before the fall of night, For fear the moon should shine alone, And stars unrivalled bright; And blessed will the lover be That walks beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek I dare not even write! Would I had been, fair Ines, That gallant cavalier, Who rode so gayly by thy side, And whispered thee so near!Were there no bonny dames at home, Or no true lovers here, That he should cross the seas to win The dearest of the dear?

I saw thee, lovely Ines, Descend along the shore, With bands of noble gentlemen, And banners waved before; And gentle youth and maidens gay, And snowy plumes they wore: It would have been a beauteous dream, If it had been no more! Lord of the drea dful bow, None triumph now for Python’s death; But thou dost save From hungry grave The life that hangs upon a summer breath. God of the Delphic fane, No more thou listenest to hymns sublime; But they will leave On winds at eve, A solemn echo to the end of time. Alas, alas, fair Ines! She went away with song, With Music waiting on her steps, And shoutings of the throng; But some were sad and felt no mirth, But only Music’s wrong, In sounds that sang, Farewell, farewell, To her you’ve loved so long.F Scorn and cold neglect ar e made For winter gloom and winter wind; But thou wilt wrong the summer air, Breathing it to words unkind; Breath which only should belong To love, to sunlight, and to song! Farewell, farewell, fair Ines, That vessel never bore So fair a lady on its deck. Nor danced so light before Alas for pleasure on the sea, And sorrow on the shore! The smile that blest one lover’s heart Has broken many more! When the little buds unclose, Red and white and pied and blue, And that virgin flower, the rose, Opes her heart to hold the dew, Wilt thou lock thy bosom up, With no jewel in its cup? WHAT CAN AN OLD MAN DO

BUT DIE? SPRTnG, it is cheery, Winter is dreary, Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly; When he’s forsaken, W ith ered and shaken, What can an old man do but die? Let not cold December s it Thus in Love’s peculiar throne;  Brooklets are not prisone(d now, But crystal frosts are all agone, And that which han-i2s lp’on the sl)ra-t It is no, now. lbit flower ot’ May? i b s Love will not clip him, Maids will not lip him, Maud and Marian pass him by; Youth it is sunny, Age has’no honey,What can an old man do but die? Friends they are scanty, Beggars are plenty, If he has followers, I know why; Gol(I’s in his clutches, (Buying him crutches!)What can an old man do but die? Father,of rosy day, No more tby clouds of incense rise; But waking flowers – At morning hours, Give out their sweets to meet thee in the r-kie& TO A COLD BEAUTY. LADY, wouldst thou heiress be, To Winter’s cold and cruel part? When he sets the rivers free, Thou dost still lock up thy heart;That thou shouldst outlast the snow, But in the whiteness of thy brow?

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MICLAEU POM. 0 Like a gorged sea-bird, slept with folded wings On crowded carcasses-sa! passive things That wore the thin gray surface, like a veil Over the calmness of their features pale. And there were spring-faced cherubs, that did sleep Like water-lilies on that motionless deeps How beautiful! with bright unruffled hair On sleek unfretted brows, and eyes that were Buried in marble tombs, a pale eclipse! And smile-bedimpled cheeks, and pleasant lips, Meekly apart, as if the soul intense Spake out in dreams of its own innocence. Red rubies should deck thy hands And diamonds should be thy dower; Bat fairies have broke their wand* And wishing has lost its power! And so they lay in loveliness, and kept The birth-night of their peace, that Life e’en wept With very envy of their happy fronts;’ For there were neighbor brows, scarred by the brunts Of strife and sorrowing-where Care had set His crooked autograph, and marred the jet Of glossy locks, with hollow eyes forlorn, And lips that curled in bitterness and scornWretched-as they had breathed of this world’s pain, And so bequeathed it to the world again, Through the beholder’s heart in heavy sighs. SHE’s up and gone, the graceless girn. And robbed my failing years; My blood before was thin and cold, But now’tis turned to tears. My shadow falls upon my grave, So near the brink I stand; She might have stayed a little yet, And led me by the hand! So lay they garmented in torpid light, Under the pall of a transparent night, Like solemn apparitions lulled sublime To everlasting rest; and with them Time Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face Of a dark dial in a sunless place. ,y, call her on the barren moor, And call her on the hill; ‘Tis nothing but the heron’s cry, And plover’s answer shrill. My child is flown on wilder wings Than they have ever spread; And I may even walk a waste That widened when she fled. Full many a thankless child has been, But never one like mine; Her meat was served on plates of gold, Her drink was rosy wine; But now she’ll share the robin’s food, And sup the common rill, Before her feet will turn again To meet her father’s will! There’s many that weep there, But one weeps alone, For the tears that are falling So far from her own; So far from thy own, love. We know not our pain; If death is between us, Or only the main. SHE stood breast high amid the corn, Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won. On her cheek an autumn flush Deeply ripened;-such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn. Round her eyes her tresses fell, Which were blackest none could tell; But long lashes veiled a light, That had else been all too bright. And her hat, with shady brim, Made her tressy forehead dim; Thus she stood amid the stooks, Praising God with sweetest looks. “Sure,” I said, “heaven did not mean, Where I reap thou shouldst but glean: Lay thy sheaf adown, and come share my harvest and my home.” T O AN ABSENTEE. O’ER hill, and dale, and distant sea, Through all the miles that stretch between, My thought must fly to rest on thee, And would, though worlds should intervene. Nay, thou art now so dear, methinks The farther we are forced apart, Affection’s firm elastic links But bind the closer round the heart. THE SEA OF DEATH.

A FRAGMENT. Methought I saw Life swiftly treading over endless space; And, at her foot-print, but a by-gone pace, The ocean-past, whlich, with increasing wave, Swallowed her steps like a pursuing grave. C’l we’re rnov lih.h ot i+antoreal s ilently On- tIte dead we,te!s of th-.t pa,ssionless sea, Unstirred bhy any touch of living breath: Silence lhutig oer it, antid drowsy DealttB MISCELI,ANEOUS POEMS. 3,09 A LAKE AND A FAIRY BOAT.

A, LAici,. and a fairy boat 17o sail in the moonlight clear; And merrily we would float From the dragons that watch us-here I Thy gown should be snow-white silk, And strings of orient pearls, Like gossamers dipped in milk, Should twine with thy raven curls! THF, THANKLESS GIRL THE EXILE.

THE Swallow with summer Will wing o’er the seas, The wind that I sigli to Will visit tliy trees, The ship that it hastens Thy ports will contain, But me-I must never See England again! RUTH. When the white cloud reclines On the verge of the sea, I fancy the white cliffs, And dream upon thee; But the cloud spreads its wings To the blue heaven and flies. We shall never meet, love, Except in the skies! For now we sever each from each, I learn what I have lost in tbee; Alas, that nothin- less could teach, How great indeed my love should be! 1, ar(well!. di,,] not l now t,by worth, But thou art WiL7, and now’tis prized: So an!zels wa&e(. unlnown on earth, But -,heii they flew were recognised I

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310 THE MIRRIOR LIBRARY. THE DEMON-SHIP. His throat was black, his vest the same, and when I looked TWAS off the Wash-the sun went down-the sea lookled beneath, His breast was black-all, all was black except his grin.

black and grim, teeth. For stormy clouds, with murky fleece were mustering at the I bo trmco ithmr fec wr futrntte His sooty crew were like in hue, as black as Afric slaves! bitanicbrim;e! enorm ous gloom! as if the solid night. *Oh, horror! e’en the ship was black that ploughed the inky titanic shades! enormous gloom! as if the solid night waxres! Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light! It was a time f,)r mariners to bear a wary eye, “Alas!”’ I cried, “for love of truth and blessed mercy’s With such a dark conspiracy between the sea and skly! sake, Down went my helm-close reefed-the tack tielk freely in I Where am I? in what dreadful ship? upon what dreadful my handWith ballast snug-I put about, and scuddled for thape is that, so very grim, and black as any coal? Loud hissed the sea beneath her lee my little hjoat fle It is Mahoind, the Evil One, and he has won my soul! ~~~~~~fast, Ij~Oh, miother dear! my tender nurse! dear meadows that fast, But faster still the ruisliing stormn camne borlie p)oi the le beguileI Lord! what a roaring hurricane beset th,e str-,tit~il.gsil, I! Lord! what a roaring lolrricane beset thle st~i&iiii Sail! My happy lays, when I was yet a little sinless chil: What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce asaults of My mother dear-ay native fields, I never more shall see! hall! hail! I’m sailing in the l)evil’s Ship, upon the Devil’s Sea!” What darlcsorme caverns yawne1 before! what jae Loud lie tt SAL MARINER, ad loudly in return ‘ Loudl laughedlQ~ that SAdLF: MAaRtNr,R and loudly in return steeps behind! His sooty crew sent fort.lh a lauglh that rangr from stem tt Like battle-steeds, with foamy manes, wild tossing in the i tva sterll wind. A dozen pair of griimly cheeks were crumpled oni the Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase, nonceBut where it sank another rose and galloped( in its place A n e As many sets uf grinning teeth came shining out at once As black as night-they turned to white, and cast a Ad nglainst th cloud 4A dozen gloomiy shapes at once enjoyed the merry fit, the cloud With shriek and vell, and oaths as well, like Demons of the A snowy sheet, as if each surge uptured a sailor’s shroudl t Still flew my boat; alas! alas! her course was nearly run Pit. B. y. fl b w r i h w’eapd in o They crowed their fill, and then the Chief made answer for Behold yoa f~atal bil.ow rise-teii billows heaped in one! t the whole: With fearful speed the dreary mlass came rolling, rollingtewhl: Wi th fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling”Our skius,” said he, “are black ye see, because we carry fast, coal; As if the scooping sea contained one ontlv wave at last! As if. the sc i s. c e on oy we You’ll find your mother sure enough, and see your native still on it came, with hoirit roar, a swift pursuing grave; fieldsIt seemed as though somine cloud had turned its hugeness to or this here si has picked you up-the Mar Ann a wax e! 1 l ~~~~~For this here ship has picked you up the Mar) Anan ~f a wave Its briny sleet began to beat befo)rehanl in my face- Shields!” THE FORSAKEN.

THE dead are in their silent graves, And the dew is cold above, And the living weep and sigh, Over dust that once was love. Once I only wept the dead, But now the living cause my pain: How couldst thou steal me from my tears, To leave me to my tears again? My mother rests beneath the sod, Her rest is calm and very deep: I wished that she could see our loves, But now I gladden in her sleep. Last night unbound my raven locks, The morning saw them turned to gray, Once they were black and well-beloved, But thou art changed-and so are they! The useless lock I gave thee once, To gaze upon and think of me, Was ta’en with smiles,-but this was torn In sorrow that I send to thee I -. THE STARS ARE WITH THE VOYAGER THE stars are with the voyager Wherever he may sail; The moon is constant to her time; The sun will never fail; But follow, follow round the world, The green earth and the sea; So love is with the lover’s heart, Wherever he may be. Wherever he may be, the stars Must daily lose their light; The moon will veil her in the shade; The sun will set at night. The sun may set but constant love Will shine when he’s aiway; So that dtll night is never night An’] day is brighter day.

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MICLAEUSPES L The roses bud and bloom again; But love may haunt the grave of love, And watch the mould in vain. 0 clasp me, sweet, while thou art mine, And do not take my tears amiss; For tears must flow to wash away A thought that shows so stern as thi: Forgive, if somewhat I forgets In wo to come, the present bliss, As frighted Proserpine let fall Her flowers at the sight of Dis, E’en so the dark and bright will kiss. The sunniest things throw sternest shade, Anda there is e’en a happiness That makes the heart afraid! COME, let us set our careful breasts, Like Philomel, against the thorn, To aggravate the inward grief, That makes her accents so forlorn; Tke world has many cruel p)oints, VIhereby our bosoms have been torn, And there are dainty themes of grief, In sadness to outlast the morn,True honor’s dearth, affection’s death, Neglectful pride, and cankering scorn Wi th alln the piteous tales that tears Have watered since the world was born. The world!-it is a wilderness, Where tears are hung on every tree; For thus my gloomy phantasy Makes all things weep with me!

Come, let us sit and watch the sky, And fancy clouds, where no clouds be; Grief is enough to blot the eye, And make heaven black with misery. Why should birds sing such merry notes, Unless they were more blest than we?

No sorrow ever chokes their throats, Except sweet nightingale; for she Was born to pain our hearts the more With her sad melody. Why shines the sun, except that he Makes gloomy nooks fbr Grief to hide, And pensive shades for Melancholy, When all the earth is bright beside? Let clay wear smiles, and green grass wave, Mirth shall not win us back again, While man is made of his own grave, And fairest clouds but gilded rain! Now let us with a spell invoke The full-orbed moon to grieve our eyes; Not bright, not bright, but, with a cloud Lapped all about her, let her rise All pale and dim, as if from rest The ghost of the late-buried sun Had crept into the skies. The Moon! she is the source of sighs, The very face to make us sad; If but to think in other times The same calm quiet look she had, As if the world held nothing base, Of vile and mean, of fierce and bad; The same fair limit that shone in streams, The fairy lamp that charmed the lad; For so it is, with spent delights She taunts men’s brains, and makes.toem mad.

All things are touched with melancholy, Born of the secret soul’s mistrust, To feel her fair ethereal wings Weighed down with vile degraded dust; Even the bright extremes of joy Bring on conclusions of disgust, Like the sweet blossoms of the May, Whose fragrance ends in must. 0 give her, then, her tribute just, Her sighs and tears, and musings holy! There is n o music in the life That sounds with idiot laughter solely; There’s not a string attuned to mirth, But has its chord in melancholy. I saw my mother in her shroud, Her cheek was cold and very pale; And ever since I’ve lookled on all As creatures doomed to fail! Why do buds ope, except to die? Ay, let us watch the roses wither, And think of our loves’ cheeks; And oh, how quickly time doth fly To bring death’s winter hither! Minutes, hours, days, and weeks, Months, years, and ages, shrink to naught; An age past is but a thought! Ay, let us think of him a while, ‘hat, with a coflin for a boat, Rows daily o’er the Stygiac moat, And for our table choose a tomb: There’s dark enough in any skull To charge with black a raven plume; And for the saddest funeral thoughts A winding sheet hath ample room, Where Death, with his keen-pointed style, Hath writ the common doom. How wide the yew-tree spreads its gl.;om, And o’er the dead lets fall its dew, As if in tears it wept for them, The many human families That sleep around its t-tem! WELcOMi,, dear Heart, and a most kind good morrovr The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine:Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrow Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine.

Here are red roses, gathered at thy cheeks,The white were all too happy to look white: For love the rose, for faith the lily speaks; It withers in false hands, but here’tis bright! Dost love sweet Hyacinth? Its scented leaf Curls manifold,-all lot,e’s delights blow double: ‘Tis said this floweret is i’ qcribed with grief,But let that hint of a forgottb.

trouble. How cold the dead have made these olones, With natural drops kept ever wet! Lo! her. the best, the worst, the world Doth now remember or forget, Are in one common ruin hurled, And love and hate are calmly met; The loveliest eyes that ever shone, The fairest hands, and locks of jet.

Is’t not enough to vex our souls, And fill our eyes, that we have set O)ur ove upon a rose’s leaf, Our hearts upon a violet? Blue eyres, red cheelks, are frailer yet; And sometimes at their swift decay Beforehand we must fret. I plucked the Primrose at night dewy noon; Like Hope, it showed its blossoms in the night; ‘Twas, like Endymion, watching for the Moon! And here are Sun-flowers, amorous of light! These golden Buttercups are April’s seal,The Daisy stars her constellations be: These grew so lowly, I was forced to kneel, Therefore I pluck no Daisies but for thee! Here’s Daisies for the morn, Primrose for gloom Pansies and Roses for the noontide hours: A wight once made a dial of their bloom,So may thy life be measured out by flowers I iI I: l I I I MISCELT,ANEOUS I:IOEMS. ill ODE TO

-,MELANCHOLY. TO . i I.

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31 Til MIR LBAY I know my life will fade away, I know that I must vainly pine, For I am made of mortal clay, But she’s divine! SIGH ON, SAD HEART.

S GH on, sad heart, for Love’s eclipse, And Beauty’s fairest queen, Though’tis not for my peasant lips To soil her name between: A king might lay his sceptre down, But I am poor and nought, The brow should wear a golden crown, That wears her in its thought. I r emember, I remember, The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon, Nor brought too long a day, But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away! The diamonds glancing in her hair, Whose sudden beams surprise, Might bid such humble hopes beware The glancing of her eyes; Yet looking once, I looked too long, And if my love is sin, Death follows on the heels of wrong, And kills the crime within. Her dress seemed wove of lily leaves, It was so pure and fine, 0 lofty wears, and lowly weaves, But hoddan gray is mine; And homely hose must step apart, Where gartered Irinces stand, But may he wear my love at heart That wins her lily hand! I remlember, I remember, The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups, Those flowers miiade of light! The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The liburnam on his birth-dayThe tree is living yet! I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then, That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow! Alas! there’s far from russet frieze To silks and satin gowns, But I doubt if God made like degrees, In courtly hearts and clowns. My father wronged a maiden’s mirth, And btought her cheeks to blame, And all that’s lordly of my birth, Is my reproach and shame! ‘Tis vain to weep,‘tis vain to sigh, ‘Tis vain this idle speech, For where her happy pearls do lie, My tears may never reach; Yet when I’m gone, e’en lofty pride May say of what has been, His love was nobly born and died, Though all the rest was mean! I remember, I remember, The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were clo se against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now’tis little joy To know I’m farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy. My speech is rude-but speech is weak Such love as mine to tell, Yet had I words, I dare not speak, So Lady, fare thee well; I will not wish thy better state Was one of low degree, But I must weep that partial fate Made such a churl of me. THEzRE is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be, In the cold grave-under the deep, deep sea, Or in wide desert, where no life is found, Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profo:‘rx; ) No voice is hushed-no life treads silently, But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free, That never spoke, over the idle ground; But in green ruins, in the desolate walls Of antique palaces, where man hath been, Though the dun fox, or wild hyena calls, And owls, that flit continually between, Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan, There the true silence is, self-conscious and alone. I stayed awhile to see her throw Her tresses back, that all beset The fair horizon of her brow With clouds of jet. YOUNG ardent soul, graced with fair Nature’s truth, Spring warmth of heart, and fervency of mind, And still a large late love of all thy kind, Spite of the world’s cold practice, and Time’s tooth; For all these gifts, I know not, in fair sooth, Whether to give thee joy, or bid thee blind Thine eyes with tears-that thou hast not resigns The passionate fire and freshness of thy youth: For as the current of thy life shall flow, Gilded by shine of sun or shadow-stained, Through flowery valley or unwholesome fen, Thrice blessed in thy joy, or in thy wo Thrice cursed of thy race-thouti artt ordained To share beyond the lot of common men. I 312

THE MIRROR LIBRARY. I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. SILENCE. THE WATER LADY. ALAS, the moon should ever beam To show what ma-,i should never sc e I I saw a maiden on a stream, And fair was she! TO AN ENTHUSIAST. I stayed a little wliile to view Her cheek, that wore in place of red The bloom of water, tender blue, Daintily spread. I stayed to watch a little space, Her parted lips if she would sin-; The waters closed above her face With many a ring.

And still I stayed a little more, Alas! -she never comes again; I th-row my flowers from the shore,’ And watch in vain.

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BEAUTIES OF GOLDSMITH. THE DESERTED VILLAGE.* How often have I paused on every charm, The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topt the neighboring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made! How of ten have I blest the comi ng day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all fhe village train, from labor free, Led up their sport s beneath the s pre ading tree; While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed; And many a gambol frolicked o’er the gro und, And s leight s of art and feats of strength went round And still as each repeated pleasure tired, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired; The dancing pair that simply sought renown, By holding out to tire each other down; The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter tittered round the place; The bashful virgin’s sidelong looks of love, The matron’s glance that would those looks reprove: These were thy clharms, sweet village!

sports like thes With sweet succession, taught e’en toil to please; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, These were thy charms-but all these charms are fled. Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn! Amid thy bowers the tyrant’s hand is seen And Desolation saddens all thy green: One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. No more thy grassy brook reflects the day, But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way; Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Amid thy desert walks the laplwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries; Sunk are thy bowers in shal~]ess ruin all, And the long grass o’ertops the mouldering wall; And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler’s hand, Far, far away thy children leave the land. Ill fares the lan(], to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, their country’s pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied. A time there was, ere England’s griefs began, When every rood of ground maintained its man: For him light Labor spread her wholesome store, Just nave what life required, but gave no more; His best companions, innocence and health, And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are altered: trade’s unfeeling train Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain; Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose, And every want to luxury allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those cahin desires that asked but little room, Those healthffl sports that Graced the peaceful s~.en% is elf i n ofath lock,,rll it ]‘dl ten I all the glreen, These, farl d,pa~lins. s:cls a lkin let shore, 4ndl rum!

mrt.l~ lnll mnannc:s a:‘c nzo more DEAR SIR: I can have no expectations, in an address of this kind, either to add to your reputation, or to establish my own. You can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you are said to excel; and I may lose much by the severity of your judgment, as few have a juster taste in poetry than you. Setting interest, therefore, aside, to which I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present in following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my br other, because I loved him better than most other men. H e is since dead. Permit me to inscribe this Poem to you. How far you may be pleased with the versification and mere mnechanical parts of this attempt, I do not pretend to inquire: but I know you will object (and indeed several of our best and wisest friends concur in the opinion) that the depopulation it deplores is nowhere to be seen, and the disorders it laments are only to be found in the poet’s own imagination. To this I can scarcely make any other answver, than that I sincerely believe what I have written; that I have taken all possible pains, in my country excursions, bfor these four or five years past, to be certain of what I allege; and that all my views and inquiries have led me to believe those miseries real, which I here attempt to display. But this is not the place to enter into an in2uiry whether the country be depopulating or not: the dis-ussion would take up much room, and I should prove myself, at best, an indifferent politician, to tire the reader with a long preface, when I want his unfatigued attention to a l(ng poem. In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh against the increase of our luxuries; and here also I expect the shout of modern politicians against me. For twenty or thirty years past, it has been the fashion to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advantages; and all the wisdom of antiquity in that particular as erroneous. Still, however, I must remain a professed ancient on that head, and continue to think those luxuries prejudicial to states by which so many vices are introduced, and so many kingdoms have been undone. Indeed, so much has been poured out of late on the other side of the question, that merely for the sake of novelty and variety, one would sometimes wish to be in the right. I am, dear sir, You r sincer e f riend, and ardent admirer, OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

Swi i Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer’s lingering blooms delayed: Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o’er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene! The lo(al’ity of this poem is supposed to be Lissoy, near Ballymat’an(. wvlhere tile poet’s brother Ite.ry hlad his living. As usual in sii(i eaCes’t, th” !‘tlo 0 tOl’V’t,d ho (‘tIle tf fashic,ah’e resort of Dintcti,’:,i ~‘lil,,‘aim;,,:.i i t’. c;t:‘y peltlaty of flurji.iiliig relics efor tle crir’ois.‘lle hawhorn hbus.! las been convertedt into snuff wxes, aid noow adorns tile cab’inots of poetical virtuosi. i 11,HE

TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

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OF (GOI,DSMITH. Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant’s power. Here as I take my solitairy ounds, Amid thy tangling wallks and ruined grounds, And, many a yeai elapsed, return to view Where once the cottage stool, the liawthorn grew, Remembrance wakes with all lier busy tiain, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pair. In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs-and Go( hlas giv en my share I still had liopes, iiiy latest hours to crown, Amid these humble boweis to lay me down; To husband out lile’s talei at the close, And keep the Ilame fioni wXistliig, by repose: I still had hopes-for pide ittends Ls still Amid the swains to slow iiiv bookI-learnedl skill, Around my fire anL ev-enin g droui) to draw, And tell of all I felt and all I s.awD; And, as a hare, wlioL hlounds andl horns pursue, Pants to the lplace foamn whlence at lir-st she flew, I still hadl hopes, Tiy long vexation past, Here to return, and die at hbea at la. t. 0 blest retirtinent, frlien:I to bilf’s decline, Retreat from c.res, that never imust be mine! How blest is he who crowns, in shades likle these, A youth of labor with all age of ease; Who quits a world w here strong temptations try, And, since’t is hard to comnbat, learns to fly! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; No surly porter stands in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine firom the gate; But on he nmoves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue’s friend; Sirks to the grave with unperceived decay, While resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects briglitening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past. Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening’s close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came softened from below; The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young; The noisy geese that gabbled o’er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school; The watch-dog’s voice that bayed the whispering wi nd, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind,These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made. But now the sounds of population fail, No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, But all the bloomy flush of life is fled: All but yon widowed, solitary thing That feebly bends beside the plashy spring; She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread, To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden-flower grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher’s modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a-year: Remote from towns he ran his go tly race, Nor e’er had changed, nor wished to change, his place, Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, lie chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain: The loon-remembered be’Igar ras his guest, Whose beard descenlint’ swept his a,ed breast; The ridgine spendthrift, nowv no l1inner proud, C(Ii.eita! kin Iro I thr, an tl I his caimas allowed; f’ Mer blien s’:l tier, i’ly bade to stay, S:‘y’ tis!i e a! t-l’kel ch ai:,t away, II I I i I 314 1 IVei-,t o’er his wound-,;, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were woic Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their wo: Careless their nierits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And elen his failings leaned to-virtue’s side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all –

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each diill delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and ai.,uish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his la.st faltering accents whispered praise. At church, with meeli and unaffected grace, His looks tidorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with dc,,ible sway, And fools, who i-aine to scoff, remained to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran; E’en children followed, with endearing wile.. And plucked his go”,n, to share the good man’s smile; His ready smile a parent’s warmth expressed; Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, But all his serious thoughts bad rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells froi-n the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settls on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, NVith blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school. A man severe lie was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew: Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day’s disasters in his morning face; Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke bad he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aagbt, The love he bore to reaming was in fault, The village all declared how much he knew, ‘Twas certain he could write and cipher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presa-e, And elen the story ran-that he cnuld gauge In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, For elen though vanquished he could argue still; While words oflearned length, and thundering sound, Amazed the gazin rustics ranged around; And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small bead could carry all he knew. But past is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumphed is f,,r-ot. Near yonder tborn, that lifts its head on high,

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THE BEAUTIES OF GOLDSMlIThH. Tumultuous gri. ndeua crowds t he bl azing square, The rat tling et clash,t the tor-ches glare. Sure tseewles lige tioese n o ti(rbles e’er ann oy!w Sure these Ileo ote o.cv unit ersal o’,ody! Are these tlwy serious tiohe ilts?b-Al, turn thine, – es, Where the I)o,re housleless s a iver ing Ojtr.le l ies: She once, l lerha is, il i iie ylen ty ble st, Has wept,it tatles ot’ innioence (ii.stlest: Her modest to3,es the cvttage might ad(1oirn, Sweet a-s the- e im eee)s’beneat h the thorn; Now lost to tie -herl’ricnlls, her virtue fled, Near hier bet;av’s,1a<. N she lay htcr head, An(], pinchedP:ili.,!. slt shrinlking fi-om the shower, Witht lheavy.t (IIt y l,l,: tIh t Iluckllt-ss hlour, When i,lly fiirst, afibhiti(cls (,f the town, She left hler whvci-l, a ti S zft centty bn)wn. Do thin e, swc r,the licst train, Do thie ai ti-ii)es,t!'i il e i,er pa.int? ]Even now, pc,lll':,s, by, c(;I. axi hllg'ellr led, At proul,Ie;', s (!o-,js z1ll ials a little boead' Ah, no.

1:ist,cllJ:{ls, a tt'v scene, Where ]~alt' thv Ctli,x'' world ii,l,'tides between, | ThroughJ11 t,l..:'acts with lI:.,ititi,- slel)s they go, Where wril.l Allaitil*.ii:nuiut'is to their wo. Far diff,ont thee fi',I}all that chiarnmed before, The r-ai-iots le io,s (lt lh! l l itl shot; Those bl;,zini.- s tl.c t:fart a1 dkwNwardl iray, And fiery: I! cl,+,'

irt.l~'ralc (ai; Those mtc.} wco.,ls wh'er biros fla'get to sing, But silent belts in drc, sv clusters clin,,; Those p(oisonous fiel isR with1 rankll- luxuriance crowned, Where the darkl 1,scorplion.ga,lchrs denath around; Where att each stel) the stironger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the ventIgeflf snake; Where crouching tigers wait their haitless prey, And savage men, more murderous still than they; While oft in whirls the clad tornado flies, Mingling the ravaged lands(cape with the skies. Far different these frte i (-very former scene, The cooling brook, th( grassy-vested green, The breezy covert of the warbling grove, That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. Good Heaven! what sorrows gloomed that parting day That called them from their native walks away; When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last, And took a long farewell, and wished in vain For seats like these beyond the western main; And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, Returned and wept, and still returned to weep! The good oldI sire the first prepared to go To new-found worlds, and wept for others' wo; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only.wished for worlds beyond the grave; His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, The fond companion of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, And left a lover's for her father's arms: With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, And blest the cot where every pleasure rose, And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear; Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief .n all the silent manliness of grief. 0 luxury! thou eurst by Heaven's decree, How ill exchanged are things lilde these for thee. How do thy potions, with insidious joy, Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, Boast of a floridl vigor not their own; At every draught more large and large they growr, A bloated mass of rank unwieldy wo; Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. E'en now the devastation ~s begun, And half the business of destruction done; E'en nowv, roethinlks, as pondering here I stand, I see the rural Virtues leave the land. D qwn swhere yon anchoring vessel sp~reads the wail That idly waiting flapss with eatery gale, * Tile Altaroda'r Altamahal) is a river in Georgia.

United Statos. Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart: Thither no more the peasant shall repair, To sweet oblivion of his daily care; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear The host himself 1no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art.

Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined: But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed,In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy? Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy lanld. Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore; Hoards, e'en beyond the miser's wish, abound, And rich men flock from all the worll around. Yet count our gains: this wealth is blit a name That leaves our useful products still the same. Not so the loss: the man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds: The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth, Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth; His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies:While thus the land, adorned for pleasure all, In barren splendor feebly waits its fall.

As some fair female, unadorned and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies, Nor shares with art the triumnph of her eyes; But when those hAlarms are past-for charms are frailWhen time advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress: Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed; In Nature's simplest charms at first arrayed; But verging to decline, its splendors rise, Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, The mournful peasant leads his humble band; And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms-a garden and a grave.

Where, then, ah! where shall poverty reside, To'scape the pressure of contiauous pride? If to some common's fenceless limits strayed, He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, And even the bare-worn common is denied. If tc the city sped, what waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share: T6 see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To see each joy the sons of pleasure know Extorted from his fellow-creatures' wo. Here while tha courtier litters in brocade, There the pale artist plies his sickly trade; Here while thb prosiq their lono-drawn pomps display, There the bl ck ~ibbtt ~1ooms beside the way.

The dome ri ePe lasute gholls her midnight reign, Hlere richly d}ee ke~l, a lmits the ~orgeous train; 315

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THE BEAUTIES OF GC -.t)SMITH. h alf-witted thing, who wants to be thought a bold man) having lost the character of a wise one. Him they dignify with the name of poet: his tawdry lampoons are called satires; his turbulence is said to be force, and his phrensy fire. What reception a poem may find, which has neither abuse, party, nor blank verse to support it, I can not tell, nor am I solicitous to know. My aims are right. Without espousing the cause of any party, I have attempted to moderate the rage of all. I have endeavored to show, that there may be equal happiness in states that are differently governed firom our own; that every state has a particular principle of happiness, and that this principle in each may be carried to a mischievous excess. There are few can judge better than yourself how far these positions are il. lustrated in this poem. I am, dear sir, your most affectionate brother, OLIVYR GOLDSMITH. Downward they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all the oe ar l lstrand, Contented To il, and hospitable Car e, And k ind c onnub ial T enderness, are there; And Piety with wishes placed above, Andl steady Loyalty, and faithful Love. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; Unfit, ir. these degenerate times of shame, To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame; Dear charming nytnph, neglected and decried, My sham e in crowds, my solitary pride; Thou s ource of all m y bliss, and all my wo, That foundst me po or at first, and keepst me so; Thou guide, by which the nob ler arts excel, Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well! Fahrewell; and oh! where’er thy voice be trie, On Torno’s cliffs, or Pambamarca’s side, Whether where equinoctial fervors glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigors of the inclement clime; Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain; Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; Teach him, that states of native strength possest, Though very poor, may still be very blest; That trade’s proud empire hastes to swift decay, As ocean sweeps the labored mole away; While self-dependant power can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the-sky. REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the’azy Scheld, or wand ering Po; Or onward, where the ru de Carinthian boor Against the houseless stranger shuts the d oor; Or where Campania’s plain forsaken lies, A weary waste expanding to the skies: WLhere’er I roam, w hatever realms to see, My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee; Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend I Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire! Blest that abode, where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair. Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crowned, Where all the ruddy famnily around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fai’ Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good! But me, not destined such delights to share, My prime of life in wandering spent, and care; Impelled, with steps unceasing, to pursue Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view, That, like the circle bounding earth and skies, Allures from far, yet, as I fellow, flies: My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, And find no spot of all the world my corn. E’en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, I sit me down a pensive hour to spend; And, placed on high above the storm’s career, Look downward where a hundred realms appear: Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, The pomp of kings, the shepherd’s humbler pride. When thus Creation’s charms around combine, Amid the store should thankless pride repine? Say, should the philosophic mind disdain That good which makes each humbler bosom vain? Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, These little things are great to little man; And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind Exults in all the good of all mankind. Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor crownet Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round; Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale; Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale; For me your tributary stores combine, Creation’s heir, the world-the world is mine As some lone miser, visiting his store, Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o’er, Hoards after hoards, his rising raptures fill, Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still: Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, Pleased with each good that Heaven to man supplies; Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, To see the sum of human bliss so small: And oft I wish, amid the scene to find Some spot to real happiness consigned, Where my worn soul, each -,nn;{.,int l.i;pe ai rest, May gather bliss to see my fellow),s blest. Bnt where to find that happiest s} (t below W~ho can direct. when all pretend to know? ArHE TRAVELLER; OR A PROSPECT OF

SOCIETY. TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH. DEAR Sia,-I am sensible that the friendship between us can acquire no new force from the ceremonies of a dedica.ion; and perhaps it demands an excuse thus to prefix your name to my attempts, which you decline giving with your own. But as a part of this poem was formerly written to you from Switzerland, the whole can now, with propriety, be only inscribed to you. It will also throw a light upon many parts of it, when the reader understands, that it is addressed to a man who, despising fame and fortune, has retired early to happiness and obscurity, with an income of forty pounds a-year. I now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your humble choice. You have entered upon a sacred office, where the harvest is great, and the laborers are but few; while you have left the field of ambition, where the laborers are many, and the harvest not worth carrying away. But of all kinds of ambition-what from the refinement of the times, from different systems of criticism, and from the divisions of party-that which pursues poetical fame is the wildest.

Poetry makes a principal amusement among unpolished nations; but in a country verging to the extremes of refinement, painting and music come in for a share. As these offer the feeble mind a less-laborious entertainment, they at first rival poetry, and at length supplant her; they engross all that favor once shown to her, and though but younger sisters, seize upon the elder’s birthright. Yet, however this art may be neglected by the powerful, it is still in greater danger from the mistaken efforts of the learned to improve it. What criticisms have we not heard of late in favor of blank verse and Pindaric odes, choruses, anapests and iambics, alliterative care and happy negligence! Every absurdity has now a champion to defend it; and as he is generally much in the wrong, so he has always much to say; for error is ever talkative. But there is an enemy to this art still more dangerous-I mean party. Party entirelydistorts the judgment, and destroys the taste. When the mind is once infected with this disease, it can only find pleasure in what contributes to increase the distemper. Like the tiger, that seldom desists fromn nursuini man after having once preyed upon human liesh, the reader, who has once gratified his appetite with calumny, mates ever after the most agreehtble feast upon murderel re)‘itation. Strch readers generally admire some I I I I I 316

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OF GOLDSMITH. 317 From these e h e feeble h ear t and long-fallen m ind An e a sy compen sation seet n to find. Here may be seen in bloodless pomp arrayed, The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade; Processions formed for piety and love, A mistress or a saint in every grove. By sports like these are all their cames beguiled; The sports of children satisfy the child: Each nobler aim, repressed by long control, Now sinks at last or feebly mans tlhe soul; While low delights succeeding fast behind, In happier meanness occupy the mind: As in those domes where Cesars once bore sway, Defaced by time, and tottering in decay, There in the ruin, heedless of the dead, The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shtd; And, wondering man could want the larger pile, Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. My soul, turn from them! turn we to survey Where rougher climes a nobler race display, Where the bleak Swiss their stormy rnansion tread, And force a churlish soil for scant) bread: No product here the barren hills afford, But man and steel, the soldier and his sword; No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter lingering ciills the lap cf AMay; No zephyr fondly sues the mountain’s breast, But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. Yet still, even here, content can spread a charin, Redress the clime and all its rage disarm. Though poor the peasant’s hut, his feast though small, He sees his little lot the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head To shame the meanness of his humble shed; No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal To make him loathe his vegetable meal; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. Cheerful, at morn, he wakes from short repose, Breathes the keen air, an(] carols as he goes; With patient angle trolls the finny deep, Or drives his venturous ploughshare to the steel); Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark!he wal And drags the struggling savage into day. At night returning, ever)’ labor sped, He sits him down the monarch of a shed; Smiles by a cheerful fire, and round surveys His children’s looks that brighten at the blaze, While his loved partner, boastful of her hoard, Displays her cleanly platter on the board; gnd haply too some pilgrim, thither led, With many a tale repays the nightly bed. Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion oh his heart; And e’en those ills that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest.

Clings close and closer to the motlher’s breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind’s roar, But bind him to his native mountains more. Such are the charms to barren states assigned: Their wants but few, their waishes all confined: Yet let them only share the praises due  If few their wants, their pleasures are but few; For every wvant that stimulates the breast, Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest. Hence from such lands each pleasing science flies, That first excites desire, and then supplies; Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, To fill the languid pause with finer joy; Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame, Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame. Their level life is but a smouldering fire, Nor quenched by want, nor fanned by strong desire Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer On some high festival of once a-year, In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. Bult not their bogs ~lone thuls coarsely flow  Their mo~rnls, like htheir pleasTHE BEAUTIES

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THE BEAUTIES OF GOI,DSMITIT. For, as refinement stops, from sire to son Unaltered, unimproved the manners run; And love’s and friendship’s finely pointed dart Fall blunted from each indurated heart. Some sterner virtues o’er the mountain’s breast, May sit like falcons cowering o)n the nest; But all the gentler morals,-such as play Through life’s more cultured walkls, and charm the way, These, far dispersed, on timorous pinions fly, To sport and flutter il a kinder sky. To kindier skies, wherl e geuntler manners reign, ! turn and Friane display)s hoP bri’i,ct do,.ain Gas, spri,iitly ltrd of mirth anl social ease, Pleased with thyself, wlhom all the world can please, How often have I led thy sportive choir, Writh tuneless pipe beside the murmuring Loire! Where shadling elms along the margin grew, And, freshened from the wave, the zephyr flew; And haply, though my harsh touch faltering still, But mocked all tune, and marred the dancer’s skill; Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, And (lance, forgetful of the noontide hour. Alike all ages: dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze; And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore, Has frisked beneath the burden of threescore. So blest a life these thoughtless realms display; Thus idly busy rolls their world away: Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, For honor forms the social temper here: Honor, that praise which real merit gains, Or e’en imaginary worth obtains, Here p)asses current; paid from hand to hand, It shifts in splendid traffic round the land; Fron courts to camps, to cottages it strays, And all are taught an avarice of praise: They please, are pleased; they give to get esteem; Pill, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. But while this softer art their bliss supplies. [t gives their follies also room to rise; For praise too dearly loved, or warmly sought, Enfeebles all internal strength of thought: And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Leans for all pleasure on anotlher’s breast. Hence Ostentation here, with tawdry art, Pants for the vulgar praise whlich fools impart; Here Vanity assumes her pert grimace, And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace; Here beggar Pride defrauds her daily cheer, Fo boast one splendid banqluet once a-year: rthe mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. To men of other minds my fancy flies, Einb,slomed in the deep’where Holland lies. Methinks her patient sons before me sltand,A W!Vere the broad ocean leans agaiinst the land, Anl, se lalous to stop the comning tide, l,ift t he tall ralnpire’s artificial pride. Oiwa.i,I, niCethlnhs, and diligently slow, Trwe firn connected’ bulwark seems to grow, Spi’..a s it s lE ams m the watery roar, (co its out an empire, and usurps the shore; ‘i’ile thle ant ocean, risinz o’er the pile S: < 0n am1hi ious worllm beneath him smile; 'lthe::w c xai, the yeli)~w-blossomed vale, Ph – illow-tufiel bank the gliding sail, T h: c,‘sir -l mart, the cultivated plain, A nor creation rescued from his reign. TI hls, while around the wave-subjected soil Inpels the native to repeated toil, fn tustrious habits in each bosom reign, AnI industry begets a love of gain. Hence all the Mood from opulence that springs, With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, Are here displaned. Their much-loved wealth imparts Convei’ience, plenty, elegance, and arts; But view them closer, craft and fraud appear; Even liberty itself is bartered here: At c,)lol’s superior charns al! fi’ee lom flies) lhe neoql sell it, anll the rich ian buys. A lanl ef tyranTs, ant a dean of slaves, Hece wretchles seek dis.honor-able gr-aves, And, calmly b ent, to servitude conform, Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. Heavens! how unlike their Belgic sires of old I Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold, War in each breast, and freedom on each brow; How much unlike tile sons of Britain now! Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, And flies where Britain courts the western spring; Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, And brighter streams than famed Hydaspes glide There all around the gentlest breezes stray, Theae genle m,n}sic meLts or ever, sprp’; Creation’s mildest charnms are there combined, Extremes are only in the master’s mind! Stern o’er each bosom Reason holds her state, With daring aims irregularly great, Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by; Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, By forms unfashioned, fresh i’:n nature’s hand, Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, True to imagined right above control, While e’en the peasant boasts these rights to scan, And learns to venerate himself as man. Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictured here, Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear! Too blest indeed were such without alloy; But, fostered e’en by freedom, ills annoy: That independence Britons prize too high, Keeps man firom man, and breaks the social tie; The self-dependant lordlings stand alone, All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown; Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held, Minds combat minds, repelling and repelled; Ferments arise, imprisoned factions roar, Represt ambition struggles round her shore; Till, overwrought, the general system feels Its motion stop, or phrensy fire the wheels. Nor this the worst. As nature’s ties decay, As duty, love, and honor fail to sway, Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. Hence all obedience bows to these alone, And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown: Till time may come, when stript of all her charms The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms, Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, Where kings have toile(], and poets wrote for fame, One sink of level avarice shall lie, Andl scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonored die. Yet think not, thus when Freedom’s ills I state, I mean to flatter kings, or court the great: Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire, F~ar fiom my bosom drive the low desire! And thou, fair Free(lomD, taught alike to feel The rabble’s rage, and tyrant’s angry steel; Thou transitory flower, alike undone By proud contempt, or favor’s fostering sunStill may thy blo,L,nq the changeftil clime endure! I only would repress them to secure: For just experience tells, in every so. That those that thins mnust govern those that toil;i And all that Freedoral’s highest aims can reach, Is but to lay proportioned loads on each. Hence, should one order disproportioned growr, Its double weight must ruin all below.

Oh, then how blind to all that truth reqluires, Who think it freedlom when a part aspires! Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, Except when fast applroachin~f danzer warms: But when contending chiefs blockade the throne, Contracting regal poster to stretch their own; When I behold a factious hand agree To ean it freedom when themselves are free; Each wanton juldge new penal statutes draw, Laws grill the poor, andl rich men rule the law; The wealtl, of climes, where savage nations roam, Pilhazert fi’om sl~aves to purchase slaves at home,  Pear, pity, julstice, il annetintion, statr:, Teatr off’ resorvt., n,!t beer myn swelling heart; Ti!, half a l tri: t.!:elf a cowardl~ grown, I fy trown petty B.‘rants to the throne. I I I I i i I i 11 I i lis

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THE BEAUTIES OF GOILDS.MITH. Yes, brother, curse me with that baleful hour, When first ambition struck at regal power; And thus, polluting honor in its source, Gave wealth to sway the nmind with double force. Have we not seen, round Britain’s peopled shore, Her useful sons exchanged for useless ore? Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste? Seen Opulence, her grandeur to maintain, Lead stern Depopulation in her train, And over fiel Is, wt’ere scattered hamnlets rose, II barr n, sol tary I omp;.epose? ‘lave we not seen, at Pleasure’s lordly call, The smiling, long-frequente(1 village fall? Beheld the duteous son, the sire decavyedF, ‘he modest matron, and the blushing iTaid, Forced froin their homes, a nmelancholy train, ro traverse climes beyond the western main, Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around, And Niagara stuns with thundering soutind? E’en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays Through tangled forests, an- through dangerous ways, Where beasts with man divided empl)ire claim, And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim; There, while above the giddy tempest flies, Anrd all around distressful yell arise, The pensive exile, bending with his wo, To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, Casts a long look where England’s glories shine, And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres in the mind: Why have I stayed from pleasure and repose, To seek a good each government bestows? In every government, though terrors reign, Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain, How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure I Still to ourselves in every place consigned, Our own felicity we make or find: With secret course which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, Luke’s iron crown, and Damien’s bed of steel, To men remote from power but rarely known, Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own. His risin cares the Hermit spied, With answering care oppressed: And, “W Whence, unhappy youth,” he cried “The sorrows of thy breast? “From better ha)itations spurne(l, Reluctant (lost thou rove?

Or grieve for friend’lil unrecturned, Or unregarded love? A BALLAD. “t Alas! the joys that foitune brings Are trifling, an(i decay; And those who prize the paltry things, More trifling still than they. ,’TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray. “Andl what is frien(slsip blt a name, A charm that lulls to sleep; A shade that follows wealth o)r fame, But leaves the wretch to weep? ” For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow, Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go.”

“Forbear, my son,” the Hermit cries, “To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom. “e For shame, fond youlth, thy sorrows husi And spurn the sex,” he said; But while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betrayed. ~’ Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still; And though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will. “Then turn to-night, and freel y sharebs Whate’er my c el l b estows; My rushy couch and frugal fare, My blessing and repose. “No flocks that range the valley free To slaughter I co)nlemn; Taugint by that PowAer that pities me, I learn to p)ity them: The bashful look, the rising breast, Alternate spread alarms: The lovely stranger stands confessed A maid in all her charms. I I I I I 3 11!3 — 7

– — --- 11 But from the mountain’s grassy side A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring. ‘,Then, pilrim, turn, thy cares forego, All earth-born cares are wrong; Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little lung.’’ Soft as the dew from heaven descends, h’,.s gen -le acents t’, 11: The modest strari,,,er lovly blnds, And follows to the cell. Fa.r in t)-ie willertiess obscure The lonely mansion lay, A refuge to the Deighb’i-ing poor, And strangers le(t -,istray. No stores beri(ath it,,: liutiible thatel, Required a mistei‘s care.; The wicliet, ol)eniii,, with a I,itcli, 1’,ec,ivcd the liarniless I,,air. I And now, when busy ercw(Is rctire To tilie th(,ir ex,enin.- rest, The Hert-nit trimine,,i his little fire, And cheered his pensin,c guest; And spread hi,,; vegetable store, An(] gayly and smiled; And, skilled in legendary loi-e, The lingerin,- h4)urs bet,-uiled. Around in sympathetic mirtb, Its tricks the kitten tries, The cricket cliirrul)s on the hearth, The crackling faot flies. But nothing could a cliarm irrlpai-t To sooth the strangers wo; For grie wa-, heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow. THE HERMTT. ccand love is ill an eiiiitier sound, The rnodern fair one’s jest; On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle’s negt. Surprised he sees new beauties rise, Swift mantling to the view; Like colors o’er the morning skies, As bright as transient too.

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THE BEAUTIES OF GOI,DSMITH. THE CAPTIVITY: AN ORATORIO.* And, ” Ah!

forgive a stranger rude A wretch forlorn,” she cried; ” Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude Where Heaven and you reside. THE PERSONS. First Jeuish Prophet. First Chaldean Priest. Second Jeusish Prophet. Second Chatdean Priest. sraeltish Woman. Chaldean Woman. Chorus of Youths and Virgins. Sc~:iE.-The Banks of the River Euphrates neat Babylon. “But let a maid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray; Who seeks for rest, bult finds despair Companion of her way. “My father lived beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he: And all his wealth was marked as mine, He had but only me. FIRST PROPHET. YE captive tribes that hourly work and weep Where flows Euphrates murmuring to the deep, Suspend your woes a while, the task suspend, And turn to God, your father and your friend; Insulted, chlained, and all the world our foe, Our God alone is all we boast below. “Each hour a mercenary crowd With richest proffers strove; Among the rest young Edwin bowed. But never talked of love. “In humble, simplest habit clad, No wealth nor power had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had, But these were all to me. SECOND PROPHET. And though no temple richly dressed, Nor sacrifice is here, We’ll make his temple in our breast, And offer up a tear. [The first stanza repeated by the CHORtus. “‘And when beside me in the dale, He carolled lays of love, His breath lent fragrance to the u alea And music to the grove.* “The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refined, Could naught of purity display To emulate his mind.

ISRAELrTISH WOMrAN. That strain once more! it bids remembrance rise, And brinrs my lon!-lost country to mine eyes; Ye fields of Sharon, dre,sed( in flowery pride, Ye plains where Kedron rolls its glassy tide, Ye hills of Lebanon, with cedars crowned, Ye Gilead groves, that fling perfumes around,How sweet those groves! that plain how wondrous fainr How doubly sweet when Heaven was with us there! “For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and( vain; And while his passion touched my heart, I triumphed in his pain: ” Till, quite dejected with my scorn, Be left me to my pride; And southt a solitude forlorn, In secret, where he died. 0 Memory! thou fond deceiver, Still importunate and vain! To former joys recurring ever, And turning all the past to pain: Hence, i ntruder m ost distr essing!

Seek the happy and the free: The wretch who wants each other blessing Ever wants a friend in thee. “But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay; Pll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay. SECOND PROPHET. Yet why complain? What though by bonds confined, Should bonds repress the vigior of the mind? Have we not cause for triumph, when we see Ourselves alone from id(lol-worship free? Are not, this very morn, those feasts begun Where prostrate error hails the rising sun? Do not our tyrant lords this (lday ordain For superstitious rites and mirth profane? And should we mourn? Should coward virtue fly, When vaunting folly lifts her head on high? No! rather let us triumph still the more, And as our fortunes sinks, our spirits soar. “Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy lorng-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee. ./hr. The triumphs that on vice attend Shall ever in confusion end; The good man suffers but to gain, And every virtue springs from pain: As aromatic plants bestow No spicy fragrance while they grow; But crushed, or trodden to the ground, Diffuse their balmy sweets around.

” Thus let me hold thee to my heart. And every care resign: And shall we never, never part, Afy life-my all that’s mine. “No, never from this hour to part, We’ll live and love so true, The sigh that rends thv constant heart Shall break thy Edwin’s too. FIRST PROPHET. I But hush, my sons, our tyrant lords are near, X The sounds of barbarous pleasure strike mine ear; * This wa first printed frorn lho or,inalT, n Dector Goldsmith’s own hand writinr, in the tSo. e,liti,n of his.lisrellaneous Works, , publisl,ed in 18o0. * This stanza as pfeere d e, y Rihrhard Archdale, Esq., a mirmber of the. rish, Parliament. to mbor it was given by Goldsmith. and wva, firs.t Pftertel a tez ihe author’s death. 320 ACt THE ]FIRST. 11 To win me from bis tender arms, Unnumbered suiters came, Wbo praised me for imputed cbarms, And felt, or feigned a flame. .Air. FIRST PROPHET. Our God is all we boast below, To him we turn our eves; And ever3, added wei! bt of wo Shall make our homage rise. “The dew. the blossom on the tree, With charms inconstant shine: Their charms were his, but wo to me, Their constancy was mine. ,Iir. “And there forlorn, despairing, hid, I’ll l-tv me down and die: ‘Twas so for me that Edwin did, A.,l so for him ,vill T.” “‘Forbid it, TTe,iven!” the TTermit cried, And el,-tsped her to bis bre(-ist: The wonlerinz f,,iir one turned to cbide’Twa.9 Elwin’s self that pressed!

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THE BEAUTIES OF GOLDSMITH. Triumphant music floats along the vale, Near, nearer still, it gathers on the gale: The growing sound their swift approach declaresDesist, my sens, nor i;ix the strain with theirs. EKlier CIALD.EANN PRIEsITS atternded. FIRST PROPHET. 0 I)ecace of mind, angelic guest, Thou soft companion of the breast, Dispense thy balmy store! Wing all our thoughts to reach the skies, Till earth, receding from our eyes, Shall vanish as we soar! FIr. s’’ PRIEST. tome oIl, my comt anions, the triumpih displ;, i e l Let rapture the minutes employ; The sun calls us out on this festival day, And our monarch partakes in the joy. FIRST

PRIEST. No more. Too long has justice been delayed, The king’s commands must fully be obeyed; Compliance with his will your peace secures, Praise but our gods, and every good is yours: But if, rebellious to his high command, You spurn the favors offered from his hand, Think, timely think, what terrors are behind, Reflect, nor tempt to rage the royal mind. SECOND

PRIEST. Like the sun, our great monarch all rapture supplies, both similar blessings bestow: The sun with his splendor illumines the skies, And our monarch enlivens below. CIALDEA N WOMAN. Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure, Love l)reseiits the fatirest treasure, Leave all other joys for me. A CHALDEAN ATTENDANT. Or rather, love’s delights despising, Haste to raptures ever rising, Wine shall bless the brave and free. FIRST PRIEST.

Wine and beauty thus inviting, Each to dilfferent joys exciting, Whither shall my choice incline? ISRAIruILISH WOMAN. Ah toe! what angry terrors round us grow! How shrinks imy soul to meet the threatened bloit Ye prophets, skilled in Heaven’s eternal truth, Forgive my sex’s fears, forgive my youth! Ah! let us one, one little hour obey; To-norrow’s tears may wash the stain away, SECOND PRIEST. I’ll waste no longer thought in choosing, But, neither this nor that refusing, I’ll make them both together mine. FIRST PRIEST. But whence, when joy should brighten over the land, This sullen gloom in Judah’s captive band? Ye sons of Judah, why thle lute unstrung? Or why those harps on yonder willows hung? Come, take the lyre, and pour the strain along, The day demands it: sing us Sion’s song, Dismiss your griefs, and join our warbling choir, For who like you can wake the sleeping lyre? Hope, like the taper’s gleamy light, Ado rns the wretch’s way; An,] still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray. ./ir. Every moment as it flows Some en peuliar pl easure owes: Come, then, providently wise, Seize the debtor ere it flies. SECOND PRIEST. Why this delay? At length for joy prepare: I read your looks, and see compliance there. Come on, and bid the warbling rapture rise, Our monarch’s fame the noblest theme supplies. Begin, ye captive bands, and strike the lyre, The time, the theme, the place, and all conspire. SECOND

PROPHET. Chained as we are, the scorn of all mankind, To want, to toil, and every ill consigned, Is this a time to bid us raise the strain, Or mix in rites that Heaven regards with pain? NA), never! may this hand forget each art That wakes to finest joys the human heart, Ere I forget the land that gave me birth, 0z join to sounds profane its sacred mirth! FIRST

PRIEST. While these a constant revel keep, Shatll reason only teach to weep? Hence, intruder! we’ll pursue Nature, a better guide than you.

SECOND PRIEST. Rebellious slaves! if soft persuasion fail, More formidable terrors shall prevail. FIRST PROPHET. Why, let them come, one good remains to cheerWe fear the Lord, and scorn all other fear. [Exeunt CHALDEANS.

SECOND PRI’EST. But hold! see, foremost of the captive choir, The master prophet grasps his full-toned lyre. Mark where he sits, with executing art, Feels flr each tone, and speeds it to the heart! See, how prophetic raptutre fi l ls his torm, Awfii as clouds that nurse the growing storm An,] now his voice, ace, rFlant to the string, I reparcs oala monalch’b victories to sing. CHORUS OF ISRAELITES. Can chains or tortures bend the mind On God’s supperting breast reclined? Stand fast, and let. our tyrants see That fortitude is victory. Exeunt. I i I iI i I i i i I I I 3 , i 11 I i i i i I i i ACT THE SECOND. ISRAELITr,,s and CHALDEANS, as be. .dir.

.air. .dir. .dir. Fierce is the tempest howling Along the furrowed niain, And fierce the whirlwind rollin-, Over Afric’s sandy plain:. But storms that fly ‘I’o rend the sky, F,very ill pres,-iginz, Less dreadful shoxv To worlds below Than angry monarchs raging. .dir. r, atigued with life, yet loath to part, On hope the wretch relies; And ei,ery blow that sinks the heart Bids the deluder rise. SECOND PRIEST. Think not to-morrow can repay The debt of pleasure lost to-day: Alas! to-morrow’s richest store Can but pay its prol)er score. .dir. CHALDEAN WOMAN. See the ruddy morning smilin,-“I Hear the gi-ove to bliss beguiling; Zepliyrs through the woodland playing,, Streams along the valley straying.

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‘THE BEAUTlIES OF’GOJ,DS~T\llH. Those eyeless orbs that shook with ghastly glare, Those unbecoming rags, that mnatted hair! And shall not Heaven for this avenge the foe, Grasp the red bolt, and lay the guilty low? How long, how long, Almighty God of all, Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall I FIRST PROPHET. From north, from south, from east, from west, Conspiring nations come: Tremble, tho. vice-polluted breast! Blasphemers, all be dumb. The tempest gathers all around, On Babylon it lies; Down with her!

down, down to the ground She sinks, she groans, she dies. ISRAELITISH

WOMAN. As panting flies the hunted hind Where brooks refieshing stray; And rivers through the valley wind, That stop the hunter’s way: SECOND

PROPHET. Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust, Before yon setting sun; Serve her as she hath served the just! ‘Tis fixed-it shall be done. Thus, we, 0 Lorl, alike distressed, For streams of mercy long; Streams which cheer the sore oppressed, And overwhelm the strong. FIRST PRIEST. No more!

when slaves thus insolent presume, The king himself shall judge and fix their doom. Unthinking wretches! have not you and all Beheld our power in Zedekiah’s fall?? To yonder gloomy dungeon turn your eyes: See where dethroned your captive monarch lies, Deprived of sight, 4nd rankling in his chain; See where he mourns his friends and children slain. Yet know, ye slaves, that still remain behind More ponderous chains, and dungeons more confined. FIRST PROPHET. But whence that shout? Good heavens!

Amazement all! See yonder tower just nodding to the fall: Behold, an army covers all the ground, ‘Tis Cyrus here that pours destruction round, And now, behold, the battlements recline0 God of hosts, the victory is thine!

CHORUS OF CAPTIVES. Down with them, Lord, to lick the dustg Thy vengeance be begun; Serve them as they have served the just, And let thy will be done. Arise, all potent ruler, rise, And vindicate thy people’s cause, Till every tongue in every land Shall offer up unfeigned applause FIRST

PRIEST. All, all is lost! The Syrian army fails, Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails. The ruin smokes, the torrent pours alongHow low the proud, how feeble are the strong! Save us, 0 Lord! to Thee, though late, we praAnd give repentance but an hour’s delay. FIRST PRIEST. Yes, rny companions, Heaven’s decrees are passed, And our fixed empire shall for ever last; In vain the maddening prophet threatens wo, In vain rebellion aims her secret blow; Still shall our name and growing power be spread, And still our justice crush the traitor’s head. SECOND PROPHET. Now, now’s our time! ye wretches bold and blind, Brave but to God, and cowards to mankind, Ye seek in vain the Lord unsought before, Your wealth, your lives, your kingdom, are no more. Coev al with man Our empire began, And never shall fall Till ruin shakes all. When ruin shakes all, Then shall Babylon fall. ,Iir. 0 Lucifer, thou son of monri, Of Heaven alike and man the foe, H eaven, men, and all, Now press thy fall, And sink thee lowest of the low. SECOND PROPHET. ‘Tis tihus the proud triumphant rear the head,-H A little while, and all their power is fled. But, ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train, That onward slowly bends along the plain? And now, behold, to yonder bank they bear A pallid corse, and rest the body there. Alas! too well mine eyes indignant trace The last remains of Judah’s royal race: Fallen is our king, and all our fears are o’er, Unhappy Zedekiah is no more. FIRST PROPHET. 0 Babylon, how art thou fallen! Thy fall more dreadful from delay! Thy streets forlorn To wilds shall turn, Where toads shall pant and vultures prey. SECOND PROPHET. Such be her fate. But hark! how from afar The clarion’s note proclaims the finished war I Our great restorer, Cyrus, is at hand, And this way leads his formidable band. Give, give your songs of Sion to the wind. And hail the benefactor of mankind: He comes, puxsuan t to divine decree, To chain the strong, and set the captive free. FIRST PROPHET. Ye vain, whom youth and pleasure guide, A while the bliss suspend; Like yours, his life began in pride, Like his, your lives shall end. CHORUS OF YOUTHS. Rise to transports past expressing, Sweeter by remembered woes; Cyruis comes, our wrongs redressing Comes to give the world repose. S;ECOND PROPHET. Behold his wretched corse with sorrow worn, His squalid limbs by ponderous fetters torn; i i i i i i i ii ii I i 1 I i i I I i tI i i i i i I 322

.dir. .dir. CHORUS OF ALL. [Bxeunt. ACT THE THIRD. .dir. FIRST AND SECOND

PRI]CST. 0 happy, who in happy hour To God their praise bestow, And own his all-consuming power Before they feel the blow! .dir. I i .dir. Ye wretches, who by fortune’s hate In want and sorrow groan, Come, ponder his severer fate, And learn to bless your own.

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THE BEAUTIES OF Nor did the cruel ravagers design To finish all their efforts at a blow: But, mischievously slow, They robbed the relic and defaced the shrine. With unavailing grief, Despairing of.relief, Her weeping children round Beheld each hour Death’s growing power, And trembled as he frowned. As helpless friends who view from shore The laboring ship, and hear the tempest roar, While winds and waves their wishes cross,They stood, while hope and comfort fail, Not to assist, but to bewail The inevitable loss. Relentless tyrant, at thy call How do the good, the virtuous fall! Truth, beauty, worth, and all that most engage, But wake thy vengeance and provoke thy rage. SONG. BY A I%AN-BASSO, STACCATO, SPIRITUOSO. When vice my dart and scythe supply, How great a King of Terrors I! If folly, frauds, your hearts engage, Trelmble, ye mortals, at my rage! Fall, round me fall, ye little things, Ye statesmen, warriors, poets, kings, If virtue fail her counsel sage, Tremble, ye mortals, at my rage! Cyrus comes, tihe world redressing, Love and pleasure in his train; Comes to heighten every blessing, Comes to soften every pain. SEMI-CHORUS. H-ail to him with mercy reigning, Skilled in every peaceful art; Who, from bonds our limbs unchaining, Only binds the willing heart. THE LAST CHORUS. But chief to thee, our God, defender, friend, Let praise be given to all eternity; 0 Thou, without beginning, without end, Let us all begin and end in Thee I T H R E N O D 1 A A UGUST,A I IS.*

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER LATE ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS DOWAGER OF

VWALI.ES AIR-TRIO. ARISE, ye sons of earth, arise, And waken every note of wo! When truth and virtue reach the skies ‘Tis ours to weep the want below. MAN SPEAKER. Yet let that wisdom, urged by her example, Teach us to estimate what all must suffer: Let us prize death as the best gift of nature, As a safe inn where weary travellers, When they have journeyed through a world ~d cares, May put off life, and be at rest for ever.

Groans, weeping friends, indeed, and gloomy sables May oit distract us with their sad solemnity: The preparation is the executioner. Death, when unmasked, shows me a friendly face, And is a terror only at a distance: For as the line of life conducts me on To Death’s great court, the prospect seems more fair; ‘Tis Nature’s kind retreat, that’s a l way s open To talie us in when we have drained the cup Of life, or worn our days to wretchedness. In that secure, serene retreat, Where all the humble, all the great, Promiscuously recline; Where, wildly huddled to the eye, The beggar’s pouch and prince’s purple lie: May every bliss be thine! And, ah!

blest spirit, wheresoe’er thy flight, Through rolling worlds, or fields of liquid light, May cherubs welcome their expected guest.! May saints with songs receive thee to their rest.’ May peace, that claimed, while here, thy warmest love, May blissful, endless peace be thine above I lTne praise attending pomp and power, The incense given to kings, Are but the trappings of an hour, Mere transitory things. The base bestow them; but the good agree To spurn the venal gifts as flattery. But when to pomp and power are joined An equal dignity of the mind; When titles are the smallest claim; When wealth, and rank, and noble blood, But aid the power of doing good; Then all their trophies last-and flattery turns to fame.

Blest spirit thou, whose faime, just born to bloom, Shall spread and flourish fiom the tomb, How hast thou left mankind for Heaven! Even now reproach and faction mourn, And, wondering how their rage was born, Request to be forgiven! Alas! they never had thy hate; Unmoved, in conscious rectitude, Thy towering mind self-centred stood, Ncr wanted man’s opinion to be great. In vain, to charm the ravished sight, A thousand gifts would fortune send; Inr. vain, to drive thee from the right, A thousand sorrows urged thy end: Like some well-fashioned arch thy patience stood, And purchased strength from its increasing load. Pain met thee like a friend to set thee free, Affliction still is virtue’s opportunity! Virtue, on herself relying, Every passion hashed to rest, Loses every pain of dying In the hopes of being blest. Every added pang she suffers Some increasing good bestows, And every shock that malice offers, Only rocks her to repose. WOMAN SPEAKER. Our vows are heard! Long, long to mortal eyes, Her soul was fitting to its kindred skies: Celestial-like her bounty fell, Where modest Want and patient 9oi-ow dwell; Want passed for Merit at her door, Unseen the modest were supplied, Her constant pity fed the poor,Then only poor, indeed, the day she died.

And, oh! for tlhis, while sculpture decks thy shrine, And art exhausts profusion round, The tribute of a tear be mine. WVOMAN SPEAKER. Yet ah!

what terrors frowned upon her fate, Death, with hit formidable band, Fever, and pain, and pale consumptive care, Determined took their stand.

liuIs p,emn waas p.eare(l ini little more than two days, anrd, ,,ken:i,d siung il tie great room in Soho-square, TlLurday, tihe 3th oi’ FebruiarI, 1,7Z2. G”LDSNIITH. P23 CIIORUS OF VIRGINS. CHORUS. When truth and virtue, &c. MAN SPEAKER. SONG. BY A WOMAN-AMOROSO. Lovely, lasting Peace, below, Comforter of every wo, Heavenly bom, and bred on higt., To crown the favorites of the sky! Lovely, lasting Peace, appear! This world itself, if thou art here, .s once again with Eden blest, And man contains it in his breast.

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THE BEAUT’ IES .............. A simple song, a sigh profound. There Faith shall come-a pilgrim gray, To bless the tomb that wraps thy clay! And calm Religion shall repair To dwell a weeping hermit there. Truth, Fortitude, and Friendship, shall agree To blend their virtues while they think of thee. AIR-CHOR’US PO.VPOSO. Let us-let all the world agree, To profit by resembling thee. PART II. SONG.-BY A WOMAN. Each day, each hour, her name I’ll bless, My morning and my evening song, And when in death my vows shall cease, My children shall the note prolong. M51AN SPEAKER. The hardy veteran after struck the’sight, Scarred, mangled, maimed in every part, Lopped of his limbs in many a gallant fight, In naught entire-except his heart: Mute for a while, and sullenly dlstrest, At last th’ impetuous sorrow fired his breast: “Wil( is the whirlwin(d iolling O’er Afiic’s sandy 1)plin, And wide the tempest howling Ahong the billowsed imlain: But every dan,-er flt l)ef,j-e, The rgill h deep, lthe whislwitle’s roar, Less dreadful struck me with dismay Than what I feel this fatal day. Oh, let me fly a lan,l that spurns the brave, Oswego’s dreary shores shall be my grave; I’ll seek that le(ss inhospitable coast, And lay miy boily where iny limbs were lost.” FAST by that shore where Thames’ translucent stream Reflects new glories on his breast, Where, splendid as the youthful poet’s dream, He forms a scene beyond Elysium blest; Where sculptured elegance and native grace Unite to stamp the beauties of the place; While, sweetly blending, still are seen The wavy lawn, the sloping green; While novelty, with cautious cunning, Through every maze of fancy running, From China borrows aid to deck the scene; There, sorrowing by the river-‘s glassy bed, Forlorn, a rural band complained, All whom AUGUsTA’s bounty fed, All whom her clemency sustained; The good old sire, unconscious of decay, The modest matron, clad in home-spun gray, The military boy, the orphaned maid, The shattered veteran now first dismayed,These sadly join beside the murmuring deep, And, as they view the towers of Kew, Call on their mistress-now no more-and weep. CHORUS-AFPETUOSO, LARGO. Ye shady walks, ye waving greens, Ye nodding towers, ye fairy scenes, Let all your echoes now deplore, That she who formed your beauties is no more. WOMAN SPEAKER. In innocence an(] youth complaining Next appeared a lovely maid; Affliction, o’er each feature reigning, Kindly came in beauty’s aid: Every grace that grief dispenses, Every glance that warmis the soul, In sweet succession charnms the senses, While Pity harmonized the whole. The garland of beauty,“‘tis thus she would say, “No more shall mh crook or my temples adorn; I’ll not w ear a garland-Augush’s away I’ll not wear a garland until she return. But, alas! that return I never shall see: The echoes of Thames shall my sorrows proclaim, There promised a lover to come-but, ah me! ‘Twas death-‘twas the death of my mistress that come But eve,’ for ever, her image shall last, I’ll strip ali the Sprinz of its earliest bloom; On her sl’ave shall the eowslip and primrose be calt, And the new-l)lo.ssomed thorn shall whiten her tomb.’ SONG.-IBY A IVOMAN.-P]ASTORA LE. With garlan(ds of beanty the Queen of the May No more will her crook or her temples adorn; For who’d wear a garland when she is away, When she is remove(] and shall never return? MAN SPEAKER. First of the train the patient rustic came, Whose callous hand had formed the scene, Bending at once with sorrow and with age, With many a tear, and many a sigh between: “And where,” he cried, ” shall now my babes have bread Or how shall age support its feeble fire? No lord will take me now, my vigor fled, Nor can my strength perform what they require: Each grudging master keeps the laborer bare, A sleek and idle race is all their care. My noble mistress thought not so: Her bounty, like the morning dew, Unseen, though constant, used to flow, And as my strength decayed, her bounty grew.” WOMAN SPEAKER.

In decent dress, and coarsely clean, The pious matron next was seen, Clasped in her hand a godly book was borne, By use and daily meditation worn; That decent dress, this holy guide, Augusta’s cares had well supplied. “And, ah!” she cries, all wobegone, ” What now remains for me?

Oh! where shall weeping want repair To ask for charity? Too late in life for me to ask, And shame prevents the deed, And tardy, tardy are the times To succor should I need. But all my wants, before I spoke, Were to my mistress known; She still relieved, nor sought my praise. Contented with her own. But every day her name I’ll tbles, My morning prayer, my evening song, I’ll praise her while my life shall last, A life that can not last me long.” On the grave of Augusta these garlands be placed, We’ll rifle the Splring of its earliest bloom, And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast, And the new-blossomed thorn shall whiten her tomb CHORIUS.-ALTRO MODO. On the grave of Augusta this garland be placed, We’ll rifle the Spring of its earliest bloonm, And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast, And the tears of her country shall water her tomb. I i i i i I i I i 11 i i i Ii i I ii I I ‘324 OF GOLDSMITH. I i i I I I i MAN

SPEAKER. SONG.-BY A RIAN.-BASSO SPIRITUOSO. Old Ed’war(I’s tirlinowp. tr) yield, S’t)all crow,] froiii Ci-essy’s laurelled field, To do tby memory ri_glit: For tliine and Britain’s wrongs they feel, Again they snatch the gleamy steel, An(] wiqh th’ avenging fight. iI i i l, i ii i i i I WEEPING. WF,EPING, nitiriiiuring, complaining, Lost to every gay (feliht, Myra too sincere for feignin, Fears the apl)ro,,iciiin,7 brid.-tl niglt.

Yet why imp(i,i thy briht perfection, Or (lim thy beauty witli q, te-,r?

Had Myra foll,),ed my direction, Slie ]on,- h-.t(i of -r

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BEAUTIES OF GOLDSMITti. But no matter, I‘11l warrant we‘11 make up the party With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty. The one is a Scotchman, the other a Jew: They’re both of them merry, and authors like you: The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge; Some think he w rite s Cinna-he ow ns t o Panurge.” While thus he d es cribed them, by tradle and by nam e, They entered, and dinner was served as they came. At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen; At the bottom, was trip e i n a swinging tur een; At the sides, there was spinach, and pudding made hot In the middle, a place where the pasty-was not. Now, my lord, as for tripe, it’s my utter aversion, And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian; So there I sat stuck like a horse in a pound, While the bacon and liver went merrily round: But what vexed me most was that d l Scottish rogue, With his long-winded speeches, his smiles, and his brogue; And, ” Madam,” quoth lie, ” may this bit be my poison, A prettier dinner I never set eyes on: Pray, a slice of your liver, though, may I be curst, But I’ve eat of your tripe till I’m ready to burst.” “The tripe!” quoth the Jew with his chocolate cheek, “I could dine on this tripe seven days in a week: I like these here dinners, so pretty and small; But your friend there, the Doctor, eats nothing at all.” “0 ho!” quoth my friendl, ” he‘11 come on in a trice, He’s keeping a corner for something that’s nice: There’s a pasty.” “A pasty!” repeated the Jew, “I do n’t care if I keep a corner for’t too.” “What the deil mon, a pasty!” re-echoed the Scot, “Though splitting, I‘11 still keep a corner for that.” “We‘11 all keep a corner,”

the lady cried out; “We’ll all keep a corner,” was echoed about. While thus we resolved, and the pasty delayed, With looks that quite petrified, entered the maid: A visage so sad, and so pale with affright, Waked Priam, in drawing his curtains by night. But we quickly found out-for who could mistake ter?That she came with some terrible news from the bakex,And so it fell out; for that negligent sloven Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven. Sad Philomel thus-but let similes dropAnd now that I think on’t, the story may stop. To be plain, my good lord, it’s but labor mnisplaced, To send such good verses to one of your taste: You’ve got an odd something-a kind of discerning, A relish-a taste-sickened over by learning; At least it’s vour temper, as very well known, That you think very slightly of all that’s your own: So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss, You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this. THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.* A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LORD CLARE. THANKs, my lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter Ne’er ranged in a forest, or smoked in a platter. The haunch was a picture for painters to study, The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy; Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regret ting To spoil such a delicate picture by eating: I had thoughts, in my chamber to place it in view, To be shown to my friends as a piece of virt6;ue As in some Irish houses, where things are so so, One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show; But for eating a rasher of what they take pride in, They’d as soon think of eating the pan it is fried in. But hold-let me pause-lo n’t I hear you pronounce, This tale of the bacon’s a damnable bounce? Well, suppose it a bounce-sure a poet may try, By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly. But, my lord, it’s no bounce: I protest, in my turn, It’s a truth, and your lordship may ask Mr. Burn.t To go on with my tale: as I gazed on the haunch, I thought of a friend that was trusty and( staunch, So I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest, To paint it, or eat it, just as he liked best. Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose’T was a neck and a breast that might rival Monroe’s: But in parting with these I was puzzed again, With the how, and the who, and the where, and the when. There’s H-d, and C-y, and H-rth, and H-fif, [ thilnk they love venison-I know they love beef; There’s my counti-man, Higgins-oh, let him alone For making a blunder, or picking a bone:. But, hang it, to poets who seldom can eat, Your very good mutton’s a very good treat; Such dainties to them their health it might hurt, It’s like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt. While tihus I debated, in revery centred, An acquaintancea fi’iend, as he called himself-entered; An under-bred, fina-spoklen fellow was he, And lie smiled as he looked at the venison and me,” What have we got here? -Wlhy, this is good eating! Your own, I suppose-or is it in waiting?” “Why, whose should it be?” cried I, with a flounce, ” I get these things often”-but that was a bounce: “Some lords, miy acquaintance, that settle the nation, Are pleased to be kind-but I hate ostentation.” “If that be the case, then,” crie.l he, very gay, I am glad I have taken this house in my way: To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me; No words-I insist on’t-precisely at three; We’ll have Johnson, and Burke, all the wits will be there: My acquainitance is slight, or I’d ask my lord Clare. And, now that I think on’t, as I am a sinner, We wanted this venison to make out a dinner. What say you-a pasty?

it shall, and it must, And imy wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust.

Here, thorter-this venison with me to Mile-end: No stirring, I beg my dear friend-my dear friend!” Thus, snatching his hat, lie brushed off like the wind, And the porter and eatables followed behind. Left alone to reflect, hlaving emptiel rty shelf, Arnd “nobody with me at sea but myself a”5+ T’hough I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty, Yet Johnson, and Burke, andl a good venison pasty, Were things that I never disliked in my life, Though clogeed with a coxcoinb, and Kitty his wife. So next day, in due splendor to make my approach, [ drove to hi. door in my own hackney-coach. When come to the place where we all were to dine, -A chair-lumbered closet, just twelve feet by nine,) My friendl bade me welcome, but struck me quite dumb With tidings that Johnson and Burke would not come; “For I knew it,” he cried, “both eternally fail, The one with his speeches, and t’ other with Thrale:~ * The description of the dinner party in this poem is imitated ~ror BO);!eau’s fourth Satire.

Boileau himself took the hint from HToracte, I.i.;. ii., Sat. 8, which has also been imitated by Regnier, Sat. 1X. ‘t’,‘r.‘‘are’s nVop}ew. .+

S,<'.l..... I, ‘ d t l.t p s,eed a r t tE  n It Nd Rueal oligalowsdg Ioedry {I llk,’:~i (?.,‘1 ac t e:s l. aunt i.al:lv GO.~qv’:n,r 1 so1o.

176G9. e. e,nine:t!,,‘P..t,:n lorevr. HI. P. fo, tile borough of South u.ark at;,’ %s h..’ ~‘tat.le itr. Jeohll solo asas a frt l00t0 guest.

SECTr.UED f rom domestic strife, Jack Book-worm led a college life; A fellowship at twenty-five Made him the happiest man alive; He drank his glass, and cracked his joke, And freshmen wondered as he spoke. Such pleasures, unalloyed with care, Could any accident impair? Could Cupid’s shaft at length transfix Our swain, arrived at thirty-six? Oh, had the archer ne’er come down To ravage in a country town! Or Flavia been content to stop At triumphs in a Fleet street shop! Oh, had her eyes forgot to blaze! Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze! Oh! but let exclamation cease, Her presence banished all his peace; So with decorum all things carried, Miss frowne(l, and blushed, and then was-Maroaed. Nee,1 we expose to vligar sight The t ures of the bridal night? Nee~l we introile on hallow(-ed( grou.ind, Or draw the curtains closed around? i I I 325 THE DOUBLE

TRANSFORMATION. A TALE.

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326i:’THE BEAUTIES O Let it suffice that each had charms: He clasped a goddess in his arms; And though she felt his usage rough,h Yet in a man’twas well enough. The honeymoon like lightning flew, The second brought its transports too; A third, a fourth, were not amiss, The fifth was friendship mixed with bliss: But, when a twelvemonth passed away, Jack found his goddess made of clay; Found half the charms that decked her face Arose from powder, shreds, or lace; But still the worst remained behindThat very face had robbed her mind. Skilled in no other arts was she, But dressing, patching, repartee; And, just as humor rose or fell, By turns a slattern or a belle. ‘Tis true she dressed with modern grace, Halt’-naked, at a ball or race; But when at home, at board or bed, Five greasy nightcaps wrapped her head. Could so much beauty condescend To be a dull domestic friend? i Could any curtain-lectures bringO To decency so fine a thin,g! In short, by night,‘twas fits or fretting; By day,‘twas gadding or coquetting. Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy Of powdered coxcombs at her levee; The squire and captain took their stations, And twenty other near relations: Jack sucked his pipe, and often broke A sigh in suffocating smoke; While all their hours were passed between Insulting repartee and spleen. Thus, as her faults each day were known, He thinks her features coarser grown; lie fancies every vice she shows, Or thins her lip, or points her nose: Whenever rage or enqy rise, How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes! He knows not how, but so it is, Her face is g-own a knowing phiz; Axid, though her fcops are wondrous civil, He thinks her ngly as the devil. Now, to perplex the ravelled noose, As each a different way pursues, While sullen or loquacious strife Promised to hold them on for life, That dire disease, whose ruthless power Withers the beauty’s transient flowerLo! the small-pox with horrid glare, Levelled its terrors at the fair; And, rifling every youthful grace, Left but the remnant of a face. The glass grown hateful to her sight, Reflected now a perfect fright: Each former art she vainly tries To bring back lustre to her eyes; In vain she tries her paste and creams ro smooth her skin or hide its seams; Her country beaux and city cousins, Lovers no more, flew off by dozens; The squire himself was seen to yield, Ard e’en the captain quit the field. Poor madam, now condemned to hack The rest of life with anxious Jack, Perceiving others fairly flown, Attempted pleasing him alone. Jack soon was dazzled to behold Her present face surpass the old: With modesty heer cheeks are died, Humility displaces pride; For tawdry finery is seen A person ever neatly clean; lqo more preexaming on her sway, She learns goofd nature every day: Serenely gay, a nd strict in duty, Jack finds his wife a perfect beaut, S r * This hiappy imnitation w,as adopted by his D)ublin plhlishel, J. genuine poem of Svift, and as such it has i’eer reprinted in alinoy every edition of ithe Dean’s works. Even Sir Wa ter Scott has in sertcd it without an,ry remr,ark it, h’ vd’Aion )f Swi’t’s X~‘orks. ‘t Sit Robert Wallpolo.

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SMITH. 327 ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH, The stress of all my proofs on him I lay, And now proceed we to our simile. STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING. SURE’twas by Providence designed, Rather in pity than in hate, That he should be, like Cupid, blind, To save him from Narcissus’ fate. Imprimis, pray observe his hat, Wings upon either side-mark that. Well! what is it from thence we gather? Why, these denote a brain of feather. A brain of feather! very right, With wit that’s flighty, learning light; Such as to modern bard’s decreed: A just comparison-proceed. JOHN TROTT was desired by two witty peers To tell them the reason why asses had ears; “An’t please you,” quoth John, “I’m not given to letters Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters: Howe’er, from this time, I shall ne’er see your gracesAs I hope to be saved!-without thinking on asses.” Imn the next place, his feet peruse, Wings grow again from both his shoes; Designed, no doubt their part to beor, And waft hi s godship through the air: A nd h ere my siTile unites; For in a modern poet’s flights, I’m sure it may be justly said, His feet are useful as his head. Lastly, vouchsafe to observe his hand, Filled with a snake-encircled wand, By classic authors termed caduceus, And highly famed for several uses. To wit,-.most wondrously endued, No poppy water half so good; For let follcs only get a touch, Its soporific virtiie’s such, Though ne’er so much awake before, That quickly they begin to snore; Add, too, what certain writers tell, With this he drives men’s souls to hell. EPITAPH ON DR. PARNELL. THIS tomb, inscribed to gentle PARNELL’S name, May speak our gratitude, but not his fame. What heart but feels his sweetly moral lay, That leads to truth through pleasure’s flowery way Celestial themes confessed his tuneful aid; And Heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid. Needless to him the tribute we bestow, The transitory breath of fame below: More lasting rapture from his works shall rise, While converts thank their poets in the skies. Now, to apply, begin we then: His wand’s a modern author’s pen; The serpents round about it twined Denote him of the reptile kind, Denote the rage with which he writes, His frothy slaver, venorned bites; An equal semblance still to keep, Alike, too, both conduce to sleep; This difference only, as the god Drove souls to Tartarus with his rod, With his goose-quill the scribbling elf, Instead of others, damns himself. E’EN have you seen, bathed in the morning dew, The budding rose its infant bloom display; When first its virgin teints unfold to view, It shrinks and scarcely trusts the blaze of day: So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came, Youth’s damask glow just dawning on her cheek; I gazed, I sighed, I caught the tender flame, Felt the fond pang, and drooped with passion weak. And here my simile almost tr;.ipt, Yet grant a word by way of postscript. Moreover, Mercury had a failing; Well! what of that? out with it-stealing; In which all modern bards agree, Being each as ereat a thief as he. Bu t e’ en this deity’s existence Shall lend mv simile assistance: Our modern bards! why, what a pox, Are they but senseless stones and blocks? IN these bold times, when Learning’s sons explore The distant climates and the savage shore; When wise astronomers to India steer, And quit for Venus many a brighter here; While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling, Forsake the fair, and patiently-go simpling: Our bard into the general sprit enters, And fits his little frigate for adventures. With Scythian stores, and trinkets deeply laden, He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading; Yet ere he lands he’s ordered me before, To make an observation on the shore.

Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost! This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast. Lord, what a sultry climate am I under! Yon ill-foreboding cloud seems big with thunder: There mangroves spread, and larger than I’ve seen’em Here trees of stately size-and billing turtles in’em. Here ill-coneitioned oranges abound And apples, bitter apples, strew the -round: The inhabitants are cannibals, I fear: I heard a hissin there are serpents here! Oh, there the people are-best keep my distance: Our Captain, gentle natives, craves assistance; Our ship’s well stored-in yonder creek we’ve.aid he His honor is nc mercenary trader. This is his first adventure: lend him aid, And we may chance to drive a thriving trade. His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far, Equally fit for gallantry and w ar. What! no reply to promises so ample? I’d best step back and order up a sample. * A tragedy, written tby Coseph radock, Esq., and acted at t,o. Theatre Roy-, Covent Garden, 1.-72. NRIT-rEN AND SPOKFN

BY THE POET LABERIUS, A ROTT.N KNIGHT, WHOMI CESAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE.

WHAT! no wav left to shun the inglorious stage, And save from infamv my sinking age! Scarce half alive, oppressedl with many a year, What in the name of dotage drives me here? A time there was, when glory was my guide, Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside; Unawed by power, and unappalled by fear, With honest thrift I held my honor dear: But this vile hour disperses all my store, And all my hoard of honor is no more; For, ah! too partial to my life’s decline, Cesar persuades, submission must be mine; Him I obey, whom Heaven itself obeys, Hopeless of t)leasing, yet inclined to please. Here then at once I welcome every shame, And cancel, at threescore, a life of fame: No more mv titles shall my children tell, The old buffoon will fit my name as well: Th is day bevonw o its term my fate extends, For life is ended when our honor ends. I THE BEAU,RIES OF

GOI THE CLOWNIS REPLY. LINES. PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE.0 A PROLOGI-TE,

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THE BEAUTIES OF GOLDSMITH. DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR’S BED-CHAMBER WHERE the Red Lion, staring o’er the way, Invites each pIassing stranger that can pay; Where Calvert’s butt, and Paison’s black champagne, Regale the drabs an(! bloods of Drury-lane: There, in a lonely room, fliom bailiffs snug, The Muse found Sciro,gen stretched beneath a rag; A window, patched with paper, lent a ray, That dimly snowed the state in which he lay; The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread; The humid wall with p)alti y pictures spread; The royal game of goose was there in view, And the twelve rfties the Royal Mairtyr drew The Seasons, framrned with listing, found a place, And brave Prince William showed his lamp-black face I t The mnorn was cold; he views with keen desire The rusty grate unconscious of a fire: I With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scored, I And five cracked tea ,‘N: lressed the chimney-board; A night cal) decked his brows insteadI of bay, A cap by night-a stocking all the d’ I’ll give thee something yet unpaid, Not less sincere than civil,I’ll give thee-ah! too charming maid!‘ll give thee-to the Devil! AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS.

MARY BLAIZE. GOOD people all, with one accord Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted aF good w ord From those who spoke her praise. q ELEGY ON THE

DEATH OF A M-AD DOG. The needy seldom passedt her door, And always f(ouin(d her kind; She freely lent to all the poor Who left a pledge behind. She strove the neighborhood to please With manners won(Irous winning; And never followe(d wvicked ways Unless when she was sinning. At church in silks and satins new, With hoop of monstrous size, She never slumbered in her pew Bu t when shle shut her eyes. GOOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song, And if you find it wondrous short, It can not hold you lon,g. In Isiington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran, When’er he went to pray. A kind and and gentle heart he had, To comnfort friends and foes: The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes. And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog to gain his private ends, Went mad, and bit the man. lIer love wah s sought, I do aver By twenty beaux and more; The kings himself has followed her When she has walked before. But now, her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all; The doctors fotind, when she was de,ad Her last disorder mortal. Around from all the neighboring streets The wondering neighbors ran, And swore the dog had lost its wits, To bite so good a man. Let us glament in s orrow s ore, For Kent street well Inay say, That had she lived a twelvemonth mores She had not died to-day. The wound it seemed both sore and sad To every Christian eye; And while they swore the (log was mad, They swore the man would die. But soon a wonder came to light, That showed the rogues they lied: The man recovered of the bite The dog it was that died. The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring hi~ bosom, is-to die. ON THE DEATH OF WOLFE. AMMDST the clamor of exulting joys, Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice, And quells the raptures which from pleasure start. 0 Wolfe! to thee a streaming floo d of wo Sighing w e pay, and think e’en conquest dear; Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow, While thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear. Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigor fled, And saw thee fall with jo pronouncinpeyes; Yet they shall know tloil conquerest, though dead! Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise. But I will rally, and combat thle rninyr: Not a look, nor a smile, shall clay passion discover She that Lives all to the false onhe,l’r~‘in~ her, Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover. ii i i il i I I i I ,328 THE GIFT. TO IRIS, IN BOW STREET COVENT GARDEti. .-AY. cruel Iris, pretty rake, Dear mercenary beauty, What annual offering stiall I make Expressive of my duty? My heart, a victim to thine eyes, Should I at once deliver, Say, would the angry f,-tir one prize The gift, who sliglits the giver? A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, My rivals give-and let’em: If gems, or gold, impart a joy, I’ll give thein-when I get’em. I’H give-but not the full-blown rose, Or rose-bud more in fashion; Such short-lived offerings but disclose A transitory passion STANZAS ON IVOMAN. AVHF,N lovelv woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can sooth her melancholy? What art can wash her guilt away? WHEN

SHALL I MARRY ME? AH me! when shall I mat-ry me? Lovers are plenty, btit fail lo relieve rr,,t. He, fond youth, that coal(‘, carrv me. Offers to love, but means to t-ecerve me.

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THE ALBUM OF LOVE. “Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below and saints above.” And men below and saints above.” DE D ICA T ION.

To those who have already learned to love, and, to those who have yet to love, these pages are alike dedicated; and thus the Dedication becomes of universal application; for “It is decreed by Heaven above, That soon or late we all must love.” That the love of all, who may find an echo to their own thoughts within this little volume, may be pure and prosperous, is the sincere desire of their well-wisher, THE EDITOn INVITATION. COME, thou lover, on whose eyes Dreams of absent beauty rise, In my little page thou’lt find Balmy medicin e for the mind: Love still living in its prime, Tried by sorrow, tried by time. O’er the c lou ds of human ill Soaringt a ngel-pinioned st ill. Come, thou maiden, sweet and young, Like a lyre with silver strung, Like the breathing violet, Still with morninuz’s kisses wet; Like a sweet bird in its nest, Stranger to the world’s unrest, Ere upon the breeze it flings The rich painting of its wings: Thou shalt find a wondrous spell In my little oracle. Visions bright of happy youth, Thoughts of tenderness and truth, Blooms that, borrowed from the skies, Tell on earth of paradise! 0 SACRED fire that burnest mightily In living breasts, ykind]ed first above Emongst th’ eternal spheres and lamping sky, And thence poured into men, which men call love ‘Tis that sweet fit, that does true beauty love, And choseth virtue for his dearest dame, Whence spring all noble deeds, and never-dying fame. Well did antiquitie a god thee deeme That over mortal minds has so great might, To order them as best to thee doth seeme, And all their actions to direct aright; The fatal purpose of divine foresight Thou dost effect in destined descents, Through deep impression of thy secret might; And stirrest up the hero’s high intents, Which the late world admires for wondrous monuments Ne suffereth uncomely idleness In his free thought to build her sluggish nest. Ne suffereth it thought of ungentleness Ever to creep into his noble breast; But to the highest and the worthiest Lifteth it up that else would lowly fall; It lets not fall-it lets it not to rest: It lets not scare the prince to breathe at all, But to his first pursuit him forward still doth call. SPENSEm. I’LL sing of heroes and of kings, In mighty numbers, mighty things. Begin, my Muse! but, lo! the strings To my great song rebellious prove; The strings will sound of naught but love. I broke them all, and put on new; ‘Tis this or nothing sure will do. These sure, said I, will me obey; These sure heroic notes will play. Straight I began with “Thundering Jove, And all the immortal powers;” but Love, Love smiled, and from my enfeebled lyre Came gentle airs, such as inspire Melting love and tender fire. Farewell, then, heroes! farewell kings! And mighty numbers, mighty things! Love tunes my heart just to my strings. COWLF.Y. LoviE? I will tell thee what it is to love. It is to build with human thoughts a shrine, Where Hope sits brooding like a beauteous dove; Where Time seems young, and Life a thing divine. All tastes, all pl easures, all d esi res comb ine To consecrate this sanctuary of bliss. Above, the stars in shroudless beauty shine; Around the streams their flowery margin kiss; And if there’s heaven on earth, that heaven is surely thia Yes, this is Love, the steadfast and the true, The immortal glory which hath never set; The best, the brightest boon the heart e’er knew Of all life’s sweets the very sweetest yet! Oh! who but can recall the eve they met To breathe in some green walik their first young vow, While summer flowers with moonlilht dews were wet, And(] winds sighe(l soft ariound the rnountain’s brow, Andli all was a,tire tILhenl w!i ic is )tilt memory now! C IARLX:S i’ a MU

I I I II TO LOVE. 0 0 0 A,o,aJ,,17. LOVE. YET niarl,-ed I where the bolt of Cupid fell: ft fell upoi a little western flower, B, fore milli-wh,,te, now purpled with love’s wound, And maideiis Call it 11 Love in;,,Jlciae;-zs.11 ‘‘qAT,CSPERE

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THE ALBUM OF LOVE. votre route ou les chagrins, ou les malheurs, soutenez-vouw mutuellement. Ils passeront, ces malheurs; et la f61icit6 dont vous jouirez en aura cent fois plus de charmes: le souvenir des peines passees rendra plus touchants vos plaisirs. C’est ainsi qu’apres un orage on trouve plus verd le gazon, plus riante la campagne couverte de perles liquides, plus belles les fleurs des champs relevant leurs totes pen chees; et l’on ecoute avec plus de delices l’alouette ou le rossignol qui chantent en secouant leurs ailes. FLomAff. LovE should be like that bird of light Which floateth still on radiant wings, A creature glorious, soft, and bright, Beyond young Thought’s imaginings; A spirit of the bowers of air, Which dwells in silent beauty there; A delicate fair thing; too pure This world’s cold vapors to endure; Which far away from shade itnd gloom In sun-bright regions fearlt ss flies! But if on earth-stain soil, its plume Of paradise declines and dies. ELIZA ACTON. SING, siren, for thyself, and I will dote; Spread o’er the silver waves thy golden hairs; And-as a bed I’ll take them and there lie; And in that glorious supposition think He gains by death that hath such means to die.

SHAKSPERE,. No telling how love thrives! to what it comes! Whence grows I’Tis e’en of as mysterious root As the pine that makes its lodging of the rock, Where you would think a blade of grass would die! I What is love’s poison if it be not hate? Yet in that poison oft is found love’s food.

Frowns, that are clouds to us, are suns to him! He finds a music in a scornful tongue, That melts him more than softest melodyPassion perverting all things to its mood, And, spite of nature, matching opposites!

SHF.RIDAN KNOWLES. LOVE is like the glass That throws its own rich color over all, And makes all beautiful. The morning looks Its very loveliest when the fresh air Has tinged the cheek we love with its glad red; And the hot noon flits by most rapidly When dearest eyes gaze with us on the page Bearing the poet’s words of love: and then The twilight walk when the linked arms can feel The beating of the heart: upon the air There is a music never heard but once, A light the eyes can never see again; Each star has its own prophecy of hope, And every song and tale that breathe of love Seem echoes of the heart. MIGHTY ones, Love and Death! Ye are strong in this world of ours, Ye meet at the banquets, ye dwell midst the flowers, Which hath the conqueror’s wreath? – O, THE voice of woman’s love! What a bosom-stirring word! Was a sweeter ever uttered, Was a dearer ever heard, Than woman’s love? Thou art the victor, Love! Thou art the fearless, the crowned, the free, The strength of the battle is given to thee, The spirit from above! Thou hast looked on Death and smiled! Thou hast borne up the reed-like and fragile form Through the waves of the fight, through the rush of the storm, On field, and flood, and wild! How it melt s u pon the ear! How it nourishes the heart! Cold, ah! cold must his appear That has never shared a part Of woman’s love. No! thou art the victor, Death! Thou comest, and where is that which spoke From the depth of the eye, when the spirit woke? Gone with the fleeting breath! ‘Tis pleasure to the mourner, ‘Tis freedom to the thrall; The pilgrimage of many, And the resting-place of all, Is woman’s love. Thou comest, and what is left Of all that loved us, to say if aught Yet loves-yet answers the burning thought Of the spirit lone and reft? ‘Tis the gem of beauty’s birth; It competes with joys above; What were angels upon earth, If without woman’s love Sweet woman’s love? JOHN CLARE. Silence is where thou art! Silently there must kindred meet, No smile to cheer, and no voice to greet, No bounding of heart to heart! Boast not thy victory, Death I It is but as the clouds o’er the sunbeam’s power, It is but as the winters o’er leaf and flower, That slumber the snow beneath. OH! man may bear with suffering: his heart Is a strong thing, and godlike in the grasp Of pain that wrings mortality; but tear One chord affection clings to, part one tie That binds him unto woman’s delicate love, And his great spirit yieldeth like a reed. N. P. WILlIS. It -.s but a tyrant’s reign O’er the voice and the lip which he bids be still; But the fiery thought and the lofty will Are not for him to chain! AMOUtR! toi seul remplis notre ame, toi seul es la source de tcus les biens, tant que la i,erth s’accordte avec toi. Ah! qu’elle soil zoujours ton guide, et que tu sois son consolateoir! Ne rvous quittez jamais, enfanas da ciel; marchez entolll,, en vou tenant la main. Si vons rencontrez dans 330 Dans un d6tire extr6me On veut fuir ce qu’on aime; – On N,eat se venger; On jure de changer; – On devient infid6le; On court de belle en belle; Mais on revient toujours A ses premiers amours. A LOVER TO HIS MISTRFSS. LOVE THE VICTOR. 11 De tout ce qui t’aimait, nlest il plus rien qui t’aime?I LANDON. WOMAN’S LOVE.

They sball soar his might above 1 And thus with the root whence affection I.Rpring,3, Though buried, it is not of mortal things Thou art the vi-etor, Love! FIF.MANS

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THE ALBUM OF LOVE. For even an hour, a minute’s flight, Will rob the plumes of half their light. Like that celestial bird whose nest Is found beneath fitr Eastern skies,  Whose wings, though radiant when at lest, Lose all their glory when he flies. T. MooRz OH I have I lived to see thee once again? Breathe the same air? my own, my blessed one! Look up-look up-these are the arms which sheltered When the storm howled around; and these the lips Where, till this hour, the sad and holy kiss Of parting lingered-as the fragrance left By angels when they touch the earth and vanish. Look up.-Night never panted for the sun, As for thine eyes, my soul! WOMAN’S CONSTANTCY. OH! woman, what bliss, what enchantment we owe To the spell of thy heart, to thy solace below, To thy truth so enduring, thy kindness and care In the morning of joy, in the night of despair! To thy soul’s chosen love thou unchanged wilt remain In health and in sickness, in pleasure and pain; And when closed are his lips in Deathli’s mortal eclipse, Even then, still is his the last kiss of thy lips! And over his grave t hou wilt nm ournfully k eep Thy lone vigil of sorrow, to pray and to weep: Yes! to pray, that his errors of heart be forgiven, And that-thou may’st yet meet him unsullied in heaven. JArIlEs BIRD. How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears! SHAKSPFAIE. IT was no fancy, he had named the name Of love, and at the thought her cheek grew flame: It was the first time her young ear had heard A lover’s burning sigh, or silver word: Her thoughts were all confusion, but most sweet; Her heart beat high, but pleasant was its beat. She murmured over many a: snatch of song That might to her own feelings now belong; She thought upon old histories she had read, And placed herself in each high heroine’s stead; Then woke her lute,-oh! there is little known Of music’s power till aided by love’s own. And this is happiness: Oh! love will last When all that made it happiness is past,-T

When all its hopes are as the glittering toys Tine present oflers, time to come destroys,A Whtn they have been too often crushed to earth, For further blindness to their little worth, When fond illusions have dropt one by one, Lik. pearls from a rich carcanet, till none, Art left upon life’s soiled and naked string,An this is all what time will ever bring!

LANDON. The silent, soft, and humble heart In the violet’s hidden sweetness breathes; And the tender soul that can not part, A twine of evergreen fondly wreathes. The cypress that darkly shadows the grave, Is sorrow that mourns its bitter lot; And faith that a thousand ills can brave, Speaks in thy blue leaves, forget-me-not. Lo x, passionate young Love, how sweet it is To ave the bosom made a paradise B, tee, life-lighted with thy rainbow smile! ALAS! how light a cause may move Dissension between hearts that love! Hearts that the world in vain had tried And sorrow but more closely tied; That stood the storm when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea When heaven was all tranquillity! A something light as air-a look, A word unkind, or wrongly taken,Oh! Love that tempests never shook, A breath, a touch like this hath shaken. And ruder words will soon rush in I spread the breach that words begin; And eyes forget the gentle ray They wore in courtship’s smiling day; And voices lose the tone that shed A tenderness round all they said; Till fast declining, one by one, The sweetnesses of love are gone; And hearts so lately mingled seem Like broken clou(ds,-or like the stream That smiling left the mountain’s brow As though its waters ne’er could sever; Yet e’er it reach the plain below, Breaks into floods that part for ever. Oh! you who have the charge of Love, Keep him in rosy bondage bound; As in the fields of bliss above IHe sits withl flowerets fettered round. Loose not a tie that round him clings; Nor ever let him use his wings; Then gather a wreath from thy garden bowers, And tell the wish of thy heart in flowers. PEICIV 33’.’ THE

RETURN. Siia E. L. BuLwEn. THE FIRST AVOWAL. EASTERN LOVE-LE,rTER. IN

Eastern lands they tal4- in floy7ers, And they tell in a garland their loves and cares; Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers. On its leaves a mystic language bears. The rose is the sign of joy and love, Young blushing love in its earliest dawn; And the mildness that suits the gentle dove, From the myrtle’s snoivy flower is drawn. Innocence shines in the lily’s bell, Pure as a heart in its native heaven; Fame’s bright star, and glory’s swell, By the glossy leaf of the bay is given. LANDON. STILL there clings An earth-stain to the fairest th’In-,,s; And love, that most delicious gift Upon life’s shrine of sorrow left, Has its own share of suffering. A shade falls from its radiant wing, A spot steals o’er its sunny brow, Fades the rose-lip’s witching glow. -IT is well-for earth were too like heaven If length of life to love were given. LANDON TO THIE

ALTAR. OH! there are hearts that well may date The era of their joy from thee, The birthplace of the brightest fate That wedded life and,love may be; Hearts that have blessed, that bless thee now, In memory of their plighted vow. How long, how fondly, memory dwells On moments past that led to bliss! Not Time, which breaks all other spells, E’er broke the heavenly ebarm of this, Which falls upon the heart lilie dew That decks the faded flower anew. JAmEs BIRD.

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‘THE ALBUM OF I,OVE. WHAT is Love? Ask him who lives, what is life? ask him who adores, what is God? -Thou demandest, what is Love? It is that powerful attraction toward all we concetve, or fear, or hope, beyond ourselves, when we find within our own thoughts the chasm of an insufficient void, and seek to awaken in all things that are, a community with what we experience within ourselves. If we reason, we would be understood; if we imagine, we would that the airy children of our own brain were born anew within another’s; if we feel, we would that another’s nerves should vibrate to our own; that the beams of their eyes should kindle at once and melt into our own; that lips of motionless ice should not reply to lips quivering and burning with the heart’s best blood. This is Love. This is the boneL and the sanction which connects not only man with man, but with everything that exists. We are born into the world, and there is something within us which, from the instant that we live, more and more thirsts after its likeness. This propensity develops itself with the development of our nature. We dimly see within our intellectual nature a miniature, as it were, of our entire self, yet deprived of all that we condemn or despise: the ideal proto.type of everything excellent and lovely that we are capa. ble of conceiving as belonging to the nature of man. Not onty the portrait of our external being, but an assemblage of the minutest particles of which our nature is composed: a mirror whose surface reflects only the forms of purity and brightness: a soul within our own soul that describes a circle around its proper paradise, which pain, and sorrow, and evil, dare not overleap. To this we eagerly refer all sensations, thirsting that they should resemble and correspond with it.

The discovery of its antitype; the meeting with an understanding capable of clearly estimating our own; an imagination which should enter into and seize upon the subtle and delicate peculiarities which we have delighted to cherish and unfold in secret; with a frame whose nerves, like the chords of two exquisite lyres strung to the accompaniment of one delightful voice, vibrate with the vibrations of our own; and a combination of all these in such proportion as the type within demands: this is the invisible and unattainable point to which Love tends, and to attain which it urges forth the powers of men to arrest the faintest shadow of that without the possession of which there is Lo rest nor respite to the heart over which it rules. Hence in solitude, or that deserted state when we are surrounded by human beings, and yet they sympathise not with us,we love the flowers, the grass, the waters, and the sky. In the motion of the very leaves of spring, in the blue air, there is then found a secret correspondence with our heart. There is eloquence in the tongueless wind, and a melody in the flowing brooks and the rustling of the reeds beside them, which, by their inconceivable relation to something within the soul, awakens the spirit to breathless rapture, and brings tears of mysterious tenderness to the eyes, like the enthusiasm of patriotic success, or the voice of one beloved singing to you alone.

Sterne says that if he were in a desert, he would love some cypress. So soon as this want or power is dead, man becomes a living sepulchre of himself, and what yet survives is the mere husk of what nnece he was.

SHF.LEY. ERie the tongue Can utter, or the eye a wo reveal, Her smile is round us, like a guardian spell Which nothing scatters, save the tyrant gloom Of death: and then, whose unforsaken glance Till the last hue of being fade, from dawn To midnight keeps angelic watch beside The ebbing spirit, lighting it to heaven. ‘Tis action makes the world of man: but life Is feeling, such as gentle woman bears: The fairy people of her inward world Are true affection s; when the blight hath touched Or wronged their beauty, darkly cold this earth Becomes; the elements of being fade, And silence is the sepulchre of thought, Wherein the anguish of her spirit dwells. R. MONTGOMERY. Love can not bear rude passion’s blast; Neglect pales all its fires. When once its brilliancy is past, Its struggles, but it can not last; It flickers and expires. And who that radi ant lieht can blame If quickly it depart? So delicate, so pure a flame, Which from ethereal regions came, Must live in kindred heart. Is it a crime in yon sweet flower, The child of’ lovelier skies, Because exposed in killing hour To bli’:liting winls, to tempest’s power, It sickens, ris, and dies?

IF music be the food of love, play on I Give me excess of it; thtat, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.That strain again! it ha-d a dying fall: I .1 I 332 Ali! had it grown beneath the ray . Ofgenial nati%,e sun, Whose beams had cherished it by day, And zephyrs fanne,4 it as they play, Its life had not been done. Then ye selected, sacred few, Whose bosoms are Lovels shrine, Preserve a flame, so bright, so true, Glowing with each celestial hue, And fed from source divine! MRs. Dowmxa.

I LOVE THEE. I LOVE thee, as I love the calm Of sweet, star-lighted hours!

I love thee, as I love the balm Of early jasmine flowers. I love thee, as I love the last Rich smile offading day, Which lingereth, like the look we cast On rapture past away. I love thee, as I love the tone Of soul soft-breathing flute, Whose soul is waked for me alone When all beside is mute. I love thee, as I love the first Young violet of the spring; Or the pale lily, April nursed, To scented blossoming. I love thee, as I love the fall Clear gushings of the song, Which lonely, sad, and beautifu4 At night-fall floats along; Poured by the bul-bul forth to greet The hours of rest and dew, When melody and moonlight meet To blend their charm and hue.

I love thee, as the glad bird lov The freedom of its wing, On which delightedly it moves In wildest wandering. I love thee, as I love the swell And hush of some low strain, Which bringeth, by its gentle s The past to life again. Such is the feeling which from t Faught earthly can allure; ‘Tis ever linked to all I see Of gifted – high – and pure. ELIZA AcTom. WOMAN’S LOVE. LOVF, UNCHERISHED-DIES.

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T’IE ALBUM OF LOVE. Oh, it came o’er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing, and giving odor. -Enough; no more; ‘Tis not so sweet now as it was before. O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea,-naught enters there Of what validity and pitch soever, But falls into abatement and low price Even in a minute! So full of shapes is fancy, That it alone is high-fantas ical. SHAKPEI?EC. From ancient deeds of fair renown Has brought her bright memorials down, To time affixed perpetual youth, And formed each tal e of love and truth, Upon a new Promethean plan She moulds the essence of a man, Temper is o his gass, his genius fires, And, as a better soul, inspires. The rude she softens, warms the cold, Exalts the meek, and checks the bold, Calls Sloth from his supine repose, Within the coward’s bosom glows, Of pride unplumes the lofty crest, Bids bashful merit stand confest, And, like coarse metal from the mines, Collects, irradiates, and refines. The gentle science she imparts, All manners smooths, informs all hearts, From her sweet influence are felt Passions that please and thoughts that melt, To stormy rage she bids control, And sinks serenely on the soul, Softens Deucalion’s flinty race, And tunes the warring world to peace. Thus armed’gainst all that’s light and vain, And freed from thy fantastic chain, She fills the sphere by Heaven assigned, And ruled by me, o’errules mankind! THOU blushing thing of pain and bliss I Child of a happier sphere than this! Wert thou a nursling of the sky, Fostered in paradise on high, To thrill the radiant breasts above? No; angels feel not youthful love: Theirs is a flame we can not know, A holy ardor free from wo; But ours a joy supreme, intense, A short and splendid recompense For an esteem unbroke, unmoved, Which man immortal might have proved Art thou not then, 0 virtuous Love, The dearest gift of Heaven above? HOGG. LOVE SECRETS. A LOVER’S PRAISE. LOVE’S eye should but answer the beam that invites it, The glance that tells secrets true heart never won, The delicate mind veils the h op e that requites it, Lest it die, like the fire when exposed to the sun. WHAT yOU do Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet I’d have you do it ever; when you sing, I’d have you buy and sell so; so give alms; Pray so; and for the ord’ring your affairs ro sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you A wave o’ the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, And own no othei function each your doing, So s ingular in eac h particul ar, Crowns what you’re doing in the present deeds, That all your acts are queens. That name to the heart which sweet transport discloses Too sacred should be for a toast or a tale; And the breathings of Love, like the perfumes of roses, Are exquisite death when surcharging the gale.

C. DIBDIN. LOVE;S EMPIRE. HOLD there a moment, Love replied, Nor boast dominion quite so wide. Is there no province to invade But that by Love and meekness swayed? All other empire I resign; But be the sphere of beauty mine. For in the downy lawn of rest That opens on a woman’s breast, Attended by my peaceful train, I choose to love, and choose to reign.

Far-sighted Faith I bring along, And Truth, above an army strong. And Chastity, of icy mould, Within the burning tropics cold: And Lowliness, to whose mild brow The power and pride of nations bow; And Modesty, with downca t eye, That lends the morn her virg~n die; And Innocence, arrayed in light, And Honor, as a tower upright; With sweetly winning graces, more Than poets ever dreamt of yore; In unaffected conduct free, All smiling sisters, three times three; And rosy Peace, the cherub blest, That nightly sings us all to rest. Hence, from the bud of nature’s prime, From the first step of infant time, Woman, the world’s appointed light, Has skirte l every shade with white; Has stood fe,r imitation high, To every heart and every eye; LEAVE me not yet! through rosy skies from far, But now the song-birds to their nests return; The quivering image of the first pale star On the dim lake scarce yet begins to burn: Leave me not yet! Not yet!

Oh, hark! low tones from hidden streams Piercing the shivery leaves e’en now arise; Their voices mingle not with day-light dreams They are of vesper’s hymns and harmonies: Leave me not yet! My thoughts are like those gentle sounds, dear love, By day shut up in their own still recess; They wait for dews on earth, for stars above, Then to breathe out their soul of tenderness. Leave me not yet! HEMANw ‘Tis something if in absence we can trace The footsteps of the past: it sooths the heart To breathe the air scented in other years By lips beloved, to wander through the groves Where once we were not lonely; where the rose Reminds us of the hair we used to wreath With its fresh buds-where every hill and vale, And wood and fountain, speak of time gone by, And Hope springs up in joy fi’ronm Ieinory’s ashes. LAND,OD 33l TO LOVE. MOORF Dear woman’s the exquisite magnet of nature, And love is the heart-thrillliig homage we pay; But Beauty as not a more delicate feature, Than the caution that l,ove should, if grateful dispia3 SHAKSPERF,. THE SUPPLICATION.

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THE ALBUM OF LOVE. Thou fair and lovely creature! Who may tell All the fond thoughts that crowd upon thy soul? Wh o analyse the varied hopes that s we ll Thy young untutored heart? or who control The brilliant visions floating o’er thy brain, That like spring flowers, once crushed, can never bloo again I PERHAPS the lady of my love is now Looking upon the skies. A single star Is rising in the east, and from afar Sheds a mlost tremulous lustre: silent night Doth wear it like a jewel on her brow: But see! it motions with its lovely light Onward and onward through those depths of blue To its appointed course, steadfast and true. So, dearest, would I fain be unto thee Steadfa t for ever-like yon planet fair; And yet more like art thouii a jewel rare, Oh! brighter than the brightest star to me.

Come hither, my young love, and I will wear Thv beauty on my breast delightedly. BARRY C ORNWALL. Ah! through life’s chequered range, but one such hour Of cloudless radiance shines upon the breast; ‘Tis that when Love comes with a conqueror’s power, And reig ns sole monar ch o f the heart confessted; When (like the Indian wood of sacred fame) The bosonm’s lord pours forth its sweetness to the flame. In after years a thousand passions take Possession of the soul; with cunning art They win its fond idolatry, and make Themselves a shrine to rest in I To the heart Love comes but once, like blossom’o the rose, The deep soul-searching flame our first affection know THE DIFFIDENCE OF LOVe. WHY should I blush to own I love? ‘Tis love that rules the realms above. Why should I blush to say to all That virtue holds my heart in thrall? Ay, ye may smile, ye stoics!

but’tis true, And not the fiction of a poet’s brain; The heart’s first bloom of love, like morning dew, Once brushed, ne’er sparkles on the flower again, Till the long day is closed in evening skies, And on the drooping plant another morn arise! MRS. C. B. WILSOoN Is it a weakness thus to dwell On passion that I dare not tell? Such weakness I would ever prove: ‘Tis painful. but’tis sweet to love! HENRY KIRK WHITE. SISTER!

since I met thee last, O’er thy brow a change hath past. In the softness of thine eyes Deep and still a shadow lies; From thy voice there thrills a tone Never to thy childhood known; Through thy soul a storm hath moved -Gentle sister, thou hast loved I rHE PRIDE OF LOVE. TIs strange with how much power and pride The softness is of love allied; How much of power to force the breast To be in outward show at rest. How much of pride that never eye May look upon its agony! Ah! little will the lip reveal Of all the burning heart can feel. Oh! why should woman ever love Trusting to one sole star above; And fling her little chance away Of sunshine, for its doubtful ray! Tell me not the tale, my flower! On my bosom pour that shower! Tell me not of kind thoughts wasted; Tell me not of young hopes blasted; Wring not forth one burning word, Let thy heart no more be stirred! Home alone can give thee rest. -Weep, sweet sister, on my breast!

HERR Av, they are Love’s own words! his breath of flame Hath sighed upon the fair unconscious page, And thy cheek kindles at the ” one loved name,”

Whose every thought doth thy young heart engage; Fondly as pilgrims greet some hallowed shrine, Thy lips would greet the words, “Thine, dearest, ever thine.” Ay, it is Love’s own tracing! every word Of eloquence is written by his pen! ‘Tis the heart’s language-all thine ear bath heard (Like music from his tongue) is told again! Each fondly-murmured sigh, each half-breathed vow From his soul’s depths are drawn, unsealed, acknowledged now! THERE ar e ten thousand tones and signs We hear and see, but none definesi Involuntary sparks of thought Which strike from out the heart overwrought, And form a strange intelligence Alike mysterious and intense; Which link the burning chain that binds, Without their will, young hearts and minds, Conveying, as the electric wire, We know not how, the absorbing fire. Wvith all a lover’s tenderness, he lays His heart, his hopes, his fortunes, at thy feet; [nplores thlee, by those well-remembered days That ye have passed so oft ih “converse sweet,” By many a whispered word in wood or grove, Not to reject his suit, or scorn his proffered love.L }Nlhat does thy young heart prompt thee to reply Lh By the carnation heightening on thy cheeks, _nd the bright crystal in thy downcast eye More eloquent than words-‘tis thus it speaks: ‘ Beloved one!

each sigh thy breast hath known, )‘Qund, tbough unheard by thee, an echo ir. my own.,, 334 SONNET. Why should I seek the thickest shade, Lest Love’s dear secret be betrayed? Why the stern brow deceitful move, When I am languishing with love? UNREQUITED LOVE. Yes! thy varying cheek hath caught Hues too bright from troubled thought Far along the wandering stream, Thou art followed by a dream; In the woods and valleys lone Music haunts thee not thine own: Wherefore fall thy tears like rain? -Sister, thou hast loved in vain! LANDON. THE PROPOSAL. LOVE SYMPATHIES. Byltos.

LOVE’S HERALD’S. LovE’s herald’s should be thoii!zbts Which ten times faster glide than the sunbeams Driving back shadows over lowering bills: Therefore do. niinble-pinioned doves draw Love, An,,] therefore little the win,]-swift Ctipid wings. SIIAKSPF.BIL

Page 335 view page image a35 THE ALBUM OF;~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~OvE.~~~~~~ It is a blessing that is felt But by united minds that flow, As sunbeams into sunbeams melt, To light a frozen world below. There is a love that o’er the war Of jarring passion pours its light, And sheds its influence like a star That brightest burns in darkest night. I WISH that I were A voiceless sigh, Floating through air, When thy beauty draws nigh: Unperceived I would steal o’er thy cheek of down, And kiss thy soft lips unchecked by a frown.

I would that I were A dying tone, To dwell on thine ear Though the music were gone: I would charm thy heart with my latest breath, And yield thee pleasure e’en in my death. I would I might pass firom this living tomb, Into the violet’s sweetest perfume; On the wings of the morning to thee I would fly, And mingle my soul with thy sweeter sigh. It is so true, so fixed, so strong, It parts not with the parting breath; In the soul’s flight’t is borne along, And hold’s the heart’s strings e’en in death ‘T is never quenched by sorrow’s tide; No,‘t is a flame caught from above,A tie that death can not dioxide;‘T is the bright torch of wMdded love. But there is one love, not of earth, Though sullied by the streaming tear It is a star of heavenlv birth, And only shines unshaken there. My heart is bound With a viewless chain, I see no wound, But I feel its pain. Break my prison, and set me free! Bondage, though sweet, hath no charms for me. Yet no!-e’en in fetters my fond heart will dwell, Since thy shadow floats o’er it, and hallows its cell! ‘T is when this clay resigns its breath, And the soul quits its fi’ail abode, That rising fri’m the bed of death, This love is pure-the love of God. M. A. BRow L. OH! for some fairy talisman to conjure Up to these longing eyes the form they pine for I And yet in love there’s no such word as absence I The loved one, like our guardian spirit, walks Beside us ever,-shines upon the beamPerfulmes the flower-and sighs in every breeze I Its presence gives such beauty to the world That all things beautiful its likeness are; And aught in sound most sweet, to sight most fair, Breathes with its voice, or like its aspect smiles. SiR E. L.

BULWF:R. As if the very lips and eyes, Predestined to have all our sighs, And never be forgot again, Sparkled and spoke before us then. THE TRYSTING

HOUR. THE night-wind’s Eolian breezes, Chase melody o’er the grove, The fleecy clouds wreathing in tresses, Float rosy the woodlands above; Then tarry no longer, my true love, The stars hang their lamps in the sky, IT is lovely the landscape to view, love, When each bloom has a tear in its eye. So beamed on me thy speech and tone When first on me they breathed and shone; New, as if brought fro m othe r spheres, Yet welcome as if loved for years. Then come with me, if thou hast known No other flame, nor ruidelv thrown A gem away, which thou hiadst sworn Should ever in thy breast be worn. Come! if the love thou bear’st for me Is pure and fiesh as mine for thee; Fresh as the fountain under grc,mlnd When first’t is by the lal)wing found. So stilly the evening is closing Bright dew-drops are heard as they fall, Eolian whispers reposing, Breathe softly, I hear my love call; Yes! the light fairy step of my true love, The night-breeze is wafting te me; Over heath-bell and violet blue, love, Perfuming the shadowy lea. THOMAS LYLE. But if for me thou dost forsake Some other maid, and rudely break Her worshipped image from its I)ase, To give to me the ruined placeThen, fare thee well!-I’d rather make My bower upon some icy lake Where thawing suns begin to shine, Than trust to love so false as thine! T. MooiR THERE is a love so fond, b, ue, No art the magic tie can sever; ‘T is ever beauteous, ever new; Its chain once linked is linked for ever. LOVE NURSED BY SOLITUDE. There is a love, but passion’s beam, Too fond, too warm, too bright to last,The phrensy of a fevered dream, That burns a moment, then is past. ‘T is like the lightning’s lurid glare, That streams its blaze of fatal light, Flames for an instant through the air, Then sinks away in deepest night. YOUNG Love, thou art belied: they speak of thee And couple with thy mention misery; Talk of the broken heart, the wasted bloom, The spirit blighted, and the early tomb; As if these waited on thy golden lot,They blame thee for the faults that thou hast not. Art thou to blame for that they bring to thee, The soil and weight of their mortality? How can they hope that ever links will hold Formed, as they form them now, of the harsh gold I Or worse than even this, how can they think That vanity will bind tIlie ftiling link? I THE ALBUM OF -,OVE. 335

LOVE’S WISHES. It is a love best known to those Who hand in hand, amidst the strife Together have withstood their foes, Together shared the storms of life. OH! there are look-s P ,id tones that dart An instant sunshire t(i the heart; As if the soul that moment caubt I Some treasure, it throu8-h life had sought LOVE. There is a love whose feeling rolls In pure unruffled calmness on,The meeting of congenial souls, Of hearts whose currents flow in one.

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33fi- TiEABMO O~ How can they dream that thy sweet life will bear Crowds’, palaces’, and cities’ heartless air? When looks and thoughts alike must feel the chain, And naught of life is real but its pain; Where the young spirit’s high imaginings Are scorned and cast away as idle things; Where, think or feel, you are foredoomed to be A marvel, and a sign for mockery; Where none must wander from the beaten road,All alike champ the bit and feel the goad. It is not made for thee, young Love To where the green earth laughs to the clear day; To the deep valley, where a thousand trees Keep a green court for fairy revelries;To some small island in a lonely lake, Where only swans the diamond waters break; Where the pine hangs in silence o’er the tide, And the stream gushes from the mountain side; These, Love, are haunts for thee: where canst thou brood With thy sweet wings furled-but in solitude! LONDON. Then, with the glory from the ros e, With the sparkle from the stream, With the light thy rainbow-presence throws Over the poet’s dream; With all the Elysian hues Thy pathway that suffuse, With joy, with music, from the fading grove, Take me, too, heavenward, on thy wing, sweet Love H=Aig. IT is the soft and silent hour When mighty Love hath mightiest power To bind the heart, subdue the will, Bid Reason’s cold stern voice be still Oh! never sounds in Beauty’s ear T he whi sp ered word so sweet and dear, As when the gathering shadows hide The tell-tale cheek, which Feeling’s tide, In one full, happy, joyous gush, Hath teinted with a crimson blush! So calm, so still, the scene around, Almost the heart’s own echoes sound! How many a breast, on eve like this, Is steeped in rapture-filled with bliss! MRs. W

“Leave me not!” was still THE: burden of their music; and I knew The lay which Genius, in its loneliness, Its own still world amid the o’erpeopled world, Hath ever breathed to Love. They crown me with the glistening crown Boine from a deathless tree; I hear the pealing music of renown Oh, Love!

forsake me not! Mine were a lone dark lot, Bereft of thee! They tell me that my soul can throw A glory o’er the earth; From thee, fiom thee is caught that golden glow, Shed by thy gentle eyes, It gives to flower and skies A bright new birth! Thence gleams the path of morning Over the kindling hills a sunny zone! Thence to its heart of hearts the rose is burning WVith lustre not its own! Thence every wood-recess Is filled with loveliness, Each bower to ring-doves and dim violets known. MAY slighted woman th AND as a vine the oak hath shake Bend lightly to her tendencies aga Oh, no! by all her loveliness, by a That makes life poetry and beauty Make her a slave, steal from her r By needless jealousies; let the las Leave her a watcher by your couc Wrong her by petulance, suspicion That makes her cup a bitternessOne evidence of love, and earth h. An emblem of devotedness like he] But, oh! estrange her once, it boo By wrong or silence, any thing ths A change has come upon your ten And there is not a high thing out Her pride o’ermastereth not! f see all beauty by the ray That streameth from thy smile: Oh! bear it, bear it not away! Can that sweet light beguile? Too pure, too spirit-like it seems, To linger long by earthly streams; I clasp it with the alloy Of fear midst quivering joy, ‘ et must I perish if the gift depart[..ave me not, Love! to mine own beating, heart! Th e m usic from my lyr e e With thy swift step would flee; The world’s colt breath would quenth the starry fire In my deep soul-a temple filled with thee! Sealed would the fountains lie, The waves of harmony, W-hich thou alone canst free! Like a shrine’mid rocks forsaken, Whenice the oracle hath fled; Like a harp which none might waken But a mighty master dead; Like the vase of a perfume scattered, Such would nv spirit be, Sc mute, so void, so shattered, Bereft of thee! He: loved,-as minstrel-el f must proFe,For song itself is born of love. So the young glow and melting shower Of April animate the flowerPerfume and suppliance of an hour;Too exquisitely loved to last, Such curse upon the lyre is cast: Brief must they feel w,ho feel the spell Of love too sensitively well, As fires of sudden vividness Exlausted by their own excess. And such the wreath his passion braided For thousand bosoms, bright but vain, Like cistus-blooni scarce blown till faded, Scarce faded till full blown again; Short-lived alike the bliss and pain. Thus still adored he, still endured, Wandering for ever, never cured. ISHMA-FA.

FITZADA YE.s! so it is and the same thirst For something high and pure, abe This withering world, which, from t Made me drink deep of woman’s Aq the one joy, to heaven most near Of all our hearts can meet with her Still burns me up, still keeps awake A fever naught but death can slake Leave me not. l,ove! or, if this earth Yield not fo,; thee a home, ff th; bri’ghit su,imer-land of thy June birth S:,. i t},tc a sjilvery v-ice that whispers “Come!” I 336 ‘rlle ALBUM OF LOVE. GENIUS SINGING TO LOVE. SLIGHTED LOVE.

N. P. Wame. THE MINSTREL’S LOVE. T. MOORE;

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THE ALBUM OF LOVE. THEY sin, who tell us Love can die: With life all other passions fly; All others are but vanity. In heaven Ambition can not dwell, Nor Avarice in the vaults of hell. Earthly these passions of the earth,They perish where they had their birth. But Love is indestructible!

Its holy flame for ever burneth. From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.

SOOTHEY SwV:F,T, good night! This bud )f love, by sWmt,hgner’s ripenilg breath, _May prove a beauteouis flower when next we meet. Good niight, good n.ighlt!-as sweet repose and rest Come t6 thy heart, as that within iyv breast! SHAI.,USPERE. HARD is the heart, and unsubdued by love, That feels no pain, nor ever heaves a sigh, Such hearts the fiercest passions only prove, Or freeze in cold insensibility. Oh! then iiidulge thy grief, nor fear to tell The gentle source from whence thy sorrows flow! Nor think it weakness when we love, to feel; Nor think it weakness what we feel to show. COWPEI. WOMAN IS THE LIGHT OF LOVE. 0 WOMAN! Woman! thou art formed to bless The heart of restless man, to chase his care, And charm existence by thy loveliness: Bright as the sunbeam, as the morning fair. If but thy foot fall on a wilderness, Flowers spring, and shed their roseate blossoms there, Shrolding the thorns that on thy pathway rise, And scattering o’er it hues of Paradise. How sweet the answer Echo makest To m u sic at niglht, When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, And far away, o’er lawns and lakes, Goes answering light! Yet Love hath echoes truer far, And far more sweet, Than e’er beneath the moonlight’s star, Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar, The songs repeat. Thy voice of love is music to the ear, Soothing and soft, and gentle as the stream That strays’mid summer flowers; thy glittering tear Is mutely eloquent; thy smile a beam Of light ineffable, so sweet, so dear, It wakes the heart from sorrow’s darkest dream, Shedding a hallowed lustre o’er our fate, And wl.heni it beams we are not desolate. ITis when the sigh, in youth sincere And only then,The sigh that’s breathed for one to Is by that one, that only dear, Breathed back again.! No! no! when woman smiles we feel a charm Thrown bright around us, binding us to earth; Her ten.4er accents breathiing forth the balm Of pure allection, give to transport birth; Then life’s wide sea is billowless and calm! 0 lovely woman! thy consummate worth Is far above thy frailty-far above All earthly praise-Thou art the Light of Love. J. BIRD

LADY’ when the moonlight hour Sheds its soft lustre o’er thy bower, When the rich key of memory Unlocks its golden treasury, And visions sweet of bygone hours Float round thee with the breath of flowers, Oh! give one vesper sigh to me! Remembering I am still to thee Faithful, though far away! AND will she love thee as w ell as I? Will she do for thee what I have done? See all the pomps of the world pass by, And look only for thee-beloved one? Lady! when the deep midnight Veils nature’s loveliness and light, When thy sweet lips in secret bless The objects of thy tenderness, And thy pure orisons arise Wafting their names beyond the skies, Oh! bre athe one fer v ent prayer for me! Remembering I am still to thee Faithful, though far away! Will she feel when another pronounces thy name All the thrilling sensations that I have done? Pride when T’e? praise thee, regret when they blame, And tenderness always-beloved one? Wi]l she watch when a cloud passes over thy brow. And strive to chase it-as I have done? Forgetting all but the thought that now It is hers to console thee-beloved one? Will she, undoubting, consent to resign Friends lon-, cherished-as I have done? Renounce them, forget them, nor ever repine, Since thou art with her-beloved one. And thou-wilt not thou feel a pang of regret, Thus remembering all that I have done? Have done! though forsaken would do so yet, And am thine, and thine only-beloved one! HON. MRs.

NORTON. IrITH thee for ever I in woods could rest, Where never human foot the ground hath pressed. Thou from all shades the darkness canst exclude, And from a desert banish solitude. WHEN Virtue dies in pallid Want’s embrace Not friendless, though abandoned by the base Then o’er the grave, from which all flatterers fly, Love sheds a tear which kingdoms could not buy. And, as the April sunbeams melt the snow, Till peeps the golden flower that slept below,Thy look can charmi the fiend beneath whose eye All joys but thine and blest Religion’s die, The king of woes, pril-hIiumbling poverty! E. ELXT,oTT. IT is the hour when from t he boughs The nightingale’s high notes are heardm; It is the hour when lovers’ vows Seem sweet in every whispered word; At.I gentle Tin Is an(‘ wasters near Make mnRic to the ti. -a,ling ear. Ill i i I i I 3.37 LOVERS PIRTING.

AMOUR, l’on doit bdnir tes clialnes: Si deux amans ont i souffrir, Ills n’ont que la moiti6 des peines, F-t tu sais doubler leur plaisir. LOVE’S

ECHOES. T. Moor*E. SONG OF THE ABSENT. SONG OF THE FORSAKEN. PA. COWLF,V.

LOVE. ‘rile HOUR OF LOVE.

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3r-[E [I!,BU.M OF LIOVE. Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, And in the heaven the clear obscure So softly dark, and darkly pure, Which follows the decline of day When twilight melts beneath the moon away. BYRoN. What can a helpless lassie do, When ilka friend would prove ner foe, Would gar her break her dearest vow, And wed with ane she canna loe? ROBERT TA NNAHILL. SWEET as the cry of jiy, or as the song Of tender birds-like the beloved tone Of one who loves us, loved by us aloneSuch are the honeyed accents of thy tongue; Like Orpheus’ lyre, so eloquent, so strong: Such sounds the muse herself might not disown, So speaks harmonious, her most favored son, And pours the rapturous tide of verse along. Oh! if fond love should once that voice inspire, And breathe the mingling harmony of sighs, The soul of such rare music ne’er could tire; It speaks the cestacy of Paradise. Sure then, thy sweetness might a mortal move, And win at once to more than mortal love. WHERE is the heart that hath not bowed, A slave, eternal love, to thee? Look on the cold, the gay, the proud, Andl is th ere one amo n g them free? The cold, the proud-oh! Love has turned The marble till with fire it burned; The gay, the young-alas! that they Should ever bend beneath thy sway! Look on the cheek the rose might own, The smile around like sunshine thrown; The rose, the smile alike are thine, To fade and darken at thy shrine. And what must love be in a heart All passion’s fiery depths con,ealing, Which has in its minutest part, More than another’s depth of feeling 7 LaiNDow. OuR love has been no summer-flower, For joy’s bright chaplet braided; Drooping when tempests darkly lower, By grief’s bleak winter faded. GOD gives us Love.

Something to love, He lends us; but when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve Falls off and love is left alone! We have not loved as those who plight Their troth in sunny weather, l’ iile leaves are green, and skies are bright, To tread life’s path together. But we have loved as those who tread The thorny path of sorrow, With clouds o’ercast-and cause to dread Yet deeper gloom to-morrow. That thorny path, those cloudy skies, Have drawn our spirits nearer. And rendered us, by holiest ties, Each to the other dearer! IL faut l’avoir connu l’affreux malheur de vivre loin de ce qu’on aime, pour pouvoir se faire une id6e des ravissemens qu’e6prouve notre ame, lorsqu’on lui rend le bien qu’elle avoit perdu. I faut avoir repandu les larmes ameres de l’absence pour sentir toute la volupte des douces larmes du retour. Je te plains, malheureux amant, qu’un sort cruel a force6 de quitter l’objet de tes vceux. Chaqu( pas que tu fais ajoute a tes maux; chaque heure te rap pelle un plaisir perdu: tu calcules avec de6sespoir tous les instans qui s’ecouleront avant la fin de ton exil; tu crois les abre6ger en les recomptant. Tu portes sans cesse les yeux sur le chemin qui conduit aux lieux oni tu laissas ton ceur; tu le mesure avec effroi; et le voyageur que tu decouvres sur cette route te semble jouir d’un destin plus heureux que celui des rois. Je te plains: mais que tu seras digne d’envie le jour on tu revoleras vers elle! le jour oni, reconnaissant de loin sa maison, tu la verras attendre l’heureux instant qui doit payer taut de chagrins! Ah! cet instant s’il se prolongeoit, tu ne pourrois le supporter; ton ame, qui trouva de la force contre les maux, serait ac cablde de tant de bonheur. Love born in hours of joy and mirth With mirth and joy may perish; That to which darker days gave bit Still more and more we cherish. It looks beyond the clouds of time, Through Death’s dim shadowy p Made by adversity sublime, By faith and hope immortal! PERHAPS I LOVE. PERHAPS I love To visit my heart’s treasure by that light When misers seek their buried hoards; to steal Upon the loved one, like a mermaid’s song, Unseen and floating between sea and sky; To creep upon her in love’s loveliest hour, Not in her daylight beauty with the glare Of the bright sun around her; but thus pure, And white, and delicate, under the cool moon Or lamp of alabaster. Thus I love To think of thee, thou dear one! thus with flowers About thee, and fresh air, and such a light, And such a stillness; thus I dream of thee I MISS MrTrOiti, IF long I lingered to avow The latent flame my bosom proved, Yet, fairest, dearest, deem not thou I feebly felt, or lightly loved; I came not with the wealthier throng Who breathed their heartless vows to thee; Yet, maiden! I have loved thee long, And not the less though hopelessly. For, oh! I deemed not it could be That thou shouldst deign to smile on me; For how should friendless misery gain The prize by monarchs sought in vain?

IHow should the falcon meet that sun Which eagles dare not gaze upon? HE who would stem a stream with sand, And fetter flame w1sh flaxen band, Hath yet a harder task to proveBy firmn resolve to conquer love! SIR W. SCOTT.

I I I 338 FRAGMENT. I’LL lay me on the wintry lea And sleep amid the cauld and weet, And ere another’s bride I be Oh I bring to i-ne my winding sheet I SONNET. THE LOVE BORN OF SORROW. TF,NNysoN. L’ABSENCE ET LE RETOUR. B.

BARTON. FLORIAN. TRUE LOVE DIFFIDENT. D,i L&

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339 Time on that cheek his withering hand may press, He may do all but make me love thee less; The mind defies him, and thy charm lies there, I must hare loved thee hadst thou not been fair. BA-YLY. ONE after one the joys of youth Had died away, And visions of unfading truth, As false as they; THE PRAYER OF EARTHLY LOVE. Then came a dark and dreary chiil, More sad than grief; The very pang that bade me feel Had seemed relief. Th vUNsEEN she prayed, With all the still, small whispers of the night, And with the searching glances of the stars, And with her God alone! She lifted up Her sad, sweet voice, while trembling o’er her head The dark leaves thrilled with prayer-the tearful pryes Of wonian’s quenchless yet repentant love. ” Father of spirits, hear! Look on the inmost soul, to thee revealed: Look on the fountain of the burning tear, Before thy sight in solitude unsealed! ” Hear, Father! hear and aid! If I have lo:ed too well, if I have shed, In my vain fondness, o’er a mortal head, Gifts, on thy shrine, my God, more fitly laid; Thy gentle care once more for me Hope’s garland wove; And all my soul’s dark apathy, Touched by thy love, Grew rapture-as the languid mist Of sullen hue, By morning’s summer radiance kissed, Melts in bright dew. And thou hast given me light and life, F ond ho pes, sweet fears; The varying passions’ pleasing strife, And smiles and tears. H. TOWNSEND. ” If I have sought to live But in one light, and made a mortal eye The lonely star of m y i dolatry, Thou, that art Love, oh! pity and forgive! “Chastened and schooled at last, No more my struggling spirit burns, But fixed on thee, from that vain worship turns I What have I said? thie deep dream is not past. I FAIN would sing, but will be silent now, For pain is sitting on my lover’s brow; And he would hear me and, though silent, deem I pleased myself, but little thought of him, While of naught else I think; to him I give My spirit, and for him alone I live: Bear him witkin my heart, as mothers bear The last and youngest object of their care. Servian Poetry.-BowR rN(;. “Yet hear!

If still I love, Oh! still too fondly-if, for ever seen, An earthly image comes my soul between, And thy calm glory, Father, throned above; “If still a voice is near, (Even while I strive these wanderings to control) An earthly voice, disquieting my soul, With its deep music, too intensely dear; “0, Father, draw to thee My lost affections back!-the dreaming eyes Clear from the mr ist-sustain the he art that dies; Give the worn soul once more its pinions free! rHAT is the hour, beloved of Heaven, When plighted faith is purely given; When lovers blending heart with heart, And, silent, mingling hand with hand, Before God’s sacred altar stand, No more in life to part; Then lowly kneel them down to pray, That youth’s devoted fire Should ever burn with equal sway, Till love with life expire.

That, when fast gathering storms prevail, And sorrow dims the tearful eye, And those we once deemed faithful, fly Before the changing gale, Those vows might not be given in vain: That summer hours of cloudless joy, That years of sickness, grief, and pain, gMight ne’er that silver link destroy.

And oh! in man’s most dreary hour, Has woman’s voice the magic power That tames the haughty heart, and glads the aching sight, And gilds with brighter gleam the deep’ning nigl.. LORD PORCHESTER. “‘I must love on, 0

God! This bosom must love on! but let thy breath Touch and make pure the flame that knows not death, Bearing it up to Heaven, Love’s own abode!”

HEMANS. I Do love violet s! They tell the history of woman’s love; They open with the earliest breath of spring; Lead a sweet life of perfume, dew and light, And, if they perish, perish with a sigh Delicious as that life.

On the hot June They shed no perfume: the flowers may remain, But the rich breathing of their leaves is past.The violet breath of love is purity.

LANDON. IN joyous youth what soul hath never known Thought, feeling, taste, harmonious to his own? Who hath not paused while Beauty’s pensive eye Asked from his heart the homage of a sigh? Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame, The power of grace, the magic or a name? DECK not with gems that lovely form for me, They in my eyes can add no charm to thee. Braid not for me the tresses of thy hair; I must have loved thee hadst thou not been fair. Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed, The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead I No; the wild bliss of Nature needs alloy, An(] fear andI sorrow fatn the fire of joy! An(] say, without our hopees, wihout our fears, Without the home theft lplightedl lh)ae endears, How oft, when half in tears, hast thou beguiled The sorrow fiomn my heart, and( I have smiled. Ohi! formed alike my tears and smiles to share, I must have loved thee hadst thou – t en fair. I I THE ALBUM OF L

OVE. POWER OF LOVE. I saw thee smile; the icy chain Began to melt; I heard thee speak; and once again I lived, I felt! THE VOW. WEDDED LOVE. SONG. 0

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4O TAIL ALB’JM OF LOVE. Without the smile from partial beauty won, Oh!

what were man?-a world without a sun! Till Hymen brought his love-delig,hted hour, There dwelt no joy in Eden’s rosy bower! In vain the viewless seraph lingering there, At starry midnight charmed the silent air; In vain the wild-bird carolled on the steep, TJ hail the sun, slow wheeling from the deep; In vain, to sooth the solitary shade, Aerial notes in mingling pleasure played; The summer wind that shook the spangled tree, The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee;-W Still slowly passed the melancholy day, And still the stranger wist not where to stray;The world was sad!-tithe garden was a wild! And Man, the hermit, sighed-till Woman smiled! CAMPBEL. But who could bear that gloomy blank, Where joy was lost as well as pain? Quickly of Memory’s fount I drank, And brought the past all back again, And said, “Oh! Love, whate’er my lot, Still let this soul to thee be true: Rather than have one bliss forgot, Be all my pains remembered too!” T. MooRs 0 LovE, first learned in a lady’s eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain; But, with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power; And gives to every power a double power. Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious feeling to the eye;A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind: A lover’s ears will hear the lowest sound, When the suspicious head of theft is stopt.For valor, is not love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?

Subtle as Shpinx; as sweet and musical As bright Apollo’s lute, strung with his hair: And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. Never durst poet touch a pen to write,.

Until his ink were tempered with Love’s sighs: O! then his lines would ravage savage ears, And plant in tyrants mild humility. From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world; Else, none at all in aught proves excellent. SHAKSPERF.

MYSTERIOUS Love! Thy presence is around me, and I feel All its o’ermastering influence. A chain A viewless chain-binds my stern spirit down To more than woman’s gentleness. A spell, As’twere of voiceless music, through my soul Steals with a soft delight unfelt before. I strive to break this thraldom, and arouse The vigor of my mind;-but Love’s own breath, Like the sweet south upon the Eolian lyre, Sweeps o’er my heartstrings. I’m again subdued, And all my efforts sink into-a sigh!

LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM. OH! the days are gone when Beauty bright My heart’s chain wove; When my dream of life from morn t ill night E. S. B~iWas love, st ill love! New hope may bloom, And days may come, Of milder, calmer beam; But there’s nothing half so sweet in life As Love’s young dreabl.

No! there’s nothing hal f so sweet in life A s Love’s young dream! Though the bard to purer fame may soar, When wilh youth’s past; Though he win the wise, who frowned before, To smile at last; He‘11 never meet A joy so sweet In all his noon of fame, As when first he sung to woman’s ear His soul-felt flame, And at every close she blushed to hear The one loved name. Oh! that hallowed form is ne’er forgot Which first love traced; Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot On Memory’s waste! ‘Twas odor fled As soon as shed, ‘Twas morning’s winged dream, ‘Twas a light that ne’er can shine again On life’s dull stream! Oh!‘twas light that ne’er can shine again On life’s dull stream! I ~~~~~~~~T. MooRz THERE is a language by the virgin made, Not read but felt, not uttered but betrayed, A mute communion, yet so wondrous sweet, Eyes must impart what tongue can ne’er repeat. ‘Tis written on her cheeks and meaning brows; In one short glance whole volumes it avows; In one short moment tells of many days, In one short speaking silence all conveys. Joy, sorrow, love, recounts,-hope, pity, fear, And looks a sigh, and weeps without a tear. Oh!‘tis so chaste, so touching, so refined, So soft, so wistful, so sincere, so kind! Were eyes melodious, and could music shower From orient rays new striking on a flower, Such heavenly music from that glance might rise, And angels own the music of the skies. E. S. BARRET. Too proud For less than absolute command, too soft For aught but gentle tender thought; her hair Clustered as from an orb of gold, cast out A dazzling and overpowering radiance, save Here and there on her white neck reposed, In a soothed brilliance, some thin wandering tress. The azure flashing of her eye was fringed Witlx virgin meekness, and hter tread that seemed Earth to disdain, as softly fell on it As the light dee, shower on a tuft of flowers. MuL.MAN. 11 i I I I i I i I 1 ii I i i I i I; i i I i i i i i I i i I 840 AI,B’’-Al OF

LOVE,. THE TWO FOUNTAINS. I SAW, from yonder silent cave, Two fountains running side by side; The one was Memory’s limpid wave, The other cold Oblivion’s tide. 11 Oh! Love,” said 1, in thoughtless dream, As o’er my lips the Lethe passed, Here, in this dark and chilly stream, Be all my pains forgot at last.” I I i! I’I Oi-i! if thou lovc-st, And art a woman, hide thy love fi-om him Whom thou dost worship; never let him know flow dear he is; flit like a bird before him,Lead him trom tree to tree, from flower to flowei; But be not won, or thou mayest like that bird, When caught and caged, be left to pine neglected, And perish in forgetfulness.

LANDOW. LOVE’S BONDAGE. THE C ONFESSION. A ROYAL BRIDE.

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1,M OF LOVE. 341 That marks high birth;‘tis not, alone, a face Whose features are all symmetry; an eye In whose ethereal blue Love sits enshrined, A spirit in a star; cheeks eloquent In changeful blushes, as her sweetest lips In the harmonious utterance of pure thought s: ‘Tis not all these-the palpable ornaments OC the material mould,-Love’s pageantry Floating o’er beauty’s surface. No, no! it is no; these that win my heart; But’tis the pure intelligence of mind That, like some inborn ligh,, beams from her soul; The virtuous thoughts that clothe he, lik,, garment; The chastity, the candor, and the meekness, That, through her parted hair, look from a brow And features, where the seal of heaven is set! J. BIRD.

LET me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impedilments. Love is not love Which alters lowhen it alteration finds Or bends with the remover to remove: Oh no! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle’s compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out e’en to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

LOOK through mine eyes with thine. True wife, Round my true heart thine arms entwine, My other dearer life in life Look through my very soul with thine. Untouched with any shade of years, May those kind eyes for ever dwell! Thley have not shed a many tears, Dear eyes! since first I knew them well. TENNYSON. THOU movest in visions, of Love! Around thy way E’en through this world’s rough path and changeful day For ever floats a gleam,Not from the realms of moonlight or the morn, But thine own soul’s illumined chambers born, The coloring of a dream! Love, shall I read thy dream?-oh! isait not All of some sheltering wood-embosomed spot A bower for thee and thine? Yes! lone and lowly is that home; yet there Something of heaven in the transparent air Makes every flower divine. WOMAN’S LOVE.

OH! woman’s love is a holy light, Which when once kindled can not die; Though time, and treachery, and slight, To quench the deathless flame may try. Like ivy, when it grows’tis seen To wear an everlasting green; Like ivy, too,‘tis found to cling Tou often round a worthless thing. O woman’s love! at times it may Seem cold and clouded; but it burns With an undeviating ray, And never from its idol turns. Its sunshine is a smile; a frown The heavy cloud that weighs it down; A tear its weapon is-(beware Of woman’s tears, there’s danger there):Its sweetest place on which to rest, A constant and confiding breast;Its joy-to meet;-its death-to part;Its sepulchre-a broken heart! Something that mellows and(I that glorifies Breathes o’ er it ever from the tender skies, As o’er some blessed isle; E’en like the soft and spiritual -low Kindling rich woods whereon the ethereal bow Sleeps lovingly awhile. The very whispers of the wind have there A flute-like harmon y, tha t s eems t o b ear Greeting from some bright shore Where none have said Farewell/!-where no decay Lends the faint crimson to the dying day; Where the storm’s might is o’er, And there thou dreamest of Elysian rest, In the deep sanctuary of one true breast Hidden from earthly ill: There wouldst thou watch the homeward step whose sound Wakening all Nature to sweet echoes round, Thine inmost soul can thrill. There by the hearth should many a glorious page, From mind to mind the immortal heritage, For thee its treasures pour; Or music’s voice at vesper hours be heard, Or dearer interchange of playful word, Affection’s household lore. WITII more than Jewish reverence as yet Do I the sacred name conceal; When, ye kind stars, ah! when will it be fit Th;* gentle mystery to reveal! When will our love be named, and we possess That christening as a badge of happiness? So bold as yet no verse of mine has been, To wear that gem on any line; Nor, till the happy nuptial musc be seen. Shall any stanza with it shine. Rest, mighty name! till then; for thou must be Laid down by her, ere taken up by me. And the rich unison of min:led prayer, The melody of hearts in heavenly air, Thence duly should arise; Lifting the eternal hope, the adoring breath, Of spirits, not to be disjoined by death, Up to the starry skies. There dost thou well believe, no storm should comt T o mar the stillness of that angel home; There should thy slumbers be Weighed down with honey-dew, serenely blest, Like theirs who first in Eden’s grove took rest Under some balmy tree. Then all the fields and woods shall with it ring; Then Echo’s burden it shall be; Then all the birds in several notes shall sing, And all the rivers murmur,-thee; Then every wind the sound shall upward bear, And softly whisper’t to some angel’s ear. COWLEY. Love! Love! thou pfsssionate in joy and wo! And canst thou hope for cloudless peace below Here, where bright things must die? Oh! thou, that, wildly worshipping, dost shed On the frail altar of a mortal head Gifts f i i-n itv! Thou nust be stirl a tremnbler, f earful Love! Danger seemis ga!t)erinq from beneath, above, |Sti1′ rounll Itht p:’~cio,.s things; NAyAY.‘tis not . The ee,f he!’ need: he n lir,, snowy neck Phe, flc-wia’ oult!i of pr,ii-.ortione-l limbs M w,ill i with helth’s e l;stie l irztness, blent ~’:it}i all thaR~t namuneles>s sanv-it’” of air SONNET. THE HOME OF LOVE. HER NAME. THI7, BRIDE. 11 I

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TIHE ALi, 3UM OF LOVE. Thy stately pine-tree, or thy gracious rose, In their sweet shade can yield thee no repose, IWre, where the blight hath wings. And, as a flower with some fine sense imbued, To shrink before the wind’s vicissitude, So in thy prescient breast Are lyre-strings quivering with prophetic thrill To the low footstep of each comning ill; -Oh! caust thou dream of rest? Bear up thy dream! thou mighty and thou weak! Heart strong as death, yet as a reed to break; As a flame, tempest-swayed! He that sits calm on high is yet the source Whence thy soul’s current hath its troubled course, He that great deep hath made! Will He not pity? He, whose searching eye Reads all the secrets of thine agony? Oh! pray to be forgiven Thy fond idolatry, thy blind excess, kad seek with Him that bower of blessedness: Love! thy sole home is heaven! HEM,IANS. Th ou dost know how many years, How lc,O g and well my soul has worshippe d the e, Till my mind made itself a solitude For only thee to dwel l i n-and thou welt The spirit of all fou ntain s in my br east! -We will not speak of th at; but oh! that eve Amid the pines, our fondest and our last! (Ere it had crossedlms y heart, or thine, to think Tlhat we could part-and onte could change so soon) How it has haunted me, with all the sounds That made it silent-and the starry eyes And flitting s hap es that m ade it solitude Did I not love eou thee! o h! bu t for on e throb, One pulse of al l the pulses beating then; One fe eling-though the feeling were a pang! One passion-though the passion spoloe in tears! I deemed thy love was boundless; oh! the queen, The eastern queen, who melted down her pearl, Anr] (dlank the treasure in a single drau,g-ht, Was wiser far than hearts that love too well, If love be finite! In that last adieu Our young and ardent spirits burnt away, And flung their ashes on the winds of heaven!

Our love has perished like the sound that dies, And leaves no echo-like the eastern day That has no twilight-like the lonely flower Flung forth to wither on the wind, that wastes Even its perfume: dead, thou false one!

dead, With all the precious thoughts on which it fed, And all the hopes which made it beautifulSound, light, and perfume, gone-and gone for ever!

J. K. HERVE.Y. A MYSTERY thou art, thou mighty one I We speak thy name in beauty, yet we shuna To own thee, Love, a gutLest; tlie poet’s songs Are sweetest when theiir voice to thee belo!ngs, And hope, sweet opiate, tenderness, delight, Are terms which are thy own peculiar right; Yet all deny their master; who will own His breast thy footstool, and his heart thy throne? LANDON. WAKE, oh, wake! the morning star Hath ceased to grace his glittering car: Slowly the redd’ning clouds enfold, And frequent streaks of living gold Announce the lord of day. The light breeze wal’ts perfume on high, Less sweet alone than thy sweet sigh! The flower with fresher teints is glowing, The fount with clearer crystal flowing. Oh come! oh come! Hours like this a charm impart, That wins the e-e but not the heart, While Love is still away! LE veritable amour ne pent exister sans l’estime; mais l’estime la plus parfaite ne suffit pas pour l’amour.

Cette passion si douce et si violente, source de plaisirs et de peines, de tourmens et de de6lices, cette flamme qui consume, et fait vivre, ne s’allume janlais qu’une fois. Les ames pures savent l’immoler a la vertu, et donner ensuite au devoir tout ce qui depend encore d’elles: mais cet attrait, ce charme irresistible, cet lae rapide de toutes les pensdes, de tous les sentimens vers un seul objet, ces craintes terribles, ces vives esperances, et ces profondes douleurs pour un regard de colore, et ces ravissemens inexprimables pour un serrement de main, on ne les eprouve plus; ils sont passes avec le premier amour. Le coeur n’en est plus susceptible. C’est le lis coupe6 sur sa tige; la plante vit encore, mais ne produit plus de fleurs. FLORIAN. Wlak e, oh, wake! through every grove Is h eard the matin roun d of love; -And shall a dearer love be vain To bid thee burst dull slumber’s chain, And spurn at slow delay? Though morning glow with teints divin I’d change her brightest blush for thine And deem thine eye from sleep awakin Outshone the sun through darkness bred Oh come! oh come! Hours like this are quickly fled, But thy fond smile a joy can shed Which melts not thus away! LOVE’S DARING. OH, never did achievement -ival Love’s, For daring enterprise and execution! It will do miracles: attempt such things As make ambition, fiery as it is, Dull plodding tamenes s i n compar ison. Talk of the miser’s passion for his store’Tis milk and water to the lover’s, which Defies the mines of earth and caves of ocean To match its treasure! Talk of height, breadth, depth, Thel e is no measure for the lover’s passion, No bounds to what’twill do!

AH, me! for aught that ever I could read, Could ever hear by tale or history, The course of true love never did run E,mooth: But either it was different in blood, Or else misgrafted in respect of years; Or else it stood upon the choice of friends, Or, if there were a sympathy in choice, War, death, or sickness, did lay siege to it; Making it momentary as a sound, Swift as a shadow, short as any dream; Brief as the lightning in the colled night, That in a spleen, unfolds both heaven and earth; And, ere a man hath power to say, Behold! The jaws of darkness do devour it up: So quick bright things come to confusion! SHAKSPERE. LovE is a gift which God hath given To man alone beneath the heaven. It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind In body and in soui can bind. I I 342 LOVE’S LAST FVENING. Oh! that word w.,, how sad a word it is!-SHAKSIIFRL DOST thou recal it?‘twas a glorious eve!

The air was precious with the breath of flowers That had been weeping-and the harps of eve Played vespers to the stars! and in the blue, The deep blue sky, (how beautiful she looked!) Stood the young moon! 0 LOVE. T.

DAL.E. SHERIDAiv KNowLEs. sco-T.

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TIlE ALBUM OF LOVE. But surely in the countries where the sun Lights loveliness in-all hlie shines uponWhere Love is as a mystery and a dream, One single flower upon life’s troubled stream; There, there, perchance, may the young bosom thrill, Feeling and Fancy linger with Love still.

LANDOW. THE FAREWELL. FAREWELL, fair Rosebud of the isles! Yet one farewell to thee; Brief was the blessing of thy smiles Like all of bliss for me. Deputed dreams! sent down to bless The sleep of beauty, tell With what impassioned tenderness The minstrel breathes farewell! Oh! tell her she’s my sheltering tree, My love-star o’er the waves, The camel’s treasured draught to me, That midst the desert saves. This neart itself a desert bare As that my footstep knows; On e o nly rose left blooming the re, And she that virgin rose. ISHMAEL FITZADAM. I WILL remember thee,w-in that still hour When, like a dream of beauty, from the west, Heaven’s sweetest star sheds down her golden dower Of light upon the waters,-whose unrest And moodiness might well be charmed away, By the pure loveliness of that soft ray! I will remember thee,-when night hath thrown Its dreams around the sleeper, and repose Hath calmed the worn and aching spirit down To brief oblivion of its waking woes; Then,-when deep silence reigneth over all, My lonely thoughts thine image shall recal. I will remember thee,-when morn hath hung Her banner on the hills,-and kindling gleams Of sunlight, in warm diamond showers are flung Upon the surface of the bounding streams, Which, move in their exulting course along, Free as the murmurs of their own wild song. LADY, ‘kre who have dwelt upon the sordid land, Amid the everlasting gloomy war Of Poverty with Wealth-ye can not know How we, the wild sons of the ocean, mock At men who fret out life with care for gold. Oh! the fierce sickness of the soul-to see Love bought and sold, and all the heaven-roofed temple Of God’s great globe, the money-change of Mammon I I dream of love, enduring faith, a heart Mingled with miae-a deathless heritage Which I can take unsullied to the stars, When the Great Father calls his children home; And in the midst of this Elysian dream, Lo, Gold-the demon Gold! alas! the creeds Of the false land! _ I will remember thee,-through many a scene Of pleasantness and solitude;-for thou Upon my dark and troubled path hast been A vision blest and cheering,-as the bow That spans the thunder-cloud: a thing of light, As early hope’s first dreamings pure and bright. ELIZA ACTOIN. ..y bark shall be our home; The gale shall chant our bridal The stars that light the angel p Of air, our lamps; our floor, th Studded with sapphires sparklin Our roof, all Heaven! my beau Never did sail more gladly glide Than I to thee! mv anchor in t And in thinie eyes my haven! OH! Love hath wings on which we fly, To breathe in joy’s unclouded sky! And Love hath wings, on which we go Down to the hopeless depths of wo! Love is a light in sorrow’s night, It shines with pure and gladdening ray, And Love is a flamne which from heaven came, A beacon that shines o’er our earthly way, When kindred hearts in rapture meet, When e’en their plaintive sighs are sweet, Then dwells celestial bliss below, Then flies all thought of care or wo! Then trip the hours o’er summer flowers; Then life glides like a gentle stream: Earth yields no bliss so sweet as this, Though it sometimes fade like an earthly dryur The pair inspired by rosy love, Foretaste the joys of heaven above! Their hearts are blessed, and what to them Is glittering pomp or costly gem? They rapture breathe! on earth beneath They tread a soft enchanted path. If o’er the hour the tempest lower, They reck not the fate of its bursting wrath. OH! happy they, the happiest of their kind! Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings ut4i,LT ‘Tis not the coarser ties of human laws, Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, That binds their peace, but harmony itself, Attuning all their passions into love: Where friendship full exerts her softest power, Perfect esteem, enlivened by desire Ineffable, and sympathy of soul; Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, Vith boundless confidence; for naught but love ‘,an answer love, and render bliss secure. THoMrsop. LOWERS LOVE’S LANGUAGE.

BEAUTIFUL language! Love’s peculiar own, But only to the spring and summer known. Ah! little marvel in such clime and age As that of our too earth-born pilgrimage, That we should daily hear that Love is fled, And Hope grown pale, and lighte1 feelings dead. Not for the coldl, the careless to impart, By such sweet signs, the silence of the heart; Alas!

if Love do not reveal His warmth to stamp the marriage seal, Then grief and bitter wo betide The wedded lord and hapless bride: Then hope will die, and true Love fly Far off upon his trembling wing; The withered breast shall know no rest Fronm the sc!.orpion care, and his poisoned sting. J. Brit. 343 LOVE’S REMEMBII-ANCE. MERCENARY LOVE DESPISED. I will remember thee,-when summer’s sigh Breathes o’er the mountains, and the laughing euO Is zoned with roses,-while deep melody Hath in the woods, with the wild flowers its birth From joyous birds, who mid their green homes there Pour forth their music on the clear blue air SiR E. L. BULWEP

THE SAILOR LOVER. LOVE. SIR E. L. BULWER. DOMESTIC LOVE.

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THE ALBUM OF LOVE. He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore, And make his heart a spirit; he who knows That tender mystery will love the more, For this is Love’s recess, where vain men’s woe(s, And the world’s waste, have driven him far from those, For’tlS his nature to advance or die; He stands not still, but or decays, or crows Into a boundless blessing, which may vie With the immortal lights, in its eternity. ‘TIs sweet to hear At midnighlt, o’er the blue and moonlit deep, The song and oar of Adria’s gondolier, By distance mellowed, o’er the waters sweep: :Tis sweet to see the evening star appear; ‘Tis sweet to listen as the night-wind(s creep From leaf to leaf;‘tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky. ‘Tis sweet to hear the watchdog’s honest bark Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home; ‘Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come.

‘Tis sweet to be awakened by the lark, Or lulled with falling waters; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, The lisp of children, and their earliest words. But sweeter far than this, than these, than all, Is first and passionate love: It stands alone, Like Adam’s recollection of his fall. THEY err who deem Love’s brightest hour in blooming youth is known: Its purest, tenderest, holiest power in after life is shown, When passions chastened and subdued to riper years are given, And earth and earthly things are viewed in light that breaks from Heaven. It is not in the flush of youth, or days of cloudless mirth, We feel the tenderness and truth of Love’s devoted worth; Life then is like a tranquil stream which flows in sunshine bright, And objects mlirrored in it seem to share its sparkling light. FAREWELL! Farewell! the voice you hear, Has left its last soft tone with you,Its next must join the seaward cheer, And shout aniong the shouting crew. The accents which I scarce could form Beneath ycour frown’s controlling check, Must give the word, above the storm, To cut the mast and clear the wreck. The timid eye I dared not raise, Thne hand that shook when pressed to thine, Must point the guns upon the chase, Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. To all I love, or hope, or fear, Honor, or own, a long adieu! To all that life has soft and dear, Farewell! save memory of you! ‘Tis when the howling winds arise, and life is like the ocean, Whose mountain billows brave the skies, lashed by the storm’s commotion, When lightning cleaves the murky cloud, and thunderbolts astound us, ‘Tis then we feel our spirits bowed by loneliness around us. Oh! then, as to the seaman’s sight the beacon’s twinkling ray Surpasses far the lustre bright of summer’s cloudless day, E’en such, to tried and wounded hearts in manhood’s darker years, The gentle light true love imparts, mid sorrows, cares, and fears. Its beams on mninds of joy bereft their freshening brightness fling, And show that life has somewhat left to which their hopes may cling; It steals upon the sick at heart, the desolate in soul, To bid their doubts and fears depart, and point a brighter goal. Lov, like the grave, le vels earth’s vain distinctions, Hearts blend beneath his influence, as the colors Blend in the rainbow, where each separate hue Grows fatint and fainte r, till its varied teints Fade on our wandering eyes, and we behold Nothing but heaven. NEF.LE. If such be Love’s triumphant power o’er spirits touched by time, Oh! who shall doubt its loveliest hlour of happiness sub. lime? In youth,‘tis like the meteor’s gleam which dazzles and sweeps by, In after life, its splendors seem linked with eternity! B. BARTON. THE RETREAT OF LOVE. BY heavenly feet thy paths are trod, Undying Love’s, who here ascends a throne To which the steps are mountains; where the god Is a pervading life and light,-so shown Not on those summits solely, nor alone In the still cave and forest; o’er the flower His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, His soft and summer breath, whose tender power Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour All things are here of him; from the black pines That are his shade on high, and the loud roar Of torrents, where he listeneth; to the vines Which slope his green path downward to the shore, Whliere the bowed waters meet him, and adore, Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood, The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, Offering to him and his a populous solitude. A populous solitude of bees and birds,; And fairy-formed and many-colored things, Who worship him with notes more sweet than words. And innocently open their glad wines,M Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs, And fall of lofty fountains, and( the henl Of stirring branches, and the huld which brings The swiftest thougiht of beauty, here extend, Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end. OH!

they arc blest indeed, and swift the hours Till her young sisters wreath her hair in flowers. Then before all they stand; the holy vow, And ring of gold no fond illusions nowBind her as his. Across the threshold led, And every tear kissed off as soon as shed, His house she enters, there to be a light, Shining within when all without is night; A guardian angel o’er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasure, and his cares dividing! /‘iow oft her eyes read his; l, er gentle mind ro all his wishes, all his thoughts inclined, Still subject-ever on the watch to borrow Mirth of his mirth, and sorrow of his sorrowlThe soul of music slumbers in the shell Till wakled to rapture by the iiiaster’s spell; Anfl feelin. hearts  toech them bhet rightly, pour A thousand melodies unheard before. ROGERS I !I i i iI i i i I I I I ‘i44 BvRo,v THE LOVE OF LATER YEARS. BYRON. THE

SAILOR’S FAREWELL. SCOT-R. THE BRIDAL.

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T‘‘HE ALBUM OF LOVE. BRIDAL GREETINGS. OCEAN and land the globe divide; Summer and winter share the year; Darkness and light walk side by side; And earth and heaven are always near FoR EVER thine! when hills and seas divide, When stormnis combine; When west winds sigh, or deserts part us wide-D For ever thine! In the gay circle of the proud saloon, Whose splendors shine; In the lone stillness of the evening moon For ever thine!

Though each be good and fair alone, And glorious in its time and place, In all, when fitly paire d, i s shown More of their Maker’s power and grace.

And when the light of song, that fires me now, Shall life resign, My breaking heart shall breathe its latest vow, For ever thine! Then may th e union of young hearts So early and so well begun, Like sea and shore, in all their parts Appear as twain, but be as one. Be it like summer-may they find Bliss, beauty, hope, where’er they roam; Be it like winter-when confined, Peace, comfort, happiness, at home. THY life was all one oath of love to me! Sworn to me daily, hourly, by thine eyes, Which, when they saw me, lightened up as though An angel’s presence did enhance their sense, That I have seen their very color change, Subliming into lines past earthliness. Talk of the adjuration of the tongueCompare Love’s name-a sound which any life May pipe! a breath! with holy love itself! Thou’rt not forsworn, because thou tookst no oath? What were thy accents, then?

thy accents? tell me I Oh! they did turn thy lightest words to oaths, Vouching the burden of a love-fraught soul! Telling a tale which my young nature caught With interest so deep,‘twas conned by heart Before I knew the fatal argument! SHERIDAN KNOWLE~ W hen land and ocean, day and When years and nature cease May their inheritance be light, Their union one eternity! SONG OF THE AGED MINSTREL. AND said I that my limbs were old, And said I that my blood was cold, And that my kindly fire was fled, And my poor withered heart was dead, And that I might not sing of love? How could I to the dearest theme That ever warmed a minstrel’s dream, So foul, so false a recreant prove? How could I name Love’s very name, Nor wake my heart to notes of flame! I LOVED thee once! Oh! tell me when was it I loved thee not? Was’t in my childhood, boyhood, manhood? Oh! In all of them I loved thee! And, were I now To live the span of my first life twice told, And then to wither, thou surviving me, And yet I lived in thy sweet memorv, Then might’st thou say of me, “He loved me once, But that was all his life!” In peace Love tunes the shepherd’s reed; In war, he mounts the warrior’s steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above, For love is heaven and heaven is love! IT is the spirit’s bitterest pain T o love and be beloved aga in, And yet between a gulf which ever The hearts that burn to meet must sever. O’er some Love’s shadow may but pass As passes the breath-stain o’er glass; And pleasures, cares, and pride, combined Fill up the blank Love leaves behind. But there are some whose love is high, Entire-almost idolatry; Who, turning from a heartless world, Ask some dear thing which may renew Affection’s severed links, and be As true as they themselves are true. But love’s bright fount is never pure, And all his pilgrims must endure All passion’s mighty suffering Ere they may reach the blessed spring. And some who waste their lives to find A prize which they may neverwin; Like those who seek for Irem’s groves, Which found, they may not enter in. And some there are who leave the path In agony and fierce disdain, And bear upon each wounded heart The sear that never heals again. WILT THOU BE MINE. Ir thou’lt be mine, the treasures of air, Of earth and sea, shall lie at thy feet; Whatever in Fancy’s eye looks fair, Or in Hope’s sweet music is most sweet, Shall be ours, if thou wilt be mine, love I Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove, A voice divine shall talk in each stream, the stars shall look like worlds of love, And this earth be all one beautiful dream In our eyes, if thou wilt be mine, love! And thoug7hts, whose source is hidden and high, Like streams that come from heavenward hills, Shall keep our hearts-like meads that lie To be bathed by those eternal rillsEver green, if thou wilt be mine, love! All this and more the Spirit of Love Can breathe o’er them who feel his spells! The heaven which forms his home above, He can make on earth, where’er he (dwells, .And he will, if thou wil’t be mlie, love! T. MOORE. 42 .345 THE ECHO. From the German.

Like day and night, sweet interchange Of care, enjoyment, action, rest; Absence nor coldness eler estrange Hearts by unfailing love possest. Like earth’s horizon be their scene Of life, a rich and various ground; And, whether lowering or serene, Heaven all above it and around. J.

MONTGomzitir. SIIERIDAN KriowLF,. SCOTT. LANDoiq. A SILVER lute, a minstrel hand, To youth and love belon!z, r, or is not Love’-, owr  ni-tgic wand The melody of soii,, it. P.

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THE ALBUM OF I,OVE. THE ABSENT LOVER TO HIS BETROTHED. I w ould not t hat the love, w hich owes its birth To heaven, should perish like the things of earth Adieu! as falls the flooding moonlight round me Fall Heaven’s best joys on thy beloved head! May cares that harabs, and may griefs that wour Flee from thy path and bed! Be every thought that stirs, and hour that flies, Sweet as thy smile, and radiant as thine eyes! SUMIMER was on the hills when last we parted, Flowers in the vale, and beauty on the sky, Our hearts were true, although our hopes were thwarted; Porwari, with wistful eye, Scarce half-resig,ned we looked, yet thought how sweet ‘Twoulti be agailn in after months to meet. And months have passel: now the bright moon is shining O’er the gray mountains and the stilly sea, As, by the streamlet’s willowy bead reclining, I pause, rememnbering thee, Who to the moonlight lent a softer charm, As through these wilds we wandered arm in arn.! I Am undone; there is no living, none, If be away. It were all one That I should love a bright particular And think to wed it, he is so above me In his bright radiance and collateral li Must I be comforted, not in his sphere The ambition in my love thus plagues i The hind that would be mated by the li Must die for love.‘Twas pretty, thou To see him every hour, to sit and draw His arched brows, his hawking eye, his In our heart’s table; heart too capable Of every line and trick of his sweet fat But now he’s gone, and my idolatrous f Must sanctify his relics! Yes as we roamed, the sylvan earth seemed glowing Withl many a beauty unreinarked before: The soul was like a deep irn overflowing With thoughts a treasured store; The very flowers seemne( born but to exhale, As breathed the West, their firagrance to the gale. Methinks I see thee yet-thy form of lightness, An atngel phantom gliding through the trees, Thine alabaster brow, thy cheek of brightness, Thy tresses in the breeze Floating their auburn, and thine eyes that made, So rich their blue, heaven’s azure like a shade. Methinks even yet I feel thy timid fingers, With their bland pressure thrilling bliss to mine. Methia,ks yet on my cheek thy breathing lingers As, fo(ldly leant to thine, I told how life all pleasureless would be, Green palm-tree of earth’s desert, wanting thee. Not yet, not yet, had disappointment shrouded Youth’s summer calias with storms of wintry strife; The star of Hope shone o’er our path unclouded, And Fancy colored life With those elysian rainbow-hues, which Truth Melts with his rod, when disenchanting youth. BEnLIEVE me, if all tho s e endearing young c harms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms Like fairy-gifts flding away; Thou wouldst still be adorned, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will; And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still.

Where art thou now? I look around, but see not The features and the form that haunt my dreams! Where art thou now? I listen, but for me not The deep, rich music streams Of that entrancing voice, which could bestow A zest to pleasure, and a balhn to wo:I miss thy smile, when morn’s first light is bursting Through the green branches of the casement tree; To list thy voice my lonely ear is thirsting, Beside the moonlight sea: Vain are my longings, my repinings vain; Sleep only gives thee to my arms again. It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known, To which time will but make thee more dear I Oh! the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close; As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose! T. MooRE

Yet should it cheer me, that nor wo hath shattered The ties that link our hearts, nor Hate, nor Wrath, And soon the day may dawn, when shall be scattered All shadows from our path; And visions be fulfilled, by Hope adored, In thee, the long-lost, to mine arms restored. Ah! could I see thee!-see thee, were it only But for a moment lookling bliss to me! Ah!

could I hear thee!-desolate and lonely Is life deprived of thee: I start from out my revery, to know That hills between us rise, and rivers flow!

THERE are a thousand fanciful things Linked round the young heart’s imaginings. In its first love-dream, a leaf or a flower, Is gifted then with a spell and a power; A shade is an omen, a dream is a sian, From which the maiden can well divine Passion’s whole history. Those only can tel Who have loved as young hearts can love so How the pulses will beat, and the cheek will When they have some love au,-ti:y tried. Oh! it is not for those whose feelings are co] Withered by care, or blunted by gold; Whose brows have darkened with many yea To feel again youth’s hopes and fearsWhat they now might blush to confess, Yet what made their spring-day’s happiness! Let Fortune change-be fickle Fate preparing To sho,ver her arrows, or to shed her balm, All that I ask for, pray for, is the sharing With thee life’s storm or calm: For, ah! with others’ Wealth and Mirth would be Less sweet by far than Sorrow shared with thee! Yes!

vainly, foolishly, the vulgar reckon That Happiness resides in outward shows: Contentment from the lowliest cot may beckon True Love to sweet repose: For geruine bliss can ne’er be far apart, When soul meets soul, and heart responds to heart. HEE.:, in our souls, we treasure up the wealth Fraud can not filch, nor waste destroy;-the more ‘Tis spent, the more we hi, t;-the sweet affectionsThe heart’s reliaion-the divriner instincts Ofwhat we shall be when the w(orld is (dust! SER E. L. B uLWEr_

F:....~-:”! ]. t tv-.nnr s Timne roll r)n, estranging ‘F,.....: x *or,Eeart from ench fnmiliar spot: ‘B,, ~l.,’,. fr,,n!‘l wi. i wth te seeasons chlanging,O i teat thou chmngest not! ,446 DELTA. AMBITIOUS LOVE.

SHA-KSPF,RE. UNCHANGEABLE LOVE. LOVE AUGURIES. L”Dox. THE WEALTH OF LOVE.

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THE ALBUM OF LO, VE. A WVIFE TO HEIR IUSBAND. WITH thee conversing I fuiget all time; Al! seasons and thleir clihanle, all p)lease alike; Sweet is the bireathli of lioi ri, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, When first on this delihlitftol land he spreads His orient beams on lihel), tire, fiuit, and flower, Glistering with dew; ti’igrtnt the fertile earth After soft showers; ant sweet the coming on Of grateful evening iiild; then sillent night, aWith this her solce:in bird, and this lair moon, And these the geins of heaven, her starry train:But neither breath of lmorn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun On this delihlitful land; nor herb, fruit, flower, Glistering with dew; nor fiagrauce after showers; Nor grateful evening nild; nor silent night With this her solemin birdl, nor walk by moon, Or glittering starlizit,-without thee is sweet. MILTON By day or night, in weal or wo, That heart, no longer free, Must bear the love it can not show, And silent ache for thee. LOVE. in a drowsy mood one day Reclined with all his nymphs around him, His feathered darts tegrlected lay, And faldedl were the flowers that crowned him. Young Hope, with le e of light, in vrain Led smiling Beauty to imnplore him, While Genius poured his sweetest strain, And Pleasure shooki his roses o’er him. JAMis nous ne verrions briller un jour serein, Toujours par la douleur l’Iame seroit fletrie, Si l’amour ne venoit consoler notre vie, Et semer quelques fleurs sur ce triste chemin. At length a stranger sought the grove, And fiery Vengeance seemed to guide him, He rudely tore the wreaths of Love, And broke the darts that lay beside him. The little god now wakeful grew, And, angry at the bold endeavor, He rose, and wove his wreaths anew, And strung his bow more firm than ever. THE REPROACH. WHY art thou silent? Is thy love a plant Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air Of absence withers what was once so fair? Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant?

Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant (As would my deeds have been) with hourly care, The mind’s least generous wish a mendicant For naught but what thy happiness could spare. Speak, though this soft warm heart, once free to hold A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine, Be left more desolate, more dreary cold Than a forsaken bird’s-nest filled with snow ‘Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine; Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know! WORtDSWORTH. When, lo! the invader cried, ”

Farewell! My skill, bright nymphs, this lesson teachesWhile Love is sprightly bind him dell With smiles, and songs, and honeyed speeches; But should dull languor seize the god, Recall me on my friendly mission; For know when Love begins to nod, His surest spur is opposition.” From the Italia. LOVE’S ARTIFICE. I SAID it was a wilful, wayward thing, And so it is, fantastic and perverse! Which makes its sport of persons and of seasons, Takes ts own way, no matter right or wrong. It is the bee that finds the honey out, Where least you dream’twould seek the nectarous store. And’tis an errant masquer-this same loveThat most outlandish, freakish faces wears To hide his own! Looks a proud Spaniard now; Now a grave Turk; hot Ethiopian next; And then phlegmatic Englishman; and then Gay Frenchman; by-and-by Italian, at All things a song; and in another skip, Gruff Dutchman; still is Love behind the masque! it is a hypocrite!

looks every way But that where lie its thoughts! will openly Frown at the thing it smiles in secret on; Shows most like hate, e’en when it most is love; Would fain convince you it is very rock Wher. it is water! ice when it is fire! Is oft its own dupe, like a thorough cheat; Persuades itself’tis not the thing it is; Holds up its head, purses its brows, and looks Askant, with scornful lip, hugging itself That it is high disdain-till suddenly It falls en its knees, making most piteous suit With hail of tears and hurricane of sighs, Calling on heaven and earth for witnesses That it is love, true love-nothing but love! SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

OH! were I loved as I d esir e to b e, What is there in the great sphere of the earth, And range of evil between death and birth, That I should fear-if I were loved by thee? All the inner, all the outer world of pain Clear Love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert miiw Us I have heard that, somewhere in the main Fresh water springs come up through bitter brine. ‘Twere joy, not fear, clasped hand in hand with thee, To wait for death-mute-careless of all ills, Apart upon a mountain, through the surge Of some new deluge from a thousand hills Flung leagues of roaring foam into the gorge Below us, as far on as eye could see. A. TENNYSON, LovE is a thing of frail and delicate g rowth; Soon checked, soon fostered; feeble and yet strong, It will endure much, suffer long, and bear What would weigh down an angel’s wing to earth, And yet mount heavenward; but not the less It dieth of a word, a look, a thought; And when it (lies, it dies without a sign To tell how fair it was in happier hours: It leaves behind reproaches and regrets, And bitterness within aflection’s well. For which there is no healing. 347 ON PARTLNG. THE kiss, dear iiiald! thy lip liath left Shall nevei- part from mine, Till hrppier’nours restore the gift Untainted bacli to thine. Thy partin,- glance, which fondly beams, An equal love may see: The tear that from thine eyelid streams, Can weep no change in me. I ask no pledge to make me blest In gazing when alone; Nor one memorial for a breast Whose thoughts are all thine own. Nor need I write-to tell the tale My pen were doubly weak: Oh! what can idle words avail, Unless the heart could speak? THE TRANCE OF -LOVE. BYRON. SONNET.

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’’TIIE ALBUM OF LOVE. And shaded the soft soul which loved to lie In the deep pathos of that vwtlunied eye. Lone-thoughltful-tender-ever from her birth, Her heart had been too gentle for light minirth. Sutch are the thrones where love too surely reigns, And turns his slightest chaplets into chains: To them the world of others is as naught; They shrink from earth and banquet on sweet thougnt, And passioni grows their life; alas!

for those Whom rapture leaves too restless for repose, Who bind on reeds their hopes-their joys-their all, And idly chide the wild winds when they fall! THOU hast watched beside the bed of death, 0 fearless human love!

Thy lip received the last faint breath, Ere the spirit fled above. Thy prayer was heard by the parting bier, In a low and farewell tone, Thou hast given the grave both flower and tear. -0 Love! thy task is done. Then turn thee from each pleasant spot, Where thou wert wont to rove; For there the friend of thy soul is not, Nor the joy of thy youth, 0 Love! Thou wilt meet but mournful Memory there, Her dreams in the grove she weaves, With echoes filling the summer air, With sighs the trembling leaves. HF.MANS.

Then turn thee to the world again, From these dim haunted bowers, And shut thine ear to the wild sweet strain That tells of vanished hours. THAT hallowed sphere, a woman’s heart, contains Empires of feeling, and the rich domains Where Love, disporting in his sunniest hours, Breathes his sweet incense o’er ambrosial flowers; A woman’s heart!-that gem, divinely set In native gold-that peerless amulet, Which firmly linked to Love’s electric chain, Connects the worlds of transport and of pain! J. BIRD. And wear not on thine aching heart The image of the dead, For the tie is rent that gave thee part In the gladness &ts beauty shed: And gaze on the pictured smile no more That thus can life outlast, All between parted souls is o’er; -Love! Love! forget the past! “Voice of vain boding! away, be still! Strive not against the faith That yet my bosom with light can fill, Unquenched and undimmed by death: “From the pictured smile I will not turn, Though sadly now it shine; Nor quit the shades that in whispers mourn For the step once linked with mine: GIVE me but thy love, and I Envy none beneath the sky; Pains and perils I defy If thy presence cheer me.

Give me but thy iove, my sweet! Joy shall bless us when we meet; Pleasures come, and cares retreat, When thou smilest near me. “Nor shut mine ear to the song of old, Though its notes the pang renew, -Such memories deep in my heart I hold, To keep it pure and true. “By the holy instinct of my heart, By the hope that bears me on, I have still my own undying part In the deep affection gone. Happy’twere, belov ed one, When the toils of day are done, Ever with the set of sun To thy fond arms retiring;There to feel, and there to know A balm that baffles every wo, While hearts that beat and eyes that glow Are sweetest thoughts inspiring. ” By the presence that about me seems Through night and day to dwell, Voice of vain bodings and fearful dreams! -I have breathed no last farewell!” What are all the joys of earth? What are revelry and mirth? Vacant blessings-nothing worth To hearts that ever knew love. What is all the pomp of state, What the grandeur of the great, To the raptures that await On the path of true love? BETROTHED to one long worshipped ald enshrined In the veiled altars of that vestal mind, Dreaming of years unwrecked and fate defied, With one dear treasure ever by her side-H Pure-gentle-tender as the evening air, When something holy blends with beauty thereT While vague and voiceless, through the light above Moves the impassioned spirit of deep love, The noble maiden sat! and in her ear Came those low tones which maidens deem most dear, And o’er her young cheeks softest beauty stole And went, the blushes speeding from the soul; And oft from earth all guilelessly she raised The eye e’en Love had ne’er too wildly praised; The eye which wooed you like a star to gaze, And dream that worlds lay couched beneath its-rays; And as you gazed, your softening spirit drew, As from some holy fount, a virtue f-om its huoe, Sad seenes had temmr,t with a pensive grace The qi:len l!istre of tihat fanultles f;,ce, .d1 hiun a sw eet an.v (dreamlike spell upon The glili,*!nusic of hlcr siver tone; I 348 THE

FAITff OF LOVE. OH! cast thou not Affection from thee! In this bitter world Hold to thy heart that only treasure fast; Watch-giiard it-suffer not a breath to dim The bright gem’s purity! A WOMAN’S HEART. GIVE ME BUT

THY LOVE. HF,MANS THE BETROTHED. Should joy our days and years illume, How sweet with thee to share such doo Nor, oh! less sweet, should sorrows com To cherish and caress thee; Then, while I live, then till I die, Oh! be thou only smiling by, And, while I breathe, I’ll fondly try With all my heart to bless thee! DF,LT,C WHEW the heart is full, the over Of bliss, by being shared, is swee The very flowers that in the May Bloom out together; and the bles Of night, walk not th,6 pathless h But twinl,-Ie, though unseen, in b Of sympathetic light. All beatit Hold mystic fellowship! R.

MONTGO.NIERY.

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TrHE ALBUM OF LOVE. And rapturous sorrow. Then the wold]( is nothin,g; Pleasure is nothing; stuffering is n(jthilg; Ambition, riches, praise, power, all aire nothing; Love rules and reigns despotic and alone! Then, oh! the shape of magic loveliness He conjures up before us. In her form Is perfect symmetry. Her swan-like gait, As she glides by us, like a lovely dream, Seems not of earth. From her bright eye the soul Looks out, anti, like the topmost gem o’ the heap, Shows the mine’s wealth within. Upon her face, As on a lovely landscape, shade and sunlight, Play as strong feeling sways; now her eye flashes A beam of rapture; now lets drop a tear; And now upon her brow, as when the rainbow Rears its fair arch in heaven, Peace sits and gilds The sweet drops as they fall. The soul of mind Dwells in her voice, and her soft spiritual tones Sink in the heart, soothing its cares away; As Haleyon’s brood upon the troubled wave And charm it into calmness.‘“hen she weeps, Her tears are like the waters upon which Love’s mother rose to Heaven. E’en her sighs, Although they speak the troubles of her soul, Breathe of its sweetness, as the wind that shakes The cedar’s boughs, becomes impregnated With its celestial odors. MEET me at sunset, the hour we love best, Ere day’s last crimson blushes have died in the west, When the shadowless ether is blue as thine eye, And the breeze is as balmy and soft as thy sigh; When giant-like forms lengthen fast o’er the ground From the motionless mill and the linden trees round; When the stillness below, the mild radiance above, Softly sink on the hear t and attune it to love. Meet me at sunset-oh! meet me once more, ‘Neatli the wide-spreading thorn where you met me of yore, When our hearts were as calm as the broad summer sea That lay gleaming before us, bright, boundless, and free; And with hand clasped in hand, we sat trance-bound, and deemed That life would be ever the thing it then seemed. The tree we then planted, green record! lives on, But the hopes that grew with it are faded and gone. Meet me at sunset, beloved! as of old,When the boughs of the chestnut are waving in gold; When the pure starry clematis bends with its bloom, And the jasmine exhales a more witching perfume. That sweet hour shall atone for the anguish of years, And though fortune still frown, bid us smile through our tears; Through the storms of the future shall sooth and sustain; Then meet me at suniset-oh! meet me again! A. A. WATTS.

A HUSBAND TO HIS WIFE. THERE is a mystic thread of life, So dearly wreathed with mine alone, That destiny’s relentless knife At once must sever both or none. LovE’s minstrel lute was once so dear To every youthful breast, Each maiden thronged its notes to hear, Each swain its spells confessed! Love rambled oft in hours of joy, Through Pleasure’s flowery way, A -a y light-hiearte,. minstrel boy Chanting his merry lay!

There is a f orm on w hic h thes e eyes Have often gazed with fond delight; By day that form their joy supplies, And dreams restore it through the night. Love’s minstrel lute has lost its tune, Its sweetest lay is sung!, And passion’s fervid breath hath flown, That sighed those chords among! A blighted flower, a broken toy, Love’s lute must now remain, No pulse of hope, no thrill of joy, Shall rouse its fire again!

For Reason came amid the throng To hear the god one day Like a chill blight the flowers among And checked his merry lay! His icy fingers round the boy Threw Wealth’s enslaving chain, And Love’s soft lute, that soul of joy, Ne’er sang of bliss again! MRS. C. B. WILSON. There are two hearts whose movements thrill In unison so closely sweet; That pulse to pulse responsive still, They both must heave-or cease to beat. WHAT spirit e’er so gentle shall be fount,. So softly reared in humble privacy! What form so fragile on wide earth’s vast bound, Shrinking from every blast beneath the sky, That will not brave severest destiny, dear, uncomplaining, want and cruel wrong, And look on danger with unblenching eye, If Love hath made that gentle spirit strong? ,e, pure, approved by Heaven, leads that frail form along! LADY DACRE. LOVE IN ABSENCE. OH! my dear peerless wife!

By the blue sky and all its crowding stars I love you better-oh! far better than Woman was evo. Ter loved. There’s not an hour Of day or dreaming night but I am with thee: There’s not a wind but whispers of thy name, And not a flower that sleeps beneath the moon, But in its hues or fragrance tells a tale Of thee, my love, to my fond anxious heart!

PAP.u-,- CORNW.JLL LovE in the soul, not bold and confident, But like Aurora, trembles into being; And with faint flickering, and uncertain beams, Gives notice to the awakening world within us Of the full blazing orb, that soon shall rise, And kindle all its passions. Then begin b)rrow andl joy.-unutterable joy, 349 MEET ME AT SUNSET. NEF LOVE’S MINSTREL

LUTE. There is a voice whose tones inspire Such thrills of rapture through my breast, I would not hear a seraph choir Unless that voice could join the rest. There is aface whose blushes tell Affection’s tale upon the cheek; But pallid at one fond farewell, Proclaims more love than words can speak. There is a lip which mine hath pressed, And none had ever pressed before; It vowed to make me sweetly blest, And mine-mine only-pressed it more There is a bosom-all inyown Hath pillowed oft thi.s aching head; A mouth which smiles on me alone, An eye whose tears with niine are -,hed.

There are two souls whose equal flow, In gentle streams so calmly ru That when they part-they part!-ah, no! They can not part-those souls are one!

B,mov, LOVE.

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350 LOVE’S sooner felt than seen: Oft in a voice he creeps down throu Oft from a blushing cheek he lights h Oft shrouds his golden flame in like Oft in a soft, smooth cheek doth close Oft in a smile, oft in a silent tear; And if all fail, yet Virtue’s self will PHINEF Lives belief in lovers’

hearts? Why, then, are they unbelieving? Hourly so the spirit grieving With a thousand jealous smarts. Is there pleasure in love’s passion?

tYhy.,len, is it % unp’..asin-, Heart and spirit both diseasing, Where the wits are out of fashion? No. Love sees in Beauty’s eyes He hath only lost his seeing, Where, in Sorrow’s only being All his comfort wholly dies: BEAUTY, WEALTH, AND LOVE. WA ALTg, with golden key, once souvet To win’ne way to Beauty’s shrine; Many a sparkling gem he brought, And many a diamond from the mine; But Love, veiled in slight disguise, Hovered round near Beauty’s bower, Lest the gems of Eastern skies Should weigh against his power. Wealth displayed his dazzling store, Pearly wreaths and ruby crowns; Beauty ran the treasures o’er, And smiles succeeded frowns. What could Love oppose to this? He had but his crown of simple flowers, That were bathed in the honeyed dew of bliss, Culled fresh from his roseate bowers. Then Wealth laughed out triumphantly, As he led young Beauty’s steps along, Who turned on Love a scornful eye, And a cold ear to his song. Away they went-and their path was strewn With many a rare and precious gem, That springs up at Wealth’s command alone; All-all shone brightly for them! But Beauty, at last, found out her mistake, When time had broken the charm; As the moonbeam shines on the frozen lake, Wealth may glitter-but can not warm! Then-too late-she remembered Love’s rosy bowers, When the spell that beguiled was o’er; And she sighed for the fresh unfading flowers That could blossom for her-no more! MRS. C. B.

WILSON. Whilst the greatest torch of heaven With bright ray warms Flora’s lap, Making nights and days both even, Cheering plants with fresher sap; My field of flowers, quite bereaven, Wants refresh of better hap. OH!

where is there the heart but knows Love’s first steps are upon the rose?

The first, the very first; oh! none Can feel again as they have done; In love, in war, in pride, in all The planets of life’s coronal, However beautiful and bright, What can be like their first sweet light? LANIoD.

Echo, daughter of the air, Babbling guest of rocks and hills, Knows the name of my fierce fair, And sounds the accents of my ills: Each thing pities my despair, Whilst that she her lover kills. Whilst that she, 0 cruel maid! Doth me and my love despise, My life’s flourish is decayed, That depended on her eyes; But her will must be obeyed, And well he ends for love who dies. SAMUEL DANIL OH! Love hath spoken to thy hea (That Love should ever speak in When, like the aloe that has bloo ft never blooms again!) Love, covered all with rose-like fl A fragrant, but an early thing, The spirit’s almond-tree that buds And blossoms in its spring. I MUST not grieve my love, whose eyes would read Lines of delight whereon her youth might smile; Flowers have a time before they come to seed, And she is young, and now must sport the while. And -sport, sweet maid, in season of these years, And learn to gather flowers before they wither, And where the sweetest blossom first appears, Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither. Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise; Pity and smiles do best become the fair; Pity and smiles must ~nly yield thee praise. 1\lake nie to say, when all my griefs are gone, Happy the -.art that sighed for such a one! SAMUEL

DANIEL. LADY! sweet maid, with flowing auburn hair, Lips like twin cherries, eyes of heavenly blue, And blooming cheek, tinctured with Health’s own hue, Such as in Spring the apple-blossoms wear; Cheerful as Morn, and innocent as fair! Accept this Garland, for it is thy due: Thou didst direct me oft where hidden grew Love’s fairest plants, of scent and beauty rare, Andl warn me oft against a noxious flower, Of color bright, and tempting to the eye, But all unfit in Beauity’s breast to lie, To wreath her brow, or deck her la tticed bower: Useropped I passed suich canker-blossoms by, Wanderiug with thee throu,h meads in summner hour. I THE ALBUIV OF LOVE. A SOLEMN CONCEIT. DOTH Love live in Beauty’s eyes?

Why, then, are they so iinloving? Patience in her passion proving There his sorrow chiefly lies. Fain within the heart of love, Fearful of the thing it hath, Treading of a trembling path, Doth but jealousy approve. In Lovels p.,kssion, then, what p Which is but a lunacy, Where grief, fear, and jealou Plague the senses out of measu Farewell, then, unkindly fancy, In thy courses all too cruel: Wo the price of such a jewel As turns reason to a phrensy I N. BILETO]L AN ODE. Now each creature joys the other, Passing happy days and hours; One bird reports unto another, In the fall of silver showers; Whilst the Earth, our common mother, Hath her bosom decked with flowerii. J. K. HERVEY. SONNET.

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TIIE AI,BUM OF LvINGERINGE LOVE. 1 O} LOVE. Ura SIGH NO MORE. SIGH no more, ladies, sigh no more; Men were deceivers ever; One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never: Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny: Converting all your sounds of wo Into, hey! nonny, nonny. IL lingeringe Eve mislikinge growes, Wherby our fancies ebbs and flowes; We love to day, and hate to toorne, And dayly when we list to scorne. Take heed, therefore, If she mislike, then love no more: Quick speed makes waste; Love is not gotten in such haste. The suit is colde that soone is done; The fart i.s feeblo, eas’ty wonne; Tire hawk thaL soo0 comes by her prey, May take a toy and soar away. Mark what means this; Somre thinke to hit, and yet they miss: First creepe, then goe; Me thinke our love is handled soe. Sin, no rgre d;tties. sing r:, mo Of dumps so dull and heavya The fraud of then was ever so, Since summer first was leavy Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny; Converting all your sounds of w, Into, hey! nonny, nonny. For lacke of bellowes the fire goes out; Some say the nighest way is about: Few things are had without some suit; The tree at first will bear no fruit. Serve long, hope well, Loe here is all that I can tell: Time tries out trotlh, And troth is liked wherere it go’th. Some thinke all theirs that they do seeke; Some wantons woo but for a weeke; Some woo to shew their subtle wits, Such palfreys play upon their bits. Fine heads, God( knows, That plucke a nettle for a rose! They meet their match, And fare the worse because they snatch. Young men, fly, when Beauty darts Amorous glances at your hearts! The fixed mark gives the shooter aim, And ladies’ looks have power to maim; Now’twixt their lips, now in their eyes, Wrapped in a smile, or hiss, Love lies. Then fly betimes; for only they Conquer Love that run away. THOMAS CARP We silly women can not rest For men that love to woo in jest; Some lay their baite in ev’ry nooke, And ev’ry fish doth spie their hooke. Ill ware, hood cheape,* Which makes us looke before we leape; Craft can cloke much; God save all simple souls from such! Though lingeringe love be lost some while, Yet lingerinze lovers laugh and smile; Who will not linzer for a day, To banish hope, and hop away? Love must be plied; Who thinkes to sayle must wait the tide. Thus ends his dance: God send all lingerers happie chance! ANONYMOUS. Ask me why I send you here, This firstling of the infant year; Ask me why I send to you This primrose a-ll bepearled with deaw; I straight will wlhisler in your ears, The sweets of love are washed with tears: Ask me why this flower doth show So yellow, green, and sickly too; Ask me why the stalk is weak, And bending, yet it doth not break; I must tell you, these discover What doubts and fears are in a lover. THOMAS CAREW. AND would you see my mistress’ face?

It is a flow’ry garden place, Where knots of beauty have such grace, That all is work, and no where space. It is a sweet delicious morn, Where day is breeding never born; It is a meadow yet unshorn, Which thousand flowers do adorn. It is th e heaven’s bright reflex, Weak to dazzle and to vex; It is the Idea of her sex, Envy of whom doth world perplex. It is a face of death that smiles, Pleasing, though it kills the whiles; Where Death and Love, in pretty wiles, Each other mutually beguiles. It is fair Beauty’s freshest youth; It is the feiznedl Elysium’s truth; The spring that wintered hearts renew’th, And this is that my soul pursu’th. THOMAS

CAMProN. LovE is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows; Most barren with best using: Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries, Hey, ho! Love is a tormen t of the mind A tempest everlastin; And Jove hath made it of a Not well, nor full, nor fasti Why so? More we enjoy it, more it die If not enjoyed, it,,hing crie Hey, ho! S DMUEL DAXIL. SI-IAKSPr,itlE. CONQUEST BY

FLIGHT. LADIES, fly fi-o(n Love’s smooth tale! Oaths steeped in tears do oft prevail; Grief is infectious, and the air Inflamed with sighs will blast the f-iir! Then stop your ears when lovers cry, Lest yourself weep, when no soft eye Shall with a sorrowing tear repay That pity which you cast away. THE PRIJITROSE. MY MISTRESS’ FACE. LOVE IS A SICKNESS. I Bargain. I

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352 DRINK TO MIE ONLY WAITIH’*H DEAR, leave thy home and come with me That scorn the world for love of thee: Here we will live, within this park, A court of joy and pleasure’s ark. DRINK to me only with thine eyes, Anid I will pledlge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I’ll not look tor wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove’s nectar sup, I would not change for thine. Here we will hunt, here we will range; Constant in love, our sports we’ll change.

Of hearts, if any c hang e we make, I will have thine, thou mine shalt take. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee, As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be; But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent’st it back to me; Since when it grows and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee. BEN JONSON. T he l eav es a whisp’ring noise shall mal ke, Their music-notes the birds shall wake; And while thou art in quiet sleep, Through the green wood shall silence keep. And while my herds about thee feed, Love’s lessons in thy face I’ll read, And feed upon thy lovely look, }or beauty hath no fairer book. LET those complain that feel Love’s cruelty, And in sad legends write their woes: With roses gently he has corrected me; My war is without rage or blows; My mistress’

eyes shine fair on my desires, A hope springs up inflamed with her new fires. No more an exile will I dwell, With folded arms and sighs all day, Reckoning the torments of my hell, And flinging my sweet joys away. I am called home again to quiet peace; My mistress smiles, and all my sorrows cease. Yet what is living in her eye, Or being blessed with her sweet tongue, If these no other joys imply? A golden gyve,* a pleasing wvrong.

To be your own but one poor month, I’d give My youth, my fortune, and then leave to live. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHEB. Fair starry twins scorn not to shine Upon my lambs, upon my kine; My grass doth grow, my corn and wheat, My fruit, my vines, thrive by their heat. Thou shalt have wool, thou shalt have silk, Thou shalt have honey, wine, and milk; Thou shalt have all, for all is due Where thoughts are free and love is true. EARL oF PHI. EMBO. A RESTLESS lover I espted, That went from place to place; Lay down and turned from side to side, And sometimes on his face; And when that med’cines were applied, In hope of intermission, As one that tfelt no ease, he cried, “Hath Cupid no physician?” So glides along a wanton brook With gentle pace into the main; Courting the banks with amorous look He never means to see again: And so does Fortune use to smile Upon the short-lived fav’rite’s face, Whose swelling hopes she does beguile, And always casts him in the race: And so doth the fantastic boy, The god of the ill-managed flames, Who ne’er kept word in promised joy To lover nor to loving dames: So all alike will constant prove, Both Fortune, running streams, and Love. EARL OF PEMBItOKE What do the ladies with their looks, Their kisses, and their smiles? Can no receipts in those fair books Repair their former spoils? But they complain as well as we, Their pains have no remission-; And when both sexes wounded be, “Hath Cupid no physician?”

Have we such palsies and such pains, Such fevers and such fits, No quintessential chymic grains, No 2Escalalian wits, No creature can beneath the sun Prevail in opposition? And when all wonders can be done, ” Hath Cupid no physician?” STILL TO BE NEAT, STILL TO BE DREST. STILL to be’neat, still be drest As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed: L a dy, it is to be p resume d, Though art’s hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Into what poison do they dip Their arrows and their darts, That, touching but an eye or lip, The pain goes to our hearts? But now I see, before I get Into their inquisition, That Death had never surgeon yet, Nor Cup,t a physician. EARL

OF PEMBROKFe. Give me a look,!,ve me a face, That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free; Such sweet neglect niore taketh me Than all th’ adulteries of art: They strike mnine eyes, but not my heart. BEN Jowsno. ‘I’,-‘!E AI,BU-NI OF I,OVE. LOVE IN THE COUNTRY.

Here we will walk upon the lawns, And see the tripping of the fawns; And all the deer shall wait on thee, Thou shalt command both them and me.

POWER OF LOVE. It’s not the weather, nor the air. It is thyself, that is so fair; Nor doth it rain when heaven lowers, But when 3-ou frown, then fall the showers. One sun alone moves in the skyTwo suns thou hast, one in each eye; Only by day that stin gives lightWhere thine doth rise there is no night. LOVE HATH NO PHYSICIAN. INCONSTANCY OF LOVE. I A f,,tter.

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THE ALBUM OF LOVE. TELL ME, DEAREST, WHAT IS LOVE? TELL me dearest, what is love? “‘Tis a lightning from above; ‘Tis an arrow,‘tis a fire; ‘Tis a boy they call Desire; ‘Tis a grave Gapes to have Those poor fools that long to prove.” Go, lovely rose! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that’s young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That, hadst thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Tell me more, are women true? “Yes, some are, and some as you. Some are willing, some are strange, Since you men first taught to change; And till troth Be in both, All shall love, to love anew.” Tell me more yet, can they grieve? “Yes, and sicken sore, but live, And be wise, and delay, NVhen you men are as wise as they.” Then I see Faith will be Never, till they both believe. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. Then, die; that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee; How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair. EDMUND IVALE-1. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A NYMPH AND A SHEPHERD. TO r IE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF

TIME. WHY sigh you, swain? this passion is not common; Is’t for your kids or lambkliins?” For a woman.” How fair is she that on so sage a brow Prints lowering looks?” Just such a toy as thou.” Is she a maid?” What man can answer that?” Or widow?” No6”What then?” I know not whal Saint-like she looks; a siren if she sing; Her eyes are stars; her mind is everything.” If she be fickle, shepherd, leave to woo, Or fancy me.” No: thou art woman too.” But I am constant.” Then thou art not fair.” Bright as the morning!” Wavering as air!” What grows upon this cheek?” A pure carnation.” Come taste a kiss.-” 0 sweet, 0 sweet temptation I’ GATHER ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry. ROBE,RT HEaRICK. Ah, Love, and canst thou never lose the field? Where Cupid lays the siege, the town must yield; He warms the chilly blood with glowing fire, And thaws the icy frost of cold desire.

THOMAs RANDOLPIL THE BLEEDING H FROM this bleeding hand of Take this sprig of Eglantine Which, though sweet unto y Yet the fretful brier will tell He who plucks the sweets, s Many thorns to be in love. THE KISS.-A DIALOGUE.

1. AMONG thy fancies tell me this, What is the thing we call a kiss? 2. I shall resolve ye what it is. It is a creature born and bred Between the lips, all cherry-red, By love and warm desires fed Chor. And makes more soft the bridal bed. TO THE WILLOW-TREE. 2. It is an active flame, that flies, First to the bab ies of t he ey es, And charms them there with lullabies, Chor. And stills the bride too when she cries. THOU art to all lost love the best, The only true plant found, Wherewith young men and maids distrest, And left off love, are crowned. 2. Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear, It frisks and flies, now here, now there; ‘Tis now far off, and then’tis near, where. C’hor. And here, and there, and everywhere.

When once the lover’s rose is dead, Or laid aside forlorn, Then willow-garlands,‘bout the head, Bedewed with tears are worn. 1. Has it a speaking virtue? 2. Yes. 1. How speaks it, say? 2. Do you but this, Part your joined lips, then speaks your kiss; Chor. And this Love’s sweetest language is. When bwi th n eglect, the lover’s bane, Poor maids rewarded be, For their lost love, their only gain Is but a wreath from thee. And underneath thy cooling shade, When weary of the light, The love-spent youth, and love-sick maid, Come to weep out the night. ROBERT HEaRiICK. 1.

Has it a body? 2. Ay, and wings, With thousand rare encolorings; knd as it flies, it gently sings, Chor. Love honey yields, bult never stings. ROBERT

Hr.RFRRI 3,,i3 THE ROSE. Small is the worth Of’beauty from the light retired; Bid her come fortb, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be adrnired. The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, The higher -)ie’s a getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he’s to setting..

That age is best, which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former. BOTYI.

Roi3JEItT HrRItICK.

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THE ALBUM OF LIOVE. Just in the nick, the cook knocked thrice, And all the waiters in a trice His summos umo did obey: Each serving man, with dish in hand, Marched boldiy up, like our trained band, Presented, and away. I TErL thee, Dick, where I have been, Where I the rarest things have seen; Oh! things without compare! Such sights again can not be found In any place on English ground, Be it at wake or fair. At Charing-cross, hard by the way Where we (thou knowest) do sell our hay, There is a house with stairs; And there did I see coming down Such folk as are not in our town, Forty at least, in pairs. Amongst the rest, one pestilent fine (His beard no bigger, though, than thine) Walked on before the rest: Our landlord looks like nothing to him; The king, (God bless him!)‘twould undo him, Should he go still so drest. At course-a-park, without all doubt, He should have first been taken out By all the maids i’th’ town; Though lusto Roger there had been, Or little George upon the green, Or Vincent of the Crown. But, wot you what? the youth was going To make an end of all his wooing; The parson for him staid; Yet, by his leave, for all his haste. He did not so much wish all past, Perchance, as did the maid. The maid (and thereby hangs a tale; For such a maid no Whitsun ale Could ever yet prod(uce)No grape that’s kindly ripe could be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor half so full of juice. Her finger was so small, the ring Would not stay on which they did being, It was too wide a peck: And to say truth, for out it must, It looked like the great collar, just, About our young colt’s neck. By this time all were stolen aside To counsel and undress the bride – But that he must not know:But yet’twas thought he guessed her mind, And did not mean to stay behind Above an hour or so. But just as heavens would have, to cross it, Ill came the bride-maids with the posset; The bridegroom ate in spite; For had he left the women to’t, It would have cost two hours to do’t, Which were too much that night. Her feetbeneath her petticoat, Like little mice, stole in and out, As if they feared the light: But, oh! she dances such a wayNo sun upon an Easter day Is half so fine a sight! THE CHANGE. Her cheeks so rare a white was on, No daisy makes comparison, (Who sees them is undone;) For streaks of red were mingled therm Such as are on a Catherine pear, (The side that’s next the sun.) Her lips were red, and one was thin, Compared to that was next her chin, (S ome bee h ad stung it newly); But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze Than on the sun in July. LovE in her sunny eyes does basking play; Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair; Love does on both her lips for ever stay, And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there: In all her outward parts Love’s always seen; But, oh! he never went within. Within, Love’s foes, his greatest foes, abide, Malice, Inconstancy, and Pride: So the earth’s face, trees, herbs, and flowers, do dress, With other beauties numb erless; But at the centre darkness is, and hell; There wicked spirits, and there the damned, dvwell. Her mouth so small when she does speak, Thou’dst swear her teeth her words did break, That they might passage get; But she so handled still the matter, They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit. Oh! take my heart, and by that means you’ll prove Within too stored enough of love: Give me but yours, I’ll by that change so thrive, That love in all my 1):arts shall live. So powerful is this chan.-e, it render can My outside Woman, and your inside Man. ASRAHAM COWLEF Passion o’ me! how I run on!

There’s that that would be thought upon, I trowv, besides the bride; The business of the kitchen’s great, For it is fit that men should eat Nor was it there denied. 354 A WEDDING. When all the meat was on the tab!r, What man of knife or teeth was al5le To stay to be entreated? And this the very reason was, Before the parson could say grace, The company was seated. Now hats fly off, and youths carouse, Healths first go round, and then the house. The bride’s came thick and thick; ,and when’twas named another’s health, Ilerhaps be made it bers by stealth; (And who could help it, Dick?) 01 thl sudden up they rise and dance; Then sit again, and si-h, and glance; Then dance a-ain and kiss: Thiis several ways the time did pass, Till every woman wished her place, And every man wished his. When in he came, Dick, there she lay, Like new-f.-illen snow melting away: (‘Twas time, I trow, to part.) Kisses were now the only stay, Which soon she gave, as who would say, 11 Good-by! with all my heart.” 0 0 0 0 SIR JOHN

SUCI=IGG. la 0 0 With me, alas! quite contrary it fares; Darkness and death lie in my weeping eyes, Despair, and paleness, in my face appears, And grief, and fear, Love’s greatest enemies; But, like the Persian tyrant, Love within Keeps his proud court, and neler is seen. 0

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THE ALBUM Qf LOVE. TO. B. R., IN RETURN FOR HER BRACELET. ‘Tis not, dear love, that amber twist, Which circles round my captive wrist, Can have the power to make me more Your prisoner than I was before; Though I that bracelet dearer hold Than misers would a chain of gold; Yet this but ties my outward part,Heart-strings alone can tie my heart. ‘Tis not that soft and silken wreath. Your hands did unto mine bequeath, Can bind with half so powerful charms As the embraces of your arms; Although not iron bands, my fair, Can bind more fiercely than your hair: Yet what will chain me most will be, Your heart in true-love’s knot to me. It wal hits my heaven’s extremest sphere, The pale that held that lovely deer: My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move. A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that’s good, and all that’s fair: Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round. Ei)MUND

WALLIM. W Y so pale tand wan, fon d l over? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can’t move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale? ‘Tis not those beams, your hairs, nor all Your glorious outside doth me thrall,Although your looks have force enow, To make the stateliest tyrants bow, Nor any angel could deny Your person his idolatry,  Yet I dl o n ot so much adore The temple, but the goddess more. Why s o dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can’t win hcy, Saying nothing do’t? Prithee, why so mute? Quit, quit for shame; this will not move This can not tak e her: If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her. The devil take her? If, then, my soul you would confine To prison, tie your heart to mine; Your noble virtues, constant love, The only powerful chains will prove To bind me ever: such as those The hands of death shall ne’er unloose. Until I such a prisoner be, No liberty can make me free. FROM “WIT REsToitED.g) AMourET, the milky way, Framed of many nameless stars! The smooth stream, where none can say He this drop to that prefers 1 TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON. WHEN Love, with unconfined wings, Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair, And fettered to her eye,The birds, that wanton in the air, Know no such liberty. Amoret, my lovely foe.! Tell me where thy strength does lie Where the power that charmnis us so? In thy soul, or in thy eye? By that snowy neck alone, Or thy grace in motion seen, No such wonders could be done; Yet thy waist is straight and clean As Cupid’s shaft, or Hermes’ rod, And powerful too as either god. EDMUND WAL] l. When flowing cups run swiftly round,. With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flanes; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free,Fishes, that tipple in the deep, Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my king; When I shall voice aloud how Co He is, how great should be,- Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. FAIR YOUNG LADY GOING’ UT OF’THE TOWN IN THE

SPRING. ASK not the cause why sullen spring So long delays her flowers to bear; Why warbling birds forget to sing, And winter-storms invert the year: Chloris-is gone, and Fate provides To make it spring where she resides. Chloris is gone, the cruel fair! She cast not back a pitying eye; But left her lover in despair, To sigh, to languish, and to die: Ah, how, can those fair eyes endure To give the wounds they will not cure I Great God of Love! why hast thou made A face that can all hearts command, That all religions can invade, And change the laws of every land? Where thou hadst placed such power before, Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take Tha for an hermitage. If I have freedom in my love, T And in my soul am free,-. Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty.

RICI-ARD Losvrc.E When Chloris to the temple come Adoring crowds before her fall She can restore the dead from ton And every life but mine recall.

I only am by love designed To be the victim of mankind.i THAT which her slender waist confined’ Shall now my joyful temples bind: No monarch but would give his crown, His arms might do what this has done. i i i 353 POND

LOVER. SIR JOHN STTCKLIXG. TO AMORET. TO A ON A GIRDLE. JOITN I)R’IDZX

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THE ALBUM OF LOVE. Adieu, fond hopes, fantastic cares! Ye killing joys, ye pleasing pains? My soul for better guests prepares; Reason restored, and Virtue reigns. t56 THE ENRAPTURED LOV/ WHEN I lie burning in thine eye, Or freezing in thy breast, What martyrs in wished flames tha Are half so pleased or blest? But why, my Chloe! tell me why, Why trickles down thin sikst tear? Why do those blushes rise and die I Why stand I mute when thou art here? When thy soft accents through mine ear Into my soul do fly, What angel would not quit his sphere To hear such harmony? Or when the kiss thou gavest me last, My soul stole in its breath. What life would sooner be embraced, Than so desired a death? Then think no freedom I desire, Or would my fetters leave; Since, Phcenix-like, I from this fire Both life and youth receive. THOMAS STANLEY. Triumphant god of gay desires! Thy vassal’s ragin L pains remove; I burn, I burn, with fiercer fires, Oh!

take my life, or crown my love! WILLIAM SOMERVILLX SPEAKING AND KISSING, fHE air which thy smooth voice doth break, Into my soul like lightning flies; My life retires while thou dost speak, And thy soft breath its room supplies. Lost in this pleasing ecstacy, I join my trembling lips to thine, And back receive that life from thee Which I so gladly did resign.

Forbear, Platonic fools, t’ inquire What numbers do the soul compose; No harmony can life inspire, But that which from these. accents flows. THOMAS

STANLEY. Lovers will doubt thou canst entice No other for thy fuel; And, if thou burn one victim twice, Both think thee poor and cruel. THOMAS

STANI. lY. I PRAY thee let my heart alone, Since now’tis raised above thee; Not all the beauty thou didst own, Again can make me love thee. He that was shipwrecked once before By s uch a siren’s call, And yet negfllects to shun that shore, Deserves his second fall. FAIR, sweet, and young, receive a prize Reserve d for your victori ous eyes: From crowds, whom at your feet you see, 0 pity and distinguish me! As I, from thousand beauties more, Distinguish you, and only you adore. Each fluttering kiss, each tempting smile, Which thou in vain bestows, Some other lover might beguile, Who not thy falsehood knows. Your face for conquest was designed; Your every motion charms my mind; Angels, when you your silence break, Forget their hymns to hear you speak; But when, at once, they hear and view, Are loath to mount, and long to stay with you. Could I again be brought to love Thy form, though more divine, I might thy scorn as justly move, As now thou sufferest mine. THOMAS brANLEY. No graces can your form improve, But all are lost unless you love; While that sweet passion you disdain, Your veil and beauty are in vain: In pity then prevent my fate, For after dying all reprieve’s too late. JOHN DRYDM. DEAD to the soft delights of love, Spare me! O spare me, cruel boy! Nor seek in vain that heart to move, Which pants no more with amorous joy. Of old, thy faithful, hardy swain, (When smit with fair Pastora’s charms), I served thee many a long campaign, And wide I spread thy conquering arms. WITH beauty, with pleasure surrounded, to languishTo weep, without knowing the cause of his anguish: To start from short slumbers, and wish for the morning; To close my dull eyes when I see it returning; Sighs sudden and frequent, looks ever dejected, Words that steal from my tongue, but no meaning con nected!

Ah, say, fellow swains, how these symptoms befell me? They smile, but reply not-sure Delia can tell me! THOMAS GRAYv Now, might,- god! dismiss thy slave, To feeble dge let youth succeed; Recruit among the strong and brave, And kindly spare an invalid. ‘I Elen sleep affords my soul no rest, Thee bathing in the stream I view; With thee I dance, with thee I feast, Thee through the gloomy grove pursue. THE RELAPSE. OH, turn away those cruel eye,3, The stars of my undoing! Or death in such a bright disguise, May tempt a second wooing. Punish their blindly impious pride Who dare contemn thy glory: It was my fall that deified Thy name, and sealed thy story. Yet no new suffe;ings can prepare A bi,her praise to crown thee; Though my first death proclaim thee fail, My second will unthrone thef.

THE RESOLVE. FAIR, SWEET, AND YOUNG, RECEIVE A PRIZE. But I am proof aainst all art; No vows shall eler persuade me Twice to present a wounded heart To her that hath betrayed me. THE SUPERANNUATED LOVER. AMATORY

LINES.

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THE ALBUM OF LOVE. HOWV SWEET IT IS TO LOVE. I SAID to my heart, between sleeping and waking, Ah Thou wild thing, that always art leaping or aching, What black, brown, or fair, in what clime, in what nation, By turns has not taught thee a pit-a-patation?” AH, how sweet it is to love!

Ah, how gay is young Desire! And what pleasing pains we prove Whirl we first approach Love’s fire.! Pains of love be sweeter far Than all other pleasure.? ire. Thus accuse, the wild thing gave this sober reply “See, the heart without motion, though Celia pass by I Not the beauty she has, not the wit that she borrows, Give the eye any joys, or the heart any sorrows. Sighs which are from lovers blown Do but gently heave the heart: E’en the tears they shed alone Cure like trickling balm their smart.

Lovers, when they lose their breath, Bleed away in easy death. “When our Sappho appears-she, whose wit so refined, I am forced to applaud with the rest of mankindWhatever she says is with spirit and fire; Every word I attend, but I only admire. “Prudentia as vainly would put in her claim, Ever gazing on heaven, though man is her aim: ‘Tis love, not devotion, that turns up her eyesThose stars of this world are too good for the skies. Love and Tie with reverence use Treat them like a parting friend: Nor the golden gifts refuse Which in youth sincere they send: For each year their price is more, And they less simple than before. “But Chloe so lively, so easy, so fair, He r wit so genteel, wi thou t art, wi thout c are When she comes in my way-the motion, the pain, The leapings, the achings, return all again.” Love, like spring-tides full and high, Swells in every youthful vein: But each tide does less supply, Till they quite shrink in agai;.n; If a flow in age appear, ‘Tis but rain, and runs not clear. JOHN DRYDEN. O wonderful creature! a woman of reason! Never grave out of pride, never gay out of season; When so easy to guess who this angel should be, Would one think Mrs. Howard ne’er dreamt it was she I EARL OF PETERBOROUGH. INDIFFERENCE EXCUSED. LOVE, when’tis true, needs not the aid Of sigh, nor oaths, to make it known: And to convince the cruel’st maid, Lovers should use their love alone. Into their very looks’twill steal, And he that most would hide his flame Does in that case his pain reveal: Silence itself can love proclaim. My softest verse, my darling lyre, Upon Euphelia’s toilet lay, When Chloe noted her desire That I should sing, that I should play. This, my Aurelia, made me shun The paths that common lovers tread, Whose guilty passions are begun, Not in their heart, but in their head. My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, But with my numbers mix my sighs; And while I sing Euphelia’s praise, I fix my soul on Chloe’s eyes. I could not sigh, and with crossed arms Accuse your rigor, and my fate; Nor tax your beauty with such charms As men adore, and women hate; But careless loved, and without art, Knowing my love you must have spied; nnd thinking it a foolish part To set to show what none can hide.

SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. ‘TWAS WHEN THE SEAS WERE ROARING. ‘TWAs i the seas were roaring With hollow blasts of wind, A damsel lay deploring, All on a rock reclined: Wide o’er the foaming billows She cast a wistful look; Her head was crowned with willows, That trembled o’er the brook. EVENING

ODE.-TO STELLA. EVENING now from purple wings Sheds the grateful gifts she brings; Brilliant drops bedeck the mead. Cooling breezes shake the reed; Shake the reed, and curl thle stream Silvered o’er with Cynthia’s beam; Near the chequered, lonely grove, Hears and keeps thy secrets, Love!

Stella, thither let us stray, Lightly o’er the dewy way. Phoebus drives his burning car, Hence,‘my lovely Stella, far; In his stead the queen of night Round us pours a lambent light: Light that seems but just to show Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow; Let us now, in whispered joy, Evenina’s silent hours employ; Sile lest, the c,nscious shades, (>lease the hearts that love invades; Other pleasures give them pain, Tovers tli but love disdain. SA.MuFL JOHNSOI ” Th e m erchant, r obbed of pleasure, Views tempests in despair; But what’s the low of treasure To l,-:,ing of my dtear? Shlould you some coast be laid on, Where gold and diamonds grow, You may find some richer maiden, Buit nron t -t loves you so. i 357 I StilD TO MY HEART. THE DISSEMBLERS. THE merchant, to secure his treasurer Conveys it in a borrowed name; Euphelia serves to grace my measure, But Chloe is my real flame. Fair Chloe blushed; Euphelia frowned: I sung and gazed; I played and trembled: And Venus, to the Loves around, Remarked how ill we all -dissembled. MATTHF,W PITION (I Twelve months are gone and over, And nine long tedious days; Why didst thou, venturous lover, Why didst thou trust the seas? Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean, And let a lover rest: Ah! what’s thy troubled motion To that within my breast?

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35 TH LU O OE THE SHAPE ALONE LEI OTHERS P’RIZE “How can they say that Nature Has nothing made in vain? Why, then, beneath the water Do hideous rocks remain? No eyes those rocks discover, That lurk beneath the deep, To wreck the wandering lover, And leave the maid to weep.” THE shape alone let others prize, The features of the fair; I look for spirit in her eyes, And meaning in her air. All melancholy lying, Thus wailed she for her dear, Repaid each blast with sighing, Each billow with a tear; When o’er the white waves stoopin His floating corpse she spied; Then, like a lily drooping. She bowed her head, and died. A fac e where lawful hon or s hines, Where sense and sweetness move, And angel innocence refines The tenderness of love. These are the soul of Beauty’s frame, Without whose vital aid, Unfinished all her features seem, -And all her roses dead.

CHLOE HUNTING. But, ah! where both their charms unite, How perfect is the view; With every image of delight, With graces ever new. WHILE thousands court fair Chloe’s love, She fears the dangerous joy, But Cynthia-like, frequents the grove, As lovely and as coy. With the same speed she seeks the hind, Or hunts the flying hare; She leaves pursuing swains behind, To languish and despair. Their power but f aintly to express All language must despair; But go, behold Arpasia’s face, And read it perfect there.

Oh, strange caprice in thy dear bre ast, Whence first this whim began; To follow thus each worthless beast, And shun their sovereign, man! Consider, fair, what’tis you do, How thus they both must die; Not surer they, when you pursue, Than we, whene’er you fly. FOR EVER, FORTUNE, WILT THOU PROVF.

FotR ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove An unrelenting foe to Love, And when we meet a mutual heart, Come in between, and bid us part? Bid us sigh on from day to day, And wish, and wish the soul away; Till youth and genial years are flown, And all the love of life is gone? PLATONIC Love! a pretty name For that romantic fire, When souls confess a mutual flame Devoid of loose desire. But, usy, bu sy still art thou, To bind the loveless, joyless vow, The heart from pleasure to delude, To join the gentle to the rude. If this new doctrine once prove true, I own it something odd is, T hat lovers should each other view As if they wanted bodies. For once, 0

Fortune! hear my prayer, And I absolve thy future care; All other blessings I resign, Make but the dear Amanda mine. JAMES THOMSON. If spirits thus can live embraced, The union may be lasting: But, faith!‘tis hard the mind should feast, And keep its partner fasting. THE SCHOLAR’S

RELAPSE. ” Nature,” says Horace, ” is in tears, When her just claim’s denied her;” And this Platonic love appears, To be a scrimp provider. By the side of a grove, at the foot of a hill, Where whispered the beech, and where murmured the rill I vowed to the Muses my time and my care, Since neither could win me the smiles of my fair. SAMUEL BOYSE. Free I ranged like the birds, like the birds free I sung, And Delia’s loved name scarce escaped from my tongue: But if once a smooth accent delighted my ear, I should wish, unawares, that my Delia might hear. UNLESS with my Amanda blessed, In vain I twine the woodbine bower; Unless to deck her sweeter breast, Iu vain I rear the breathing flower. With fairest ideas my bosom I stored, Allusive to none but the nymph I adored; And the more I with study my fancy refined, The deeper impression she made on my mind. So long as of Nature the charms I pursue, I still must my Delia’s dear image renew; The Graces have yielded with Delia to rove, And the I’ses are all in alliance with Love. WTLI,.IAM’HENSTONIL 358 I’HE AT,BUM OF LOVE. A damask cheek, an ivory arm, Shall ne’er my wishes win; Give me an animated form That speaks a mind within. JOHW GAY. Of power to charm the greatest wo, The wildest rage control, Diffusing mildness o’er the brow, And rapture tlirou-h the soul. MARic AicE?fsmz. SOAME: JElqYNS. ON PLATONIC LOVE. UINLESS WIT’-Q MY

AMAINDA BLESSED. Awakened r)y the genial year, In vain the birds around me sin,; In vain the freshenin!z field., appear: Without my love there is no spring. TAmp.,4 Tiiomsow.

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LT – O WHEN FIRST I DARED. WHEN first I dared, by soft surprise, To breathe my love in Flavia’s ear I saw the mixed sensations rise Of trembling joy and pleasing fear i Her cheek forgot its rosy hue, For what has art with love to do? Again, again that tend er p art, That I may catch thy melting art; For surely that wad touch her heart, Wha kills me wi’

disdaining. But soon the crimson glow returned, Ere half my passion was expressed The eye that closed, the cheek that burned, The quivering lip, the panting breast, Showed that she wished or thought me true; For what has art with love to do I Thou tells o’ never-ending care; O’ speechless grief, and dark despair; For pity’s sake, sweet bird, nae mair I Or my poor heart is broken! ROBERT Bx,-RNi Ah! speak, I cried, thy soft assent: She strove to speak, she could but Sigh; A glance, more heavenly eloquent, Left language nothing to supply. She pressed my hand with fervor new;. For what has art with love to do? WHERE SHALL THE LOVER REST. WHERE shall the lover rest, Whomii the fates sever From his true maiden’s breast, Parted for ever?Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die, Under the willow. Ye practised nymphs, who from your charms, By Fashion’s rules, enjoy your skill; Torment your swains with false alarms, And, ere you cure, pretend to kill: Still, still your sex’s wiles pursue, Such tricks she leaves to art and you. Secure of native powers to please, My Flavia scorns all mean pretence; Her form is elegance and ease, Her soul is truth and innocence; And these, 0 heartfelt ecstasy!

She gives to honor, love, and me. WILLIAM MASC 51. There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving; There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving; There, thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever, Never again to wake, Never, 0 never! HOLYDAY GOWN. CHORUS.’ Never, 0 never! LN holyday gown, and my new-fangled hat, Last Monday I tripped to the fair; I held up my head, and I’ll tell you for what,-W Brisk Roger I guessed would be there: He woos me to marry whenever we meet, There’s honey sure dwells on his tongue! He hugs me so close, and he kisses so sweet-I I’d wed-if I were not too young. Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden’s breast, Ruin and leave her? In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war’s rattle With groans of the dying. Fond Sue, I’ll assure you, laid hold on the boy, (The vixen would fain be his bride,) Some token she claimed, either riband or toy, And swore that she’d not be denied: A top-knot he bought her, and garters of green, Pert Susan was cruelly stung; I hate her so much that, to kill her with spleen, I’d wed-if I were not too young. Her wing shall the eagle O’er the false-hearted, His warm blood the wolf: Ere life be parted, Shame and dishonor sit By his grave ever; Blessing shall hallow it, Never, 0 never! CHORUS. Never, 0 never! He whispered such soft pretty things in mine ear I He flattered, he promised, and swore! Such trinkets he gave me, such laces and geer, That, trust me,-my pockets ran o’er: Some ballads he bought rne, the best he could find, And sweetly their burden he sung; Good faith! he’s so handsome, so witty, and kind, I’d wed-if I were not too young. The sun was just setting,‘twas time to retire, (Our cottage was distant a mile); I rose to be gone-Roger bowed like a squire, And handed me over the stile: His a ms he threw round me-love laughed in his eye; He led me the meadows among, There pressed me so close, I agreed, with a sigh, To wed-for I was not too young, JOHN CUNNINGHAM A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form, It lies on my abandoned breast, And mocks the heart, which yet is warm, With cold and silent rest. ADDRESS TO THE

WOOD-LARK. 0, STAY, sweet warbling wood-lark, stay, Nor quit for me the trembling spray; A hapless lover courts thy layv, rhy soothing fi)nd complainiing. I weep-my tears re vive it not! I sigh-it breathes no more on me; Its mute and uncomplaining lot Is such as mine should be. M’ERCY

BYSSIix SHELLEY I .i THE ALBUM OF I,OVE. 359 -Say, was thy little mate unkind, And heard thee as the careless wind? Oh, notch but love and sorrow joined, Sic notes ol wae could wauken I CHORUS. Soft shall be his pillow.

CHORUS. There shag he be lying. SIR WALTER SWT7 ON A FADED VIOLET. THF.

odor from the flower is gone, Which, like thy kisses, breathed on me,The color from the flower is flown, Which glowed of thee, and only thee!

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-6lTEABMO OE LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR. I ARiSi from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low. And the stars are shiining bright: I arise from dreams of thiee, And a spirit in my f eet Has led mre who knows how? To thy chamber-window, sweet! The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent streamThe champak odors fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale’s complaint, It dies upon her heart, As I must on thine, Beloved as thou art! 0 lift me from the grass! I die, I faint, I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas! My heart beats loud and fast, Oh! press it close to thine again, Where it will break at last.

PF.RCY BYSSHE S’:T. SEE the mountains kiss high heaven. And the waves class one another; No sister flower would be forgiven, If it disdained itls brother: And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea, What are all these kissings worth, Ift thou kiss not me? MOURN

NOT, SWEET MAID. MotURN not, sweet maid, nor fondly try To rob me of my sorrow; It is the only friend that I have left in my captivity, To bid my heart good-morrow. I would not chase him from my heart, For he is Love’s own brother; And each has learned his brother’s part So aptly, thlat’tis no mean art To know one from the other. Thus Love will fold his arms and moan, And sigh, and weep, like Sorrow; And Sorrow has caught Love’s soft tone, And mixed his arrows with his own, And learned his smile to borrow.

i Only one mark of difference they Preserve,which leaves them never; Young Love has wings, and flies away, While Sorrow, once received, will stay The soul’s sad guest for ever! HENRY NEFLE. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. THERE be none of Beauty’s daughters With a magic like thee: And like music on the waters Is thy sw eet voice to me: When, as iff ts sound were causing The charmed ocean’s pausin g, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the ltlled winds seem dreaming. And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o’er the deep; Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant’s asleep: So the spirit bows before thee, To listen and adore thee; With a full but softemotion, Like the swell of summer’s ocean. I,oRY l Go, forget me-why should sorrow O’er that brow a shadow fling?? Go, forget me-and to-morrow Brightly smile and sweetly sing. Smile-though I shall not be near thee: Sing-though I shall never heir thee: May thy soul with pleasure shine, Lasting as the gloom of mine. Like the sun, thy presence glowing,, Clothes the meanest things in light; And when thou, like him, art going, Loveliest objects fade in night. All things looked so bright about thee, That they nothing seem without thee; By that pure and lucid mind Earthly things were too refined. THE FAREWELL. LADY! whose soft and dove-like eye, Beaming with Love’s own witchery, Hath from our Albuni’s pages caught Feelings responsive to thy thought; Sweet lady! twine no sacred ties With Pleasure’s heartless votaries! Hide thy soul’s richness! like that flower Whose sweet aroma to no power But the pure sunsh:ne is revealedLong, long, midst leaves and moss concealed; But, when secure of well-tried worth, Then pour i ts hidden treasure fortih: And blend thy trusting tenderness With man’s strong, deep devotedness; Nor turn thee with ” a scornful eye,”

From faith a kingdom could not buy! And thou, fond Lover! to whose truth Woman intrusts her hopes, her youth, Her very life-o h! gu ard and cherish Feelings wh ic h once neglected-perish! Keep her fair form, and spotless mind, Within thy heart of hearts enshrined: Be thou the oak, round which may twine The graceful foliage of the vine: And ask, to bless thee, from above The precious boon of woman’s love! “Now, farewell, lords and ladies bright! To each and all we wish good night! And rosy dreams and slumbers light.” “Good night, good night! parting is slueh swee! sorrow, That w( shall say good night till it be mortrows”; Go, thou vision, wildly gleaming, Softly on my soul that fell; Go, for me no longer beaming Hope and Beauty! fare ye well! Go, and all that once delighted Take, and leave me all benighted Glory’s burning generous swell, Fancy, and the Poet’s shell. REv. CHARLFES WOLFE. OH, Love! what is it in this world of ours Which makes it fatal to be loved? Ah why With cypress branches hast thou wreathed thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh? As those who doat on odors pluck the flowers, And place them on their breast-but place to dieThus the frail beings we would fondly cherish, Are lai(l within our bosoms but to perish. LORD BYRON. d6O THE ALBUM OF LO VE. LOVE’S

PHILOSOPHY. 0 0 0 PF,Rcy BYSSHE SHELLEY. GO, FORGET ME. LOVE.

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EVENINGS IN GREECE. BY THOMAS MOORE. IN thus connecting together a series of Songs by a thread of poetical narrative, my chief object nas been to combine Recitation with Music, so as to enable a greater mumber of persons to join in the performance, by enlisting, as readers, those who may not feel willing or competent to take a part as singrers. The Island of Zea, where the scene is laid, was called by the ancients Ceos, and was the birthplace of Simonides, Bacchylides, and other eminent persons. An account of its present state may be found in the Travels of Dr. Clarke, who says, that “it appeared to him to be the best cultivated of any of the Grecian Isles.”-THOMAS MOORE. Home to your chambers! home, and pray For the bright coming of that day, When, bless’d by heaven, the Cross shall sweep The Crescent from the ~Egean deep, And your brave warriors, hast’ning back, Will bring such glories in their track, As shall, for many an age to come, Shed light around their name and home. There is a Fount on Zea’s isle, R ound w h ich, in s of t luxu riance, smile All the sweet flowers, of every kind, On which the sun of Greece looks down, Pleas’d as a lover on the cr own His mistress for her brow hath twin’d, When he beholds each flow’ret there, Himself had wish’d her most to wear; Here bloom’d the laurel-rose,* whose wreath Hangs radiant round the C ypr iot shrines, And here those bramble-flowers, that breathe Their odour into Zante’s wines:- t The splendid woodbine, that, at eve, To grace their floral diadems, The lovely maids of Patmos weave:-. And that fair plant, whose tangled stems Shine like a Nereid’s hair, ~ when spread, Dishevell’d, o’er her azure bed;All these bright children of’ the clime, (Each at his own most genial time, The summer, or the year’s sweet prime,) Like beautiful earth-stars, adorn The Valley, %,%here that Fount is born: While round, to grace its cradle green, Groups of Velani oaks are seen, Tow’ring on every verdant heightTall, shadowy, in the evening light, Like Genii, set to watch the birth Of some enchanted child of earthFair oaks, that over Zea’s vales, Stand with their leafy pride unfurl’d; While Commerce, from her thousand sails, Scatters their fruit throughout the world! t1 “TrE sky is bright-the breeze is fair, ” And the mainsail flowing, full and free-T Our farewell word is woman’s pray’r, “And the hope before us-Liberty! “Farewell, farewell. “To Greece we give our shining blades, “And our hearts to you, young Zean Maids! ” The moon is in the heavens above, “And the wind is on the foaming sea”Thus shines the star of womran’s love “On the glorious strife of Liberty! “Farewell, farewell. “To Greece we give our shining blades, ” And our hearts to you, young Zean Maids!” Thus sung they from the bark, that now Turn’d to the sea its gallant prow, Bearing within it hearts as brave, As e’er sought Freedom o’er the wave; And leaving on that islet’s shore, Whe re still the farewell beacons burn, Friends, that shall many a day look o’er The long, dim sea for their return. Virgin of Heaven! speed their way Oh, speed their way,-the chosen flow’r, Of Zea’s youth, the hope and stay Of parents in their wintry hour, The love of maidens, and the pride Of the young, happy, blushing bride, Whose nuptial wreath has not yet diedAll, all are in that precious bark, Which now, alas, no more is seenThough every eye still turns to mark The moonlight spot where it had been. Vainly you look, ye maidens, sires, And mothers, your belov’d are gone!Now may you quench those signal fires, Whose light they long look’d back upon From their dark deck-watching the flame As fast it faded from their view, With thoughts, that, but for manly shame, Had made them droop and weep like you. ~

Cuseuta europa. “From the twisting snd twining of the step it is c ompared by the Greeks to the dishevelled hair of the NereidtWalpole’s Turkey. 11 ”

The produce of the island ill these worn<: lone amounts # nually to fifteen thousand qlint.als.”(‘.la lI:,’,’;:< el,. I " Nerium Oleander.

In Cyprus it retains its ancient name, 3Rhododaphne, and the Cypriots adorn their churches with the flowers on fetrdays.'"-.Joz'nai oJ Dr.

Sibthorpe, JValpole's Turkey. t Id I I onicera Cap,-ifliium, used by the girl., of [atmos for garlands .1 0 FIRST EVENING. ‘Twas here-as soon aq prayer and sleep (Those truest friends to all who weep) Had lighten’d every heart, and made Ev’n sorrow wear a softer shade

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362 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. ‘Twas here, in this secluded spot, Amid whose breathings calnm and sweet Grief might be sooth’d, if not forgot, The Zean nvmphs resolv’d to meet Each evening now, by the same light That saw their farewell tears that night; And trv, if sound of lute and song, If wand’ring’mid the moonlight flowers In various talk, could charm along With lighter step, the ling’ring hours, Till tidings of that Bark should come, Or Victory waft their warriors home! Tha t o’er the tend er Lesbian stoolGe And, in a voice, whose thrilling tone Fancy might deem the Lesbian’s own, One of those fervid fragments gave, Which still,-like sparkles of Greek Fire, Undying, ev’n beneath the wave, Burn on through Time, and ne’er expire When first they met-the wonted smile Of greeting having gleam’d awhile’Twould touch ev’n Moslem heart to see The sadness that came suddenly O’er their young brows, when they look’d rouiind Upon that bright, enchanted ground; And thought, how many a time, with those Who now were gone to the rude wars, They there had met, at evening’s close, And danc’d till morn outshone the stars! But seldom long doth hang th’ eclipse Of sorrow o’er such youthful breastsThe breath from her own blushing lips, That on the maiden’s mirror rests, Not swifter, lighter from the glass, Than sadness from her brow doth pass. Soon did they now, as round the Well They sat, beneath the rising moonAnd some, with voice of awe, would tell Of midnight fays, and nymphs who dwell In holy founts-while some would tune Their idle lutes, that now had lain, For days, without a single strain;And others, from the rest apart, With laugh that told the lighten’d heart, Sat, whisp’ring in each other’s ear Secrets, that all in turn would hear;Soon did they find this thoughtless play So swiftly steal their griefs away, That many a nymph, though pleas’d the while, Reproach’d her own forgetful smile, And sigh’d to think she could be gay At length a murmur,- all but mute, So faint it was, camne fromn the lute Of a young melancholy maid, Whose fingers, all uncertain play’d From chord to chord, as if in chase Of some lost melody, some strain Of other times, whose faded trace She sought among those chords again. Slowly the half-forgotten theme (Though born in feelings ne’er forgot) Came to her memory-as a beam Falls broken o’er some shaded spot And while her lute’s sad symphony Fill’d up each sighing pause between; And Love himself might weep to see What ruin comes where he hath beenAs wine d ther’d stll the grass is found Where fays have danc’d their merry round  Thus simply to the list’ning throng She breath’d her melancholy song: Among these maidens there was one, Who to Leucadia* late had beenHad stood, beneath the evening sun, On its white tow’ring cliffs, and seen The very spot where Sappho sung Her swan-like music, ere she sprung (Still holding, in that fearful leap, By her lov’d lyre,) into the deep, And dying quench’d the fatal fire, At once, of both her heart and lyre. Mutely they listen’d all-and well Did the young travell’d maiden tell Of the dread height to which that steep Beetles above the eddying deep-t Of the lone sea-birds, wheeling round The dizzy edg,e with mournful soundAnd of these scented lilies t found Still blooming on that fearful placeAs if call’d up bv Love, to grace Th’ immortal spot, o’er which the last Bright footsteps of his martyr pass’d! SONG WEEPING for thee, my love, through the long cay, Lonely and wearily life wears away. Weeping for thee, my love, through the long night No rest in darkness, no joy in light! Nought left but Memory, whose dreary tread Sounds through this ruini’d heart, where all lies deadWakening the echo’s of joy long fled! While fresh to ev’ry listener’s thought These legends of Leucadia brought All that of Sappho’s hapless flame Is kept alive, still watcls’d by FameThe maiden, tuining her soft lute, While all the rest stood round her, mute, Thus sketch’d the languishment of soul, Of many a stanza, this alone Had scaped oblivion-like the one Stray fragment of a wreck, which thrown, With the lost vessel’s name, ashore, Tells who they were that live no more. When thus the heart is in a vein Of tender thought, the simplest strain $ See Mr. Goodisson’s very interesting description of all these “.i cumstances.

~ I have attempted, in these fourlin,s, to give some idea of that beautiful fragment of Sappho, beginning rtvrera c ryp, which represents, so truly (as- Warton remarks) “the languor and listles* ness of a person deeply in love.” ~ Now Santa Maura-the island, from whose cliffs Sappho leaped It,o the sea. “The precipice, whicn is fearfully dizzy, is about one hundred itand fourteen feet from the water, which is of a profound depth, as appears from the dark-blm e colour and the eddy that plays round the Domted and projecting rocks.”-Goodisson’s Ionian Isles. I I i THE

MIRROR LIBRARY. 362 SONG. As o’er her loom the Lesbian Maid In love-sick lan,,uor hung her head, Unknowing where her finger’s stray’d, She weeping ttirn’d awav, and said, 11 Oh, my siveet Motheriis in vain ” I cannot weave, as once I wove 11 So wilder’d is my heart and brain 11 With thinking of that youth I love! ll~ Again the web she tried to trace, But tears fell o’er each tangled tbread; While, looking in her motber’s face, Who watchful o’er her lean’d, she said, 11 Oh, my sweet Mother-‘tis in vain I cannot weave, as once I wove,, So wilder’d is my heart and brain ,,With thinking of that youth I love!” A silence follow’d this sweet air, As each in tender musing stood, Thinking, with lips that mov’d in pray’r, Of Sappl-o and that fearful flood: While some, who ne’er till now had known How much their beai-ts resembled hers, Felt as they made her griefs their own, That they, too, were Love’s worshipper

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EVENINGS IN GREECE. Can touch it wilh peculiar power As when the air is warm, the scent Of the most wild and rustic flowerA Can fill the whole rich elementAnd, in such moods, the homeliest tone That’s link’d with feelings, once our ownWith friends or joys gone byv-will be Worth choirs of loftiest harmony! But some there were, among the group Of damsels there, too light of heart To let their spirits longer droop, Ev’n under music’s melting art; And one upspringing, with a bound, From a low bank of flowers, look’d round With eyes that, though so full of light, Had still a trembling tear within; And, while her fingers, in swift flight, Flew o’er a fairy mandolin, Thus sung the song her lover late Had sung to her-the eve before That joyous night, when, as of yore, All Zea met, to celebrate The Feast of May, on the sea-shore. SONG. WHmzN the Balaika I Is heard o’er the sea, I’ll dance the Romaika By moonlight with thee. If waves then, advancing, Should steal on our play, Thy white feet in dancing, Shall chase them away.t When the Balaika Is heard o’er the sea, Thou’lt dance the Romaika, AMy own love, with me. c;‘Twas bv the maids of Delos led, “WVhen, slown at first, then circling I’t, “As the gay spirits rose-at last, “With hand it han, like links enloclc’d, A Throu gh the light air thev seem’d to flit “In labyrinthine riaze, that mocl.‘d “The dazzled eye that f,idlowv’d it?” Some call’d aloud,the F ountain Dance!”

While one young, dark-ey’d Amnazon, Whose step woas air-like, and whose glance Flash’d, like a sabre it’ the sun, Sportively said, ” Shlame or, these soft “And languid strains we hear so oft. “Daughters of freedom!

have not we ” Learn’d from our lovers and our sires W The Dance of Greece, while Greece was free  That Dance, where neither flutes nor lyes, “But sword and shield clash on the ear “‘A music tyrants quake to hear? ~

“Heroines of Zea, arm with me, “,And dance the dance of Victory!” Thus saying, she, with playful grace, Loos’d the wide hat, that o’er her face (From Anatolia 11 came the maid) Hung, shadowing each sunny charm; And, with a fair young armourer’s aid, Fixing it on her rounded arm, A mimic shield with pride dis.play’d; Then, springing tow’rds a grove that spread Its canopy of foliage near, Pluck’d off a lance-like twig, and said, To arms, to arms!” while o’er her head She wav’d the light branch, as a spear. Promptly the laughing maidens all Obey’d their Chief’s heroic call;Round the shield-arm of each was tied Hat, turban, shawl, as chance might be, The grove, their verdant armoury, Falchion and lance~ alike supplied; And as their glossy locks, let free, Fell down their shoulders carelessly, You might have dream’d you saw a throng Of youthful Thyads, by the beam Of a May moon, bounding along Peneus’ silver-eddied ** stream!

Ann now they stepp’d, with measur’d tread, Martially, o’er the shining field; Now, to the mimic combat led (A heroine at each squadron’s head,) Struck lance to lance and swvord to shield While still, through every varying feat, Their voices, heard in contrast sweet With some, of deep but soften’d sound, From lips of aged s ir es around, Who smiling watch’d their children’s play Thus sung the ancient Pyrrhic lay: SONG. Then, at the closing Of each merry lay, How sweet’tis, reposing, Beneath the night ray! Or if, de,1 ning, Ttc mrtoon leave the skies, We’ll talk by the shining Of each other’s eyes. Oh then, how featly The dance we’ll renew, Treading so fleetly Its light mazes through:t Till stars, looking o’er us From heaven’s high bow’rs, Would chance their bright chorus For one dance of ours! When the Balaika Is heard o’er the sea, Thou’lt dance the Romaika, My own love, with me. How changingly for ever veers The heart of youth,‘twixt smiles and tears. Ev’n as in April, the light vane Now points to sunshine, now to rain. instant this lively lay dispell’d The shadow from each blooming brow, And Dancing, joyous Dancing, held Full empire o’er each fancy now. But say-what shall the measure be? ” Shall we the old Romaika tread, (Some easer ask’d) ” as anciently “RAISE the buckler-poise the lance”Now here-now there-retreat-advance!” Such were the sounds, to which the warrior boy Danc’d in those happy days, when Greece was free When Sparta’s youth, ev’n in the hour of joy, Thus train’d their steps to war and victory. “Raiser-o the buckler-poise the lance”Now here-now there-retreat-advance!” Such was the Spartan warriors’ dance. “Grasp the falchion-gird the shield”Attack-defend-do all, but yield.” Tlness and intricacy as she can to the figure,, into which she conduct& her companions, while their business is to follow her in all her move ments, without breaking the chain, or losing the measure.” ~ For a description of the Pyrrhic Dance, see De Guys, &c.-It appears from Apuileius (lib). x.) that this war-dance was, among the ancients, sometimes performed by females. It See the costume of the Greek women of Natolia in CastelU,i Moeutrs des Othomans. f The sword was the weapon chiefly used m this dance Homer, I1.. ii. 763. ~ This word is defrauded here, I suspect, of a syllable; Dr. Clarke, f I recollect right, makes it” Balalaika.” t “I saw above thirty partmes engaged in dancing the Romaika upon the sand; in some of those groups, the girl who led them chased the retreating wave.”-Do,as the Modern Greeks. t ” In dancing the Pomaika (says Mr. Douglas) they begin in slow an*l solemn step till they have gained the time, but by degrees the air becomes more sprightly; the conduetress of the dance sometimes setting to her partner, sometimes darting before the rest, and leading them’.lirouzh the maost rapidrevoltitions; sometimes crossing under Ie hands, w:hich are held up to let her pass, and giving as much live., ------- — – 363

Page 364 view page image w6 H IRO IRR Thus did thy sons, oh Greece, one glorious night, I)ance by a mnoon like this, till o’er the sea That morning dawn’d by whose immortal light They nobly died for thee and liberty! * “Raise the buckler-poise the lance”Now here-now there-retreat-advance!’ Such was the Spartan heroes’

dance. Scarce had they clos’d this martial lay When, flinging their light spears away, The combatants, in broken ranks, All breathless from the war-field fly; And down, upon the velvet banks And flow’ry slopes, exhausted lie, Like rosy huntresses of Thrace, Resting at sunset from the chase. ” Fond girls!” an aged Zean said One who, himself, had fought and bled, And now, with feelings, half delight, Half sadness, watch’d their mimic fight Fond maids! who thus with War can jest “Like Love, in Mars’s helmet drest, “When, in his childish innocence, ” Pleas’d with the shade that helmet flings, “He thinks not of the blood, that thence ” Is dropping o’er his snowy wings. iAy-true it is, young patriot maids, ” If Honour’s arm still won the fray, “If luck but shone on righteous blades, “War were a game for gods to play! But, no, alas!-hear one, who well ” Hatli track’d the fortunes of the brave Hear me, in mournful ditty, tell ” What glory waits the patriot’s grave: a” SONG. As by the shore, at break of day, A vanquish’d Chief expiring lay, Upon the sands, with broken sword, He trac’d his farewell to the Free; And, there, the last unfinish’d word He dying wrote was “Liberty!” At night a Sea-bird shriek’d the knell Of him who thus for Freedom fell; The words he wrote, ere evening came, Were cover’d by the sounding sea; So pass away the cause and name Of him who dies for Liberty! The one was Mem’ry’s limpid wave,t The other cold Oblivion’s tide. “Oh Love! ” said I, in thought les s mood, As deep I drank of Lethe’s stream, “Be all my sorrows inl this flood e ” Forgotten like a vanish’d dream!” But who could bear that gloomy blank, Where joy was lost as well as e pain? Quickly of Mem’ry’s fowrd,t I dr ank, And brought the past ill back again; And said, ” Oh Love! whate’er my lot, ”

Still let this soul te. thee be true* Rather than have or.e oliss forgot, “Be all my pains remember’d too!” SONG. The group that stood around, to shade The blushes of that bashful maid, Had, by degrees, as came the lay More strongly forth, retir’d away, Like a fair shell, whose valves divide, To show the fairer pearl inside: For such she was-a creature, bright And delicate as those day-flow’rs, Which, while they last, make up, in light And sweetness, what they want in houm So rich upon the ear had grown Her voice’s melody;ts tone Gath’ring new courage, as it found An echo in each bosom roundThat, ere the nymph, with downcast eye Still on the chords, her lute laid by, ” Another Song,” all lips exclaimn’d, And each some matchless fav’rite name While blushing, as her fingers ran O’er the sweet chords, she thus began SONG. OH, Memory, how coldly Thou paintest joy gone by: Like rainbows, thy pictures But mournfully shine and die Or, if some tints thou keepest, That former dfays recall, As o’er each line thou weepest. Thy tears efface them all. But, Memory, too truly Thou paintest grief that’s past; Joy’s colour’s are fleeting, But those of Sorrow last.

And, while thou bring’st before us Dark pictures of past ill, Life’s evening, closing o’er us, But makes them darker still That tribute of subdued applause A charm’d, but timid, audience pays, That murmur, which a minstrel draws From hearts, that feel, but fear to praise, Follow’d this song, and left a pause Of silence after it, that hung Like a fix’d spell on every tongue. At length, a low and tremulous sound Was heard from midst a group, that round A bashfiul maiden stood, to hide Her blushes, while the lute she triedLike roses, gath’ring round to veil The song of some young nightingale, Whose trembling notes steal out between The cluster’d leaves, herself unseen. And, while that voice, in tones that more Through feeling than through weakness err’d, Came, with a stronger sweetness, o’er Th’ attentive ear, this strain was heard: So went the moon light hours along, In this sweet gl ade; an d s o, with s ong And witching sounds-not such as t hey, The cymbalists of Ossa, play’d, To chase the moon’s eclipse away,: But soft and holy-did each maid Lighten her heart’s eclipse awhile, And win back Sorrow to a smile. Not far from this secluded place, On tile sea-shore a ruin stood;A relic of th’ extinguish’d race, Who once look’d o’er that foamy floodH When fair Ioulis,~ by the light Of golden sunset, on the sight Of mariners who sail’d that sea, Rose, like a city of chrysolite, Call’d from the wave by witchery. I saw, from yonder silent cave, Two Fountains running, side by side, t This superstitious custom of the Thessalians exists also, as Pi della Valle tells ls, among the Persians. ~ An ancient city of Zea, the walls of which were of marble. It# remains (says Clarke) “extend from the shore, quite into a valley watered by the streams of a fountain, whence loulis received its name -‘ – * It is said that Leonidas and his companions employed themselves, on the eve of the battle, in music and the gymnastic exercises of their country. t ”

This morning we paid our visit to the Cave of Trophonius, and ‘he Fouintains of Memory and Oblivion, just upon the water of Hercyn., which ftoaws th.ougl stupendous rocks.” Williams’s n-avels in Ax eke, I I i II I II I i 564 IRROR 11 0 SONG.

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EVENINGS IN GREECE. This ruin-now by barb’r6us hands Debas’d into a motley shed, Where the once splendid column stands Inverted on its leafy headForm’d, as they tell, in times of old, The dwelling of that bard, whose lay Could melt to tears the stern and cold, And sadden, mid their mirth, the gaySimonides,* whose fame, through years _nd ages past, still bright appearsPike Hesperus, a star of tears! 7was hither now-to catch a view Of the white waters, as they play’d Silently in the light-a few Of the more restless damsels stray’d, And some would linger’mid the scent Of hanging foliage, that perfum’d rhe ruin’d walls; while otners went, Culling whatever flowret bloom’d In the lone leafy space between, Where gilded chambers once had been; Or, turning sadly to the sea, Sent o’er the wave a sigh unblest To some brave champion of the FreeThinking, alas, how cold might be, At that still hour, his place of rest! Meanwhile there carie a sound of song From the dark ruins-a faint strain, As if some echo, that among Those minstrel halls had slumber’d long, Were murm’ring into life again. But, no-the nymphs knew well the tone A maiden of their train, who lov’d, .ike the night-bird, to sing alone, Had deep into those ruins rov’d, And there, all other thoughts forgot, Was warbling o’er, in lone delight, A lay that, onI that very spot, Her lover sung one mnoonlight night: Gushing, at once, from the hard rock Into the laps of living flowersWhere village nmai(dens lov’d to flock, On summer-nights, and, like the hours, Link’d in h armoniou s dance and song,s Charm’d the unconscious night along; While holy pilgrims, on their way To Delos’ isle, stood looking.on, Enchanted with a scene so gay, Nor sought their boats, till morning 3none / Such was the scene this lovely glade And its fair inmates now display’d, As round the Fount, in linked ring, They went, in cadence slow and light, And thus to that enchanted Spring Warbled their Farewell for the night: Thou, while our hymn we sing, Thy silver voice shall bring, Answering, answering, Sweet Fount of Zea! For, of all rills that run, Sparkling by moon or sun, Thou art the fairest one, Bright Fount of Zea!

Now, by those stars that glance Over heaven’s still expanse, Weave we our mirthful dance, Daughters of Zea. Such as, in former days, Danc’d they, by Dian’s rays, Where the Eurotas strays,~ Oh, Maids of Zea! AH! where are they, who heard, in former hours, The voice of Song in these neglected bow’rs? They are gone-all gone! lhe youth, who told his pain in such sweet tone, That all, who heard him, wish’d his pain their own lie is gone-he is3gone! And she, who, while he sung, sat list’ning by, And thought, to strains like these’twere sweet to die She is gone she too is gone! ‘Tis thus, in future hours, some bard will say Of her, who hears, and him, who sings this lay They are gone-They both are gone! But when to merry feet Hearts with no echo beat, Say, can the dance be sweet? Maidens of Zea! No, nought but Music’s strain, When lovers part in pain, Soothes, till they meet again, Oh, Maids of Zea! The moon was now, from Heaven’s steep, Bending to dip her silv’ry urn Into the bright and silent deep And the young nymphs, on their return From those romantic ruins, found Their other playmates, rang’d around The sacred Spring, prepar’d to tune Their parting hymn,t ere sunk the moon, To that fair Fountain, by whose stream Their hearts had form’d so many a dream. Who has not read the tales, that tell Of old Eleusis’ sacred Well, Or heard what legend-songs recount Of Syra, and its holy Fount,Te nymphs of the island assembled in the earliest ages, exists in its original state; the same rendezvous as it was formerly, whether of love and gallantry, or of gossiping an, iale-telling. It is near to the town, and the most limpid water gushes continually from the solid rock. It is regarded by the inhabitants with a degree of religious veneration and they preserve a tradition, that the pilgrims of old time, in their way to Delos, resorted hither for purification.“I-Cla-ke. ” A’

Qualis in Eurotm ripis, aut per juga Cyntlu lxercet Diana choros.  M Zea was the birthplace of this poet, whose verses are by Catullus 3alled ”

tears.” t These ” Songs of the Well,” as they were called among the an:ients, still exist in Greece. De Gu,ys tells us that he has seen “the roungY women in Prince’s Island assembled in the evening at a public Nell, suddenly strike up a dance, while others sung in concert to ..hem.” “The inhabitants of Syra, both ancient and modern, may be con idered as the worrhippers of water. The old fountain, at which the 365 9 SONG. HERE, while the moonlight dim Fall.,; on that mossy brim, Sing we our Fountain Hymn, Maidens of Zea! Nothing but Music’s strain, When Lovers part in pain, Soothes, till they meet again, Oh, Maids of Zea! Bright Fount, so clear and cold, Round which the nymphs of old Stood, with their locks of gold, Fountain of Zea! Not even Castaly, Fam’d though its streamlet be, Murmurs or shines like thee, Oh, Fount of Zea! SONG. SECOND EVENING. SONG.

WHE:rf evening shades are falling O’er Ocean’s sunny sleep, To pilgrim hearts recalling Their home beyond the deep;

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~ TH M When, rest o’er ali descending, The shores with gladness smiole, And lutes, their ecl.,oes blending, Are heard from isle to isle, Then, Mary, Star of the Sea,* We pray, we pray, to thee! Laden with juice of Lesbian vines, Or rich from Naxos’ emery mines; For not more sure, wlhen owlets flee O’er the dark crags of Pendelee, Doth the night-falcon mark his prey, Or pounce on it more fleet than they. And what a moon now lights the glade Where these young island nymphs are met! Full-orb’d, yet pure, as if no shade Had touch’d it’s virgin lustre yet; And freshly bright, as if just made By Love’s own hands, of new-born light Stol’n from his mother’s star to-night The noon-day tempest over, Now Ocean toils no more, And wings of halcyons hover, Where all was strife before. Oh thus may life, in closing Its short tempestuous day, Beneath heaven’s smile reposing, Shine all its storms away: Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea, We pray, we pray, to thee! On a bold rock, that o’er the flood Jutted from that soft glade, there stood A Chapel, fronting tow’rds the sea,Built in some by-gone century,Where, nightly, as the seaman’s mark, When wsaves rose high or cl,uds were dark, A lamp, bequeath’d by some kind Saint, Shed o’er the wave its glimmer faint, Waking in way-worn men a sigh And pray’r to heav’n, as they went by. ‘Twas there, around that rock-built shrine, A group of maidens and their sires Had stood to watch the day’, decline, And, as the light fell o’er’their lyres, Sung to the Queen-Star of the Sea That soft and holy melody. On Helle’s sea the light grew dim, As the last sounds of that sweet hymn Floated along its azure tideFloated in light, as if the lay Had mix’d with sunset’s fading ray, And light and song together died. So soft through evening’s air had breath’d. That choir of youthful voices, wreath’d In many-linked harmony, That boats, then hurrying o’er the sea, Paus’d, when they reach’d this fairy shore, And linger’d till the strain was o’er. Of those young maids who’ve met to fleet In song and dance this evening’s hours, Far happier now the bosoms beat, Than when they last adorn’d these bowers; For tidings of glad sound had come, At break of day, from the fair islesTidings like breath of life to someThat Zea’s sons would soon wing home, Crown’d with the light of Vict’ry’s smiles To meet that brightest of all meeds That wait on high, heroic deeds, When gentle eyes that scarce, for tears, Could trace the warrior’s parting track, Shall, like a misty morn that clears, When the long-absent sun appears, Shine out, all bliss, to hail him back. But lighter thoughts and lighter song Now woo the coming hours along: For, mark, where smooth the. herbage ] Yon gav pavilion, curtain’d deep With silken folds, through which, bright ey, From time to time, are seen to peep; While twinkling lights that, to and fro, Beneath those veils, like meteors, go, Tell of some spells at work, and keep Young fancies chain’d in mute suspense, Watching what next may shine from thene. Nor long the pause, ere hands unseen That mystic curtain backward drew And all, that late but shown between, In half-caught gleams, now burst to view A picture’twas of the early days Of glorious Greece, ere yet those ravs Of rich, immortal Mind were hers That made mankind her worshippers: While, yet unsung, her landscapes shone With glory lent by Heaven alone; Nor temples crown’d her nameless hills, Nor Muse immortalis’d her rills; Nor aught but the mute poesy Of sun, and stars, and shining sea Illum’d that land of bards to be.

While, prescient of the gifted race That yet would realm so blest adorn, Nature took pains to deck the place Where glorious Art was to be born. How fickle still the youthful breast! More fond of change than a young moon, No joy so new was e’er possess’d But Youth would leave for newer soon.

These Zean nymphs, though bright the spot, Where first they held their evening play, As ever fell to fairy’s lot To wanton o’er by midnight’s ray, Had now exchang’d that shelter’d scene For a wide glade beside the seaA lawn, whose soft expanse of green Turn’d to the west sun smilingly, As thouglh, in conscious beauty bright, It joy’d to give him light for light. And ne’er did evening more serene Look down from heaven on lovelier scone. Calm lay the flood around, while fleet, O’er the blue shining element, Light barks, as if with fairy feet That stirr’d not the hush’d waters, went; Some that, ere rosy eve fell o’er The blushing wave, with mainsail free, Had putt forth from the Attic shore, Or the near Isle of Ebony;Some, Hvdriot barks, that deep in caves Beneath Colonna’s pillar’d cliffs, I-Iad all day lurk’d, and o’er the waves Now shot their long and dart-like skiffs. Woe to the craft, however fleet, These sea-hawlks in their course shall meet, ThOnesofthe titlea-hs in thehVirgin coue siallmeet, – Ofnewlygather’dflowers,o’erwh * One of the titles o the Virgin — Maria illuminatrix sie Stella Wr.I” Itd’. i. THE MIRROR

LIBRARY. 366 c Such was the scene that mimic stage Of Athens and her hills portray’d-. Athens, in her fir.3t, youthful age, Ere yet the simple violet braid,t Which then adorn’d her, bad shone dovm The glory of eartb’s loftiest crown. While yet undream’d, her seeds of Art Lv!gleeping in the marble minSleeping till Genius bade them start To all but life, in shapes divine; Till deified the quarry shone And all Olympus stood in stone!

There, in the foreground of that,;cene, On a soft bank of living green, Sat a young nymph, with her lap full Of newly gatber’d flowers, o’er which t I Violet-crowned Athens.% -Pin&r

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EVENINGS IN GREECE. She graceful lean’d, intent to cull All that was there of hue most rich, To form a W’reath, such as the eye Of her young lover, who stood by, With pallet mingled fresh, might choose To fix by Painting’s rainbow hues. And whi.e some nymt, hs, in haste to tell The workers of that f.iry spell How crown’d with praise their task had been, Stole in behind the curtafri’d scene, The rest, in happy converse stray’d Talking that ancient love-tale o’erSome, to the groves that skirt the glade, Some, to the chapel by the shore, To look what lights were or, the sea, And think of th’ absent silently. But soon that summons, known so well Through bow’r and hall, in Eastern lands, Whose sound, moere sure than gong or bell, Lovers and s lave s alike commands, The c lapping of youn g female hands, Calls back the groups from rock and fie ld To see some new-form’d scene reveal’d;And fleet and eager, down th e slopes Of the green glade, like antelopes, Whe n, in their thirst, t he he ar the sound Of distant rills, the light nymrphs bound. Far d ifferent now the scene-a waste Of Lybian sands, by moonlight’s ray; An ancient well, wvhereon were trac’d The warning words, for such as stray Unarmed there,,Drink and away! “t While, near it, from the night-ray screea’d, And like his bells, in hush’d repose, A camel slept-young as if wean’d When last the star, Canopus, rose.t Such was the back-ground’s silent scene While nearer lay, fast slumb’ring too, In a rude tent, with brow serene, A youth w hose cheeks of way-worn hue And pilgrim-bonnet, told the tale That he had been to Mecca’s Vale: Happly in pleasant dreams, ev’n now Thinking the long wish’d hour i1 come When, o’er the well-known porch at home, His hand shall hang the aloe b,,hghTrophy of his accomplish’d vow.~ But brief his dream-for now the call Of the camp-chiefs from rear to van, “Bind on your burdens,t ” w akes up all The widely slumb’ring caravan; And thus meanwhile, to greet the ear Of the young pilgrim as he wakes, The song of one who, ling’ring near, Had watch’d his slumber, cheerly breaks SONG. UP and march! the tinibrel’s sound Wakes the slumb’ring- camp around Fleet thy hour of rest hath gone, Armed sleeper, up, and on! Long and weary is oui %,ay O’er the burning sands to-day; But to pilgrim’s homeward feet Ev’n the desert’s path is sweet. The wreath was form’d; the maiden rais’d Her speaking eyes to his, while heOh not upon the flowers now gaz’d, But on that bright look’s witchery. While, quick as if but then the thought, Like light, had reach’d his soul, he caught His pencil up, and warm and true As life itself, that love-look drew: And, as his raptur’d task went on, And forth each kindling feature shone, Sweet voices, through the moonlight air, From lips as moonlight fresh and pure, Thus hail’d the bright dream passing there, And sung the Birth of Portraiture.* SONG. As once a Grecian maiden wove Her garland mid the summer bow’rs, There stood a youth, with eyes of love, To watch her while she wreath’d the flow’rs. The youth was skill’d in Painting’s art, But ne’er had studied woman’s brow, Nor knew what magic hues the heart Can shed o’er Nature’s charms, till now. His hand had pictured many a rose, And sketch’d the rays that light the brook; But what were these, or what were those, To woman’s blush, to woman’s look? Oh, if such magic pow’r there be, “This, this,” he cried, “is all my prayer, To paint’ that living light I see, ” And fix the soul that sparkles there.”

His prayer, as soon as breath’d, was heard; His pallet, touch’d by Love, grew warm, And Painting saw her hues transferr’d From lifeless flow’rs to woman’s form. Still as from tint to tint he stole, The fair design shone out the more, And there was now a life, a soul, Where only colours glow’d before. Then first carnations learn’d to speak, And lilies unto life were brought; While, mantling on the maiden’s cheek, Young roses kindled into thought, Then hyacinths their darkest dyes Upon the locks of Beauty threw; And violets, transform’d to eyes, Inshrin’d a soul within their blue. When we lie at dead of night, Looking up to heaven’s liglht, Hearing but the watchman’s tone Faintly chaunting “, God is one,”1 Ohi what thoughts then o’er us come Of our distant village nome, Where that chaunt, when ev’ning set Sounds from all the minarets. CHORUS. Blest be Love, to whom we owe All that’s fair and bright below. Song was cold and Painting dim Till Song and Painting learn’d from him SoCN as the scene had clos’d, a cheer Of gentle voices, old and young, Rose from the groups that stood to hear This tale of yore so aptly sung; ~ “Whoever returns from a pilgrimage to Mecca ha this plant (the mitre-shaped Aloe) over his street doo.-, as a token of his having performed this holy journey.”’Has.el,,q,ist. r i This form of notice to the ca,ravans to preplarc for marching was applied by Hatiz to the necessit of relinqlutishing the pleasures of this world, and preparing for death:- For me wvllat room is there for pleasure in the b)ower of Beaity, when every momenit the bell makes proclamation,’ Bind on your burdens?I” f The watchmen, in the camp of the caravans go their rount crying one after another “A’od is one,” &c. &c. . The whole of this scene was suggested by Pliny’s account of the artist Pausias and his mistress Glycera, lib. xxxv. c. 40. t The trav eller Sshaw mentions a beautful rill in Barbary, which is received into a large bason called Shrub wee krub, ”

Drink and away,”-there being great danger of meeting with thieves and assassins in such places. t The Arabian shepherd has a peculiar ceremony in weaning the young camel: when the proper time arrives, he turns the camel towards the rising star, Canopus, and says, ” Do you see Canopus?

from this moment you taste not another drop of milk.”-Richardson. 367

CHORUS. Blest be Love, to whom we owe All that’s fair and bright below.

Cheer thee!-soon shall signal I igtits, Kindling o’er the Red Sea liel,,hts,

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. ___ Kindling quick froi i man to man, Hail our coming ca. avan:* Think what bliss that hour will be Looks of home again to see, And our names again to hear Murmur’d out by voices dear. And away, o’er the hills aw ay Re-echoes his glad ” Hurra.” Then how blest, when night is closing, By the kindled hearth reposing, To his rebeck’s drowsy song, He beguiles the hour along; Or, provok’d by merry glances, To a brisker movement dances, Till, weary at last, in sltimber’s chain, He dreams o’er chase and dance again, Dreams, dreams them o’er again. So pass’d the desert dream away, Fleeting as his who heard this lay. Nor long the pause between, nor mov’d The spell-bound audience from that spot; While still, as usual, Fancy rov’d On to the joy that yet was not;Fancy, who hath no present home, But builds her bower in scenes to come, Walking for ever in a light That flows from regions out of sight. But see, by gradual dawn descried, A mountain realm-rugged as e’er Uprais’d to heav’n its summits bare, Or told to earth, with frown of pride, That Freedom’s falcon rest was there, Too high for hand of lord or king To hood her brow, or chain her wing. As slow that minstrel, at the close, Sunk, while he sung, to feign’d repose, Aptly did they, whose mimic art Follow’d the changes of his lay, Portray the lull, the nod, the start, Through which, as faintly died away His lute and voice, the minstrel pass’d, Till voice and lute lay hush’d at last. But now far other song came o’er Their startled ears-song that, at first, As solemnly the night wind bore Across the wave its mournful burst, Seem’d to the fancy, like a dirge Of some lone Spirit of the Sea, Singing o’er Helle’s ancient surge The requiem of her Brave and Free. ‘Tis Maina’s land-her ancient hills, The abode of nymphs t-her countless rills And torrents, in their downward da sh, Shining, like silver, through the shade Of the sea-pine and flow’ring ash All with a truth so fresh portray’d As wants but touch of life to be A world of warm reality. And now, light bounding forth, a band Of mountaineers, all smiles, advance-A Nymphs with their lovers, hand in hand, Link’d in the Ariadne dance; t And while, apart from that gay throng, A minstrel youth, in varied song, Tells of the loves, the joys, the ills Of these wild children of the hills, The rest by turns, or fierce or gay, As war or sport inspires the lay, Follow each change that wakes the strings, And act what thus the lyrist sings:  Sudden, amid their pastime, pause The wond’ring nymphs; and, as the sound Of that strange music nearer draws, With mute inquiring eye look round, Asking each other what can be The source of this sad minstrelsy. Nor longer can they doubt, the song Comes from some island-balk, which nowr Courses the bright wave swift along, And soon, perhaps, beneath the brow Of the Saint’s Rock will shoot its prow.

Instantly all, with hearts that sigh’d ‘Twixt fear’s and fancy’s influence, Flew to the rock, and saw from thence A red-sail’d pinnace tow’rds them glide, Whose shadow, as it swept the spray, Scatter’d the moonlight’s smiles away. Soon as the s the mariners saw tha t throng From the cliff gazing, young and old, Sudden they slack’d their sail and song, And while their pinnace idly roll’d On the light surge, these tidings told: SONG. No life is like the mountaineer’s, His home is near the sky, Where, thron’d above this world, he hears Its strife at distance die. Or, should the sound of hostile drum Proclaim below, ” We come-we come,” Each crag that tow’rs in air Gives answer, “Come who dare!” While, like bees, from dell and ding,le, Swift the swarming warriors mingle, And their cry ”

Hurra!” will be, t” Hurra, to victory!” ‘Twas from an isle of mournful name, From Missolonghi, last they cameSad Missolonghi, sorrowing yet O’er him, the noblest Star of Fame That e’er in life’s young glory set!And now were on their mournful way, Wafting the news through Helle’s isles;News that would cloud ev’n Freedom’s ray, And sadden Vict’ry’mid her smiles.

Their tale thus told, andl heard, with pain, Out spr ead the galliot’s wi ngs again; And, as she sped her swift career, Again that Hymn rose on the ear”Thou art not dead-thou art not dead!” As oft’twas sung, in ages flown, Of him, the Athenian, who, to shed A tyrant’s blood, pour’d out his own SONG. THoU art not dead-thou art not dead ” ~ No, dearest Harmodius, no.

Thy soul, to realms above us fled, Though, like a star, it dwells o’er head, Then, when battle’s hour is over, See the happy mountain lover, With the nynmph, who’ll soon be bride, Seated blushing by his side,Every shadow of his lot In her sunny smile forgot. Oh, no life is like the mountaineer’s, His home is near the sky, Where, thron’d above this world, he hears Its strife at distance die. Nor only thus through summer suns His blithe existence cheerly runs Ev’n winter, bleak and dim, Brings joyous hours to him; When, his rifle behind him flinging, He watches the roe-buck springing, * It was customary,” says Irwin, to light up fires on the mountaint, within view,ot (‘osseir, to give notice of the approach of the orvans that came from the Nile-” t Avirginibus bacchata Lacons Taygeta.

VIRa See, fbr an account of this dance, De (uy’s Travels. t (i)raO‘‘At,lon,’ ovry reOvilrag I THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 368 zz .4p

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EVENINGS IN GREECE. iWho kiow-s bit, in some brighter deep ‘Thhan ev’ l that tranquil, moon-lit main, Somne land ma,y lie, where those who weap .Shaill Awake to smile again Thr)uglh isles of li-ght, wvhere heroes tread And flow’is ethereal blow. Thy god-like Si it now is led, Thy lip, with life ambrribosial fe(ld, Forgets all taste of woe. Thou art not dead-thou art not dead! No, dearest Harmodius, no. WVith cheeks that haild regain’d their power And play of smile(s,  and each bright eye, Like violets after itoromilng’s shower, The brighter for the tears gone by, Back to the scene such smiles should grace These wand’rin-g nynmphs their path retrace, And reach the sl)ot, with rapture new, Just as the veils asunder flew, And a fresh vision burst to views. Thie myrtle, round that falchion spread Which struck the immortal blow, Throughout all time, with leaves unshedThe patriot’s hope, the tyrant’s dread Round Freedom’s shrine shall grow. Thou art not dead-thou art not dead! No, dearest Harmodius, no. Where hearts like thine have broke or bled, Though quench’d the vital glow, Their memrr’ry lights a flame, instead, Which, ev’n from out the narrow bed Of death its beams shall throw. Thou art nat dead-thou art not dead! No, dearest Harmodius, no, There, by her own bright Attic flood, The blue-ey’d Queen of Wisdom stood;Not as she haunts the sage’s dreams, With brow vunveil’d, divine, severe; But soften’d, as on bards she beams, When fresh from Poesy’s high sphere, A music, not her own, she br ings And, through the veil which Fancy flings O’er her stern features, gently sings. Thy name, by myriads sung and said, From age to age shall go, Long as the oak and ivy wed, As bees shall haunt Hymettus’ head, Or Helle’s waters flow.

Thou art not dead-thou art not dead! No, dearest Harmodius, no. But who is he-that urchin nigh, FWith quiver on the rose-trees hung, Who seems just dropp’d from yonder sky, And stands to watch that maid, with eye So full of thought, for one so young?That child-but, silence! lend thine ear, And thus in song the tale thou’lt hear. ‘Mong those who linger’d list’ning there, List’ning, with ear and eye, as long As breath of night could tow’rds them bear A murmur of that mournful song,A few there were, in whom the layv Had call’d up feelings far too sad To pass with the brief strain away, Or turn at once to theme more glad; And who, in mood untun’d to meet The light laugh of the happier train, Wander’d to seek some moonlight seat Where they might rest, in converse sweet, Till vanish’d smiles should come again. And seldom e’er hath noon or night To sadness lent more soothing light. On one side, in the dark blue sky, Lonely and radiant, was the eye Of Jove himself, while, on the other, ‘Mong tiny stars that round her gleam’d, The young moon, like the Roman mother Among her living “jewels,”

beam’d. Her flute he prais’d in terms extatic, Wishing it dumb nor car’d how soon;For Wisdom’s notes, howe’er ch r oma tic, To Love seem always out of tune. But long as he found face to flatter, The nymph found breath to shake and thrill; As, weak or wise-it doesn’t matter Woman, at heart, is woman still. Touch’d by the lovely scenes around, A pensive maid-one who, though young, Had knowni what’twas to see unwound The ties bv which her heart had clungWaken’d her soft tamboura’s sound, And to its faint accords thus sung – Love chang’d his plan, with warmth exc’aimin “How rosy was her lip’s soft dye!” And much that flute, the flatt’rer blaming, For twisting lips so sweet awry. The nymph look’d down, beheld her features Refl ected in the passing rill, And started, shock’d-for, ah, ye creatures! Ev’n when divine, you’re women still. CAL-, as, beneath its mother’s eyes, In sleep the smiling infant lies, So, watch’d by all the stars of night, Yon landscape sleeps in light. An,. while the night-breeze dies away, Lite relics of some faded strain, Lov’d voices, lost for many a day, Seem whisp’ring round again., Oh youth! oh L,ove! ye dreams, that shed Such glory once-where are ye fled? Quick from the lips it made so odious, That graceless flute the Goddess took, And, while yet fill’d with breath melodious, Flung it into the glassy orook; Where, as its vocal life was fleeting Adown the current, faint and shrill, ‘Twas heard in plaintive tone repeating, I Woman, alas, vain woman still!” Pure ray of light that, down the sky, Art pointing, like an angel’s wand, As if to guide to realms that lie In that bright sea beyond: 369 -St:,Il tlil.3 kvorld below.

Tii,,ii at-t-not d(,,,d-thoi-i art not (lead! N,,), dearest ilai-modius, no. SONG. As Love, one summer eve, was straying, Who should be see, at that soft hour, But young ,I,‘nerva’ gravely playing Her fl,t,,N,ithin In olive bo’r. I need not say,‘tis Love’s opinion Tfiat, grave or merry, good or ill, The Rex all bow to his dominion, As woman will be woman still.

Though seldom yet the boy bath giv’n To learned dames his smiles or sigh-,;, So handsome Pallas look’d, that ev’n, Love qiiite forgot the maid was wise. Besides, a voiith of his discerning Knew well that, by a sbady rill, At sunset hour, wbate’er her learning, A A,oman will be woman still.

SONG.

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3~0 1 I:HE MIRROR An interval of dark repose- I Such as the summer lightning knows, ‘Twixt flash and flash, as still more bright The quick revealment comes and goes, Op’ning each time thle veils of night, To show, within, a world of lightSuch pause, so brief, now pass’d between This la-‘ gay vision and the scene, Which now its depth of light disclos’d. A bow’r it seem’d, an Indian bow’r, Within whose shade a nymph repos’d, Sleeping away noon’s sunny hourLovely as she, the Sprite, who weaves Her mansion of sweet Durva leaves, And there, as Ind;an legends say, Dreams the long summer hours away. And mark, how charm’d this sleeper seems With some hid fancyv-she, too, dreams! Oh for a wizard’s art to tell The wonders that now bless her sight! ‘Tis done-a truer, holier spell Than e’er from wizard’s lip yet fell Thes brings her vision all to light:-B And luow-oh speed of pinion, known To Love’s light messengers alone’ Ere yet another ev’ining takes Its farewell of the golden lakes, She sees another envoy fly, With the wish’d answer, through the sky. SONG. WELCOME, sweet bird, through the sunny air winging. Swift hast thou come o’er the far-shining sea, Like Seba’s dove, on thy snowy neck bringing Love’s written vows from my lover to me. Oh, in thy absence, what hours did I number! Saying oft, ”

Idle bird, how could he rest?” But thou art come at last, take now thy slumber, And lull thee in dreams of all thou lov’st best Yet dost thou droop-even now while I utter Love’s happy welcome, thy pulse dies away; Cheer thee, my bird-were it life’s ebbing flutter, This fondling bosom should woo it to stay. But no-thou’rt dying-thy last task is over Farewell, sweet martyr to Love and to me! The smiles thou hast waken’d by news from my love#. Will now all be turn’d into weeping for thee. SONG. “-

Wmo comes so gracefully ,, Gliding along, ,, While the blue rivulet a, Sleeps to her song; , Song, richly vying ” With the faint sighing “Which sw ans, in dying, Sweetly prolong?” While thus the scene of song (their last For the sweet summer season) pass’d, A few presiding nymphs, whose care Watch’d over all, invisibly, As do those guardian sprites of air, Whose watch we feel, but cannot see, Had from the circle-scarcely miss’d, Ere they were sparkling there againGlided, like fairies, to assist Their handmaids on the moonlight plain, Where, hid by intercepting shade From the stray glance of curious eyes, A feast of fruits and wines was laid Soon to shine out, a glad surprise! So sung the shepherd-boy By the stream’s side, Watching that fairy boat Down the flood glide, Like a bird winging, Through the waves bringing That Syren, singing TQ the hush’d tide. Stay,” said the shepherd -boy, ,, Fairy-boat, stay, “Linger, sweet minstrelsy, A, Linger, a day.” But vain his pleading, Past him, unheeding, Song and boat, speeding, Glided away. And now the moon, her ark of light Steering through Heav’n, as though she bore In safety through that deep of night, Spirits of earth, the good, the bright, To some remote immortal shore, Had half-way sped her glorious way, When, round reclin’d on hillocks green, In groups, beneath that tranquil ray, The Zeans at their feast were seen, Gay was the picture-every maid Whom late the lighted scene display’d, Still in her fancy garb array’d;The Arabian pilgrimn, smiling here Beside the nymph of India’s sky; While there the Mainote mountaineer Whisper’d in young Minierva’s ear, And urchin Love stood laughing by. Meantime the elders round the board, By mirth and wit themselves made young High cups of juice Zacynthian pour’d, And, while the flask went round, thus surg – Soon as the imagin’d dream went by, Up rose the nymph, with anxious eye Turn’d to the clouds, as thouigh some boon She waited from the sun-bright dome, And marvell’d that it came not soon As her young thoughts would have it come But joy is in her glance!-the wing Of a white bird is seen above; And oh, if round his neck he bring The long-wish’d tidings from her love, Not half so precious in her eyes Ev’n that high-omen’d bird * would be, Who dooms the brow o’er which he flies To wear a crown of Royalty. SONG. :TP with the sparkling brimmer, Up to the crystal rim; :et not a moon-beam glimmer ‘Twixt the flood and briim.

When hath the world set eyes on Aught to match this light, Which, o’er our cup’s horizon, Downs in bumpers bright? She had, herself, last evening, sent A winged messenger, whose flight I I I i So to our youthful eyes Joy and hope shone; So, while we gaz’d on them Fast they flew on;Like flow’rs, declining Ev’n in the twining, One moment sbining, And, the next, gone! –

The Huma.

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EVENINGS IN GREECE. Who would not, that hour to reach, Breathe out life’s expiring sigh,Proud as waves that on the beach Lay their war-crests down, and die There! I see thv sonl is burning She herself, who clasps. thee so, Paints, ev’n now, thy glad returning, And, while clasping, bids thee go.

One deep sigh, to passion given, – One last glowing tear and then March!-nor rest thy swornd, till Heaven Brings thee to those arms again.

Truth in a deep well lieth So the Awise aver: But Truth the fact denieth WVater suits not her. No, her abode’s in brimmers, bike this mighty cupWaltng till we, good swimmers, Dive to bring her up. Thus circled round the song of glee, And all was tuneful mirth the while, Save on the cheeks of somne, whose smile, As fix’d they gaze upon the sea, Turns into paleness sud(ldenly! What see they there? a bright blue light That, like a meteor, gliding o’er The distant wave, grows on the sight, As though’twere wing’d to Zea’s shore Even then, e’er loth their hands could part, A promise the youth gave, which bore Some balm unto the maiden’s heart, That soon as the fierce fight was o’er, To home he’d speed, if safe and free 

Nay, ev’n if dying, still would come, So the blest word of ” Victory!”

Might be the last he’d breathe at home. “,By day,” he cried, ” thoul’t know my bark; “But, should I come through midnight dark. “A blue light on the prow shall tell “That Greece hath won, and all is well!” To some,‘mong those who came to gaze, It seem’d the night-light, far away, Of some lone fisher, by the blaze Of pinie torch, luring on his prey; While others, as,‘twixt awe and mirth, They breath’d the bless’d Panaya’s * name, Vow’d that such light was not of earth, But of that drear, ill-omen’d flame, Which mariners see on sail or mast, When Death is coming in the blast.

While marv’lling thus they stood, a maid, Who sat apart, with downcast eye, Nor yet had, like the rest, surxey t. F That coming light which now was nigh, Soon as it met her sight, with cry Of pain-like joy, “Tis he!‘tis he!” Loud she exclaim’d, and hurrying by The assembled throng, rush’d tow’rds the sea. At burst so wild, alarm’d, amaz’d, All stood, like statues, mute, and gaz’d Into each other’s eyes, to seek What meant such mood, in maid so meek? Fondly the maiden, every night, Had stolen to seek that promis’d light;, Nor long her eyes had now been turn’d From watching, when the signal burn’d Signal of joy-for her, for all Fleetly the boat now nears the land, While voices, from the shore-edge, call For tidings of the lcng-wish’d band. Oh the blest hour, when those who’ve been Through p)eril’s paths by land or sea, Lock’d in our arms again are seen Smiling in glad security; When heart to heart we fondly strain, Questioning quickly o’er and o’erThen hold them off; to gaze again, And ask, though answer’d oft before, If they, indeed, are ours once more? Till now, the tale was known to few, But now from lip to lip it flew:A youth, the flower- of all the band, Who late had left this sunny shore, When last he kiss’d that maiden’s hand, Ling’ring, to kIiss it o’er and o’er, By his sad brow too plainly told Th’ ill-omen’d thought which cross’d him fnen, That once those hands should lose their hold, They ne’er would meet on earth again! In vain his mistress, sad as he, But with a heart from Self as free As -en’rous woman’s only is, Veil’d her own fears to banish his With frank rebuke, but still more vain, Did a rough warrior, who stood by, Call to his mind this martial strain, His favourite once, ere Beauty’s eye Had taught his soldier-heart to sigh: ” Ere morn,” said he,-and, while he spoke, Turn’d to the east, where, clear, and pale, The star of dawn already broke ” We’ll greet, on yonder wave, their sail.’ Then, wherefore part? all, all agree To wait them here, beneath this bower; And thus.

while ev’n amidst their glee, Each eye is turn’d to watch the sea, With song they cheer the anxious hour MARCH! nor heed those arms that hold thee, – Though so fondly close they come;. Closer still will they enfold thee, When thou bring’st fresh laurels home. Dost thou dote on woman’s brow? Dost thou live but in her breath? March!-one hour of victory now Wins thee woman’s smile till death. -“‘Tis the Vine!‘tis the Vine!”’ said the cup loving boy, As he saw it spring bright from the earth And call’d the young Genii of Wit, Love, and Jcj, To witness and hallow its birth.

The fruit was full grown, like a ruby it flam’d Till the sun-beam that kiss’d it look’d pale “‘Tis the Vine!‘tis the Vine!” ev’ry Spirit exclaim’d ”’ Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail! ” Oh what bliss, w hen war is over, Beauty’s long-miss’d smile to n;irc And, when wreaths our temples cover, Lay them shining at her feet! I The name which the Greeks give to the Virgmin Mary. I II 6 371 Stich is the scene, so full of joy, IA7bich welcomes now this “,arr’or-boy, As fathers, sisters, friends all run Boundin to meet him-all but one’ 9 I WhQ, slowest on his neck to fall, Is yet the happiest of them all. And now behold him, circled round With beaming faces,- at that board, While cups, witli.laurel foliage crown’d, Are to the coming warriors pour’d,Coming, as he, their herald, told, With blades from vict”ry scarce yet cold, With I)earts untouch’d by Moslem steel, And wounds that home’s sweet breath will heal SONG. SONG

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. First. fleet as a )ird, to the summons Wit flew, While a light on the vine-leaves there broke, in flashes so quick and so brilliant, all knew ‘Twoas the light froni his lips as he spoke. Bright tree! let thy nectar but cheer me,” he cried, “And the fount of WVit never can fail:” ‘Tis the Vine!‘tis the Vine!” hills and valleys reply, ” Hail, hail to the WVine-tree, all hail!” Last, Joy, without whom even Love and Wit ie, Came to crown the bright hour with his ray; And scarce had that niirth-wvaking tree met his eye, When a laugh spoke what Joy could not say;A laugh of the heart, which was ech oed ar ound Till, like music, it swell’d on the gale; “‘Tis the Vine!‘tis the Vine!” laughing myriads resound, “Hail, hail to the Wine-tree, all hail!” Next, Love, as he lean’d o’er the plant to admire Each tendril and cluster it wore, From his ros y m outh sent such a breath of desire, As made the tree tremble all o’er.

TH~E SUMMER FEATE.~A THlE S-UMMER FETE. Like a young worshipper of fire, With hands uplifted to the flame, Whose glow as if to woo them nigher, Through the white fingers flushing came. TO THE THONOURABLE MRS. NORTON.

FOR the groundwork of the following Poem I am indebted to a memorable Fete, given some years since, at Boyle Farm, the seat of the late Lord Henry Fitzgerald. In commemoration of that evening-of which the lady to whom these pages are inscribed was, 1 well recollect, one of the most distinguished ornaments-I was induced at the time to write some verses, which were afterwards, however, thrown aside unfinished, on my discovering that the M same task had been undertaken by a noble poet,’ whose playful and happy jeu-desprit on the subject has since been published. It was but lately, that, on finding the fragments of my own sketch among my l)apers, I thought of founding on them such a description of an imaginary Fete as might furnish me with situations for the introduction cf music. Such is the origin and object of the following Poem, and to Mrs. NORTON it is, with every feeling of admiration and regard, inscribed by her father’s warmly attached friend, ,,Calumnious thought!” Ianthe cries, While coming mirth lit up each glance, And, prescient of the ball, her eyes Already had begun to dance: For brighter sun than that which now Sparkled o’er London’s spires and towers, Had never bent from heaven his brow To kiss Firenze’s City of Flowers. What must it be-if thus so fair Mid the smok’d groves of Grosvenor SquareWhat must it be wh ere Thames is seen Gliding between his banks of green, While rival villas, on each side, Peep from their bowers to woo his tide, And, like a Turk between two rows Of Harem beauties, on he goesA lover, lov’d for ev’n the grace With which he slides from their embrace “WHmERE are ye now, ye summer days, That once inspir’d the poet’s lays? ” Blest time! ere England’s nymphs and swains, “For lack of sunbeams, took to coals” Summers of light, undimm’d by rains, 4 Whose only mocking trace remains “In watering pots and parasols.” Thus spoke a younin Patrician maid, As, on the morning of that Fete Which bards unborn shall celebrate, ‘tie backward drew her curtain’s shade, And, closing one half-dazzled eye, Peep’d with the other at the skyTh’ important sky, wvhose light or gloom Was to decide, this day, the doom Of some few hundred beauties, wits, Blues, Dandies, Swains, and Exquisites. In one of those enchanted domes, One, the most flow’ry, cool, and bright Of all by which that river roams, The Fgte is to be held to nightThat Fgte already link’d to fame, Whose cards, in many a fair one’s sight (When look’d for long, at last they came,) Seem’d circled with a fairy light;That Fete to which the cull, the flower Of England’s beauty, rank and power, From the young spin ster jus t come oult, To the old P-emier, too lon, inFrom legs of far descended gout, To the last new-mustachio’d chinAll were convoked by Fashion’s spells To the small circle where she dwells, Collecting nightly, to allure us, Live atoms, which, together hurl’d, She, like another Epicutalus, Sets dancing thus, and calls,a the World’ Faint were her hopes; for June had nowF Set in with all his usual rigour! Young Zephyr yet scarce knowing hovwF To nurse a b)ud, or fart a bough, But Eurus in perpetual vigour; And, such the biting summer air, That she, the nymph now nestling thereSnug as her ovwn bright gems recline, At night within their cotton shrineHad, more than once, been caught of late Kneel.

ng before her blazing grate, – -‘ – Behold how busy in those bowe(s B(Lke May-fliehold hows y in I out of flowers (Like May-flies in a% I out of flowers,,t I I 372 i O)i, ne-ei- (lid fl)w’r of the earth, sea, or sky, Sticti a si,ul-!4’ving odotir inhale ‘Tis the Viiie!‘tis the Vine!” all re-ecbo the cry, I- Hall, liail to the Wliie-tree, all hail!” But oh! the light, th’ iinhop’d-for light, That now illum’d this morning’s heaven! Up sprung lantbe at the sight, Though-hark!-the clocks but strike eleven, And rarely did the nymph surprise Mankind so early with her eyes. Who now will say that England’s sun (Like England’s self, these spendthrift days) His stock of wealth hath near outrun, And must retrench his golden raysPay for the pride of sunbeams I)ast, And to mere moonshine come at last? THOMAS

MOORE. .,“erton Cottage, Novombar, MI. THE SUM,14ER FTE. I I I Lord Francis Eg,:iton.

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THE SUMMER FET’E. The counstless menials swarming run, To furnish forth, ere set of sun, The bantquet-table, richly laid Beneatll von awning’s len,:then’d shade, Wfiere fruits shall tempt, ind wines entice, And Luxury’s self, at Gunlter’s call, B-a’,he from her summer-throne of ice A spirit of coolness over all. Poor rlilton’s ea rs a deadly w ound; So paleas’d, among the joys of Heav’n, He specifies c; harps ever tun’d.”: She who now sung this gentle strain Was our young nymph’s still younger sisterScarce ready yet for F ashion’s train In their light legions to enlist her, But counted on, as sure to bring Her force into the field next spring. And now th’ important hour drew nigh, When,‘neath the flush of evening’s sky, The west end ” world” for mirth let loose, And mo’d, as he of Syracuse Ne’er dreamt of moving worlds, by force Of four-horse power, had all combin’d I hi)ugh Grosvenor Gate to speed their cerse, Leaving that portion of mankind, Whom they call ” Nobody,” behind;-. No star for London feasts to-day, No moon of beauty, new this May, To lend the night her crescent ray;Nothing, in short, for ear or eye, But veteran belles, and wits gone by, The relics of a past beau-monde, A world, like Cuvier’s, long dethron’d! Ev’n Parliament this evening nods Beneath th’ harangues of minor gods, On half its usual opiate’s share;: The great dispensers of repose, Thie first-rate furnishers of prose Being all call’d to-prose elsewhere. Soon as through Grosvenor’s lordly square ct That last impregnable redoubt, Where, guarded with Patrician care, Primeval Error still holds outWi here never gleam of gas must dare ‘Gainst ancient Darkness to revolt, Nor smooth Macadam hope to spare The dowagers one single jolt;Where, far too stately and sublime To profit by the lights of time, Let Intellect march how it will, They stick to oil and watchmen still:Soon as through that illustrious square The first epistolary bell, Sounding by fits upon the air, Of parting pennies rung the knell;: Warn’d by that telltale of the hours, And by the daylight’s westering beam, The young Ianthe, who, with flowers Half-crown’d, had sat in idle dream Before her glass, scarce knowing where Her fingers rov’d through that bright hair, While, all capriciously, she now Dislodg’d some curl from her white brow, And now again replac’d it there;As though her task was meant to be One endless change of ministryA roiting-up of Loves and Graces, But to plant othliers in their places. Speaking of one of these new Lays, The Morning Post thus sweetly says:“Not all that breathes from BishoD’s lyre, “That Barnett dreams, or Cooke conceives. “Can match for sweetness, strength, or fire, ” This fine Cantata upon Sleeves. ‘The very notes themselves reveal is The cut of each new sleeve so well; ,,A flat betrays the Inibdcilles,~ A Light fugues the flying lappets tell; “While rich cathedral cords awake “Our homage for the.Manches d’Evgque.” Put on the plumes thy lover gave, The plumes, that, proudly dancing, Proclaim to all, where’er they wave, Victorious eyes advancing. Bring forth the robe, whose hue of heaven From thee derives such light, Chat Iris would give all her seven To boast but one so bright. Array thee, love, array thee, love, &c &Ce Meanwhile-what strain is that which floats Throulgh the small boudoir near-like notes If torle young bird, its taskl repeati n g For to e next linnet music-meeting? A voice it was, whose gentle sounds Still kept a modest octave’s bounds, Nor yet ha(l Xvelitur’d to exalt Its ash aml)itio to-) B alt, That painit t,.id, w lich wshen ladies rise, The wise man takles his hat and-flies. ‘rones of a har!), too, ently play’d, Callne with this youthful voice communing,A Tonies rq,-, too once, without the aid 0 tha’t infli(tive process, tuningA proc’.ss w hich must oft have given regime; and would not suffer themselves to be either well guarded # wel l lighted. ~ {‘“their golden harps thev took Harps ever tun’d.”

Par’adie Lost, book IlL ~ The name given to those large sleeves that hang loosely. ‘ Archimedes. – I am not certain w,hether the Dowagers of this Square have yet yielded to the innovations of Gas And Police, but, at the time when th e Move lines were written, Sloey still obstinately persevered in their old I I I I I I i: II i 373 I I I The song she thus, like Jubal’s shell, Gave forth, so sweetly and so well,” Was one in Morning Post much farri’d, From a divine collection, nam’d, Songs of the to’let”-every Lav Taking for subject of’ its Muse, Some branch of feminine array, Some item, with full scope, to choose, From diamonds down to dancing shoes; From the last hat that Herbault’s hands Bequeath’d to an admiring world, Down to’the latest flounce that stands Like Jacob’s Ladder-or expands Far forth, tempestuously unfurl’d. ‘Twas the first op’ning song-tlie Lay Of all least deep in toilet-tore, That the voun  riymph, to Avii’le away The tiring-our, thus varbled o’er: SONG. ARRAY thee, love, array thee, love, In all thy best array thee; The sun’s below-the iiioon’s above And Night and Bliss obey thee. Put on thee all that’s bright and rare, The zone, the wreath, the gem, Not so much graciti, cliarins so fair, As borrowing grace from them. Array thee, love, array thee, love, In all that’s bright array thee; T!ie sun’s below-the moon’s above And Night and Bliss obey thee. Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, Through Pleasijre’s circles hie thee, And hearts, where’er thy footsteps move, Will beat, when they come n’gh thee. Thy every word shall a spell, Thy every look a ray, And tracks of Nvond’ring eyes shall tell The glory of thy way! Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, Through Pleasure’s circles hie thee.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. And heart.-. where’er thy footsteps mov Shall beat when they come nigh thee Btil not in dark disguise to-night Hath our young heroine veil’d her light: ‘or see, she wallcs the earth, Love’s own, His wedded bride, t)y holiest vole Pledg’d in Olvhnldns, and made knowi, To rmiortals bv the type which noA Hargs glitt’ring on her snowy brow, That butterfly, mry ste,-ions trinket, WN’hich means the Soiil (tho’ few wnould think it,) And sparkling thus on brow so white, Tells us we’ve Psyche here to-night Now in his Palace ot the West, Sinking to slumber, the bright Day, Lik, a tir’d monarch fano(‘d to rest, Mi(I the cool airs of Evening lay-, While round his couch’s golden rim The gaudy clouds, like courtiers, creptStruggling each other’s light to dim, And catch his last smile e’er he slept. How gay, as o’er the gliding Thames The golden eve its lustre pour’d, Shone out the high-born knights and dames Now group’d around that festal board; A living mass of plumes and flowers, As though thev’d robb’d both birds and bowert  A peopled rainbow, swarming throughH With habitants of every hue; While, as the sparkling juice of France High in the crystal brimmers flow’d, Each sunset ray that mix’d by chance With the wine’s sparkles, show’d How sunbeams may be taught to dance. From a male group the carol came A few gay youths, whom round the board The last-tried flask’s superior fame Had lur’d to taste the tide it pour’d; And one, who, from his youth and lyre, Seem’d grandson to the Teian sire, Thus gaily sung, while, to his song, Replied in chorus the gay throng: SONG. SOME mortals there may be, so wise, or so fine As in evenings like this no enjoyment to see: But, as I’m not particular-wit, love, and wine, Are for one night’s amusement sufficient for me. Nay-humble and strange as my tastes may appear If driv’n to the worst, I could manage, thank Heaven, To put up with eyes such as beam round me here, And such wine as we’re sipping, six days out of seven So pledge me a bumper-your sages profound May be blest, if they will, on their own patent plan But as we are not sages, why-send the cup round We must only be happy the best way we can.

If not in written form exprest, ‘Twas known, at least, to every guest, That, thoug-,hi not bidden to parade Their scenic p)owers in masquerade, (A pastime little found to thrive In the bleak fog of Engrland’s skies, Where wit’s the thing we best contrive, As masquerader’s to disguise,) It yet was hop’d-and swell that hope Was arnswer’d bv the voung and gay That, in the toiiet’s task to-day, Fancv should take her wildest scope;That the rapt milliner-I ould be Let loose through fields of poesy, The tailor, in inventive trance, Up to the heights of Epic clamber, And all the regions of Romance Be ransack’d by the femm7ze de chambre. Accordinglv, with gay Sultanas, Rebeccas, Sapphos, Roxalanas  Circassian slaves whom Love would pay Half hi s mater nal realms to ransom- Young nuns, whose chief religion lay In looking most profanely handsome;Muses in muslin-pastoral maids Wdith hats fi’om the d/reade-ian shades, And fortune-tellers, rich,‘twas plain, As fortune-hunters form’d thqir train. A reward by some king was once offer’d, we’re told, To whoe’er could invent a new bliss for mankind; But talk of new pleasures!-give me but the old, And I’ll leave your inventors all new ones they find Or should I, in quest of fresh realms of bliss, Set sail in the pinnace of Fancy some day, Let the rich rosy sea I embark on be this, And such eyes as we’ve here be the stars of my way In tne meantime, a bumper-your Angels, on high, May have pleasures unknown to life’s limited span; But, as we are not Angels, why-let the flask fly We must only be happy all ways that we can Now nearly fled was sunset’s light, Leaving but so much of its beam As gave to objects, late so bright, The colouring of a shadowy dream; And there was still where Day had set A flush that spoke him loth to die A last link of his glory yet, Binding together earth and sky. Say, whv is it that twilight best Becomes even brows the loveliest? That dimness, with its soft’ning touch, Can bring out grace, unfelt before, Arid charms we ne’er can see too mIi th, When seen but half enchant the more t Alas, it is that every joy In fulness finds its worst alloy, And half a bliss, but hc:p’d or guess’d, Is sweeter than the whole possess’d;  That Beauty, when least shown upon, A creature most ideal grows; And Ihere’s no light from moon or sun Idle: That Imagination throws; With these, and more such female groups, Were mix’d no less fantastic troops Of male exhibitors-all willing To look, ev’r, more than usual, killingBeau tyrants, smock-fac’d braggadocios, And brigands, charmingly ferocious;M. P.‘s turn’d Turks, good Moslems then, Who, last night, voted for the Greeks; And Friars, staunch No-Popery men, In close confab with Whig Caciques. But where is she-the nymph, whom late We left before her glass delaying, Like Eve, when by the lake she sate, In the clear wave her charnis surveying, And saw in that first glassy mirror The first fair face that lur’d to error. , Where is she,” ask’st thou?-watch all looks As cent’ ing to one point they bear, Like sun-flcwers by the sides of brooks, Tuirn’d to the sun-and she is there. Ev’n in di.guise, Oh never doubt Bv her own light you’d track he out: As when the moon, close shawl’d in fog, Steals as she thinks through heaven incog, Though hid herself, some sidelong ray, At every step, detects her way. I 374 But hark! some song hath caught her can And, lo, how pleas’d, as though she’d neomr Heard the Grand Opera of the Spheres, Ner goddess-ship approves the air; And to a inere terrestrial strain, Inspir’d by nought but pink champagne. Her butterfly as gaily nods As though she sat with all her train At some great Concert of the Gods, With Phcebus, leader-JoN,e director And half the audience drunk with nectar.

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At length, when, lost, the closing note Had dtiwn the loeaters died al ong, Forth fi’om another fairy boat., Freighted with music, came this song: l It is, alas, that Fancy shrinks Ev’n from a bright reality, And turning inly, feels and thinks Far heav’nlier things than e’er will be.

Such was th’ effect of twilight’s hour 0n the fair groups that, round and round, From glade to grot, from bank to bow’r, Now- wander’d through this fairy ground; .And thus did Fancy-and champagne Work on the sight their dazzling spells, Till nymphs that look’d, at noon-day, plain, Now brighten’d, in the gloom, to belles; And the brief interval of time, ‘Twist after dinner and before, T dowsagers brought back their prime, And shed a halo round two-score. But, fair river, the day will come, When, woo’d by whisp’ring groves in vain, Thou’lt leave those banks, thy shaded home, To mingle with the stormy main. And thou, sweet Youth, too soon wilt pass Into the world’s unshelter’d sea, Where, once thy wave hath mix’d, alas, All hope of peace is lost for thee Meanwhile, new pastimes for the eye, The ear, the fancy, quick succeed; And now along the waters fly Light gondoles, of Venetian breed, With knights and dames, who calm reclin’d Lisp out love-sonnets as they glideAstonishing old Thames to find Such doings on his moral tide. Next turn we to the gay saloon Resplendent as a summer noon, Where,‘neath a pendent wreath of lights, A Zodiac of flowe) s and tapers(Such as in Russian ball-rooms sheds Its glory o’er young dancers’ headsl Quadrille performs her mazy rites, And reigns supreme o’er slides and capers;Working to death each opera strain, As, with a foot that ne’er reposes, She jigs through sacred and profane, From “Maid and Magpie”

up to “M Ioses,Wearing out tunes as fast as shoes, Till fagg’d Rossini scarce respires; Till Mayerbeer for mercy sues, And Weber at her foot expires. So bright was still that tranquil river, With the last shaft from Daylight’s quiver, That many a group’-urn were seen Embarking on its wave serene; And,‘mong the rest, in chorus gay, A band of mariners, from th’

isles Of sunny Greece, all song and smiles, As smooth they floated, to the play Of their oar’s cadence, sung this lay: And now the set hath ceas’d-the bows Of fiddlers taste a brief repose, While light along the painted floor, Arm within arm, the couples stray, Talking their stock of nothings o’er, Till-nothing’s left, at last, to say. When, lo!-most opportunely sent Two Exquisites, a he and she, Just brought from Danidyland, and meant For Fashion’s grand Menagerie, Enter’d the room-and scarce were there When all flock’d round them, glad to stare At any monsters, any where. Behold yon sea of isles, boy, Behold yAn sea of isles, Where ev’ry shore Is sparkling o’er With Beauty’s richest smiles.

For us hath Freedom claim’d, boy, For us hath Freedom claim’d Those ocean-nests Where valour rests His eagle wirg untam’d. Some thought them perfect, to their tastes While others hinted that the waists (That in particular of the he thing) Left far too ample room for breathing: Whereas, to meet these critics’ wishes, The isthmus there should be so small, That Exquisites, at last, like fishes, Must manage not to breathe at all. The female (these same critics said,) Though orthodox from toe to chin, Yet lack’d that spacious width of head To hat of toadstool much akinThat build of bonnet, whose extent Should, like a doctrine of dissent, Puzzle church-doors to let it in Like pleasant thoughts that o’er thi mind A minute come, and go again, Ev’ni so, by snatches, in the wind, Was caught and lost that choral strain, Now full, now faint upon the ear, As the bark floated far or near. t In England the pa’tition of this opera of Rossini was transferred giving such names as “Moise,” “Pharaon,” &c. to the elno go tc he story of Peter the Hermit; by which mean the indecorum of lectedfrom it (as was done in Paris) has been avoided. THE SUMMER FETE.

375 SONG. SMOOTHLY flonvin  through verdant vales, Gentle river, thy current runs, Shelter’d safe from winter gales, Shaded cool from summer suns. Thus our Youth’s sweet moments glide. Fenc’d with flow’ry shelter round; No rude tempest wakes the tide, All its path is fairy ground. TRIO.

OUR home is on the sea, boy, Our home is on the sea; When Nature gave The ocean-wave, She mark’d it for the Free. lvhatever storms befall, boy, Whatever s tornis befall, The island bark Is Freedorn’s ark, And floats her safe through all. And shall the Moslem dare, boy, And shall the Moslem dare, Wl,ile Grecian band Can wield a brand, To plant his Cresce,-it there? No-by our f,-tthers, no, bov, No, by the Cross Nve show From Maina’s rills To Tlii-acia’s hills All Greece re-echoes 11 No However-sad as’twas, no doubt, That nymph so smart should go about, With head unconscious of the place It ought to fill in Infinite SpaceYet all allow’d that, of her kin,;, A prettier show’twas hard to find;

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. While of that doubtful genus, “dressy men,” The male was thought a first-rate specimen. Such Sarcazs, too, as wish’d to trace The inaniters, habits, of this race’To know w, hat rank (if rank at all) ‘Monrg reas’uing things to them should fallWhat sort of notions heaven imparts To high-built he ids and tight-lac’d hearts, And how far Soul, which Plato says, Abhors restraint, can act in staysMight now, if’ifted with discerning, Find opportunities of lear n ing: As these two creatures-from their pout And frown,‘twas plain-had just fall’n out; And all their little thoughts, of course, Were stirring in full fret and force – Like mites, through microscope espied, A world of nothings magnified.

But mild the vent such beings seek, The tempes t of their souls to speak: As Opera swains to fiddles sigh, To fiddles fight, to fiddles die, Even so this tender couple set Their well-bred woe! to a Duet. Here s hone a garden-lamps all o’e l As though the Spirits of the Air Had tak’n it in their he ads to pour A shower of summer meteors there;While here a lighted shrubb’ry led To a small lake that sleeping lay, Cradled in foliage, but, o’er-head, Open to heaven’s sweet breath and ray; While round its rim there burning stood Lamps, with young flowers beside them bedaet That shrunk from such warm neighbourhood; And, looking bashful in the flood, Blush’d to behold themselves so wedded Hither, to this embower’d retreat, Fit but for nights so still and sweet, Nights, suc h as Eden’s calm recall In its first lonely hour, when all So s ilent i s, below, on h igh, That if a sta r falls down the sky, You almost thin k yo u hear it fall Hither, to this recess, a few, To shun the dancer s’ wild’ring n ois e, And give an hou r, ere night-time flew, To Music’s more ethereal joys, Came with their voices-readv all As Echo, waiting for a call In hymn or ballad, dir ge or glee, To wea ve their m ingling minstrelsy. And, first, a dark-ey’d nymph, array’d Like her, whom Art hath deathless made., Bright Mona Lisat with that braid Of hair across the brow, and one Small gem that in the centre shone With face, too, in its farim resembling Da Vinci’s Beauties the dark eyes, Now lucid, as through crystal trembling, Now soft, as if suffus’d with sighs Her lute, that hung beside her, took, And, bending o’er it with shy look, More beautiful, in shadow thus, Than when with life most luminous, Pass’d her light finger o’er the chords, And sung to them these mournful words. SONG. BRING hither, bring thy lute, while day is dylig Here will I lay me, and list to thy song; Should tones of other days mix with its sighing, Tones of a light heart, now banish’d so long, Chase them away-they bring but pain, And let thy theme be woe again. HE. LoNGs as I waltz’d with only t.,ee, Each blissful Wednesday that went by, Nor stylish Stultz, nor neat Nugee Adorn’d a youth so blest as I. Oh! ah! ah!

oT i! Those hatTyI dNys are gone-heigho! SHE. Long as with thee I skiinm’d the ground, Nor yet was scorn’d for Lady Jane, No blither niymph tetotum’d round To Collinet’s immortal strain. Oh! ah! &c. Those happy days are gone-heigho! H-E. With Lady Jane now whirl’d about, I know no bounds of time or breath; And, should the charmer’s head hold out, My heart and heels are hers till death. Oh! ah! &c. Still round and round through life we’ll go. SHE. To Lord Fitznoodle’s eldest son, A youth renown’d for waistcoats smart, I now have given (excuse the pun) A vested interest in my heart. Oh! ah! &c. Still round and round with him I’ll go. HE. What if, by fond remembrance I – Again to wear our mutual r.am,i For me thou cut’st Fitznoodle dead, And I levant from Lady Jane. Oh! ah! &c. Still round and round again we’ll go. SHE. Though he the Noodle honours give, And thine, dear youth, are not so high, With thee in endless waltz i’, live, With thee, to Weber’s Stop-Waltz, die! Oh! ah! &c. Thus round and round through life we’ll go. [Exeunt waltzzng. Thus round and round through life we’ll go.:. Now, sweet lute, be thou, too, dea(l. [Exeunt wealtzing. The grc, i), that late, in garb of Greeks, While thus, like motes that dance away Sung their light chorus o’er the tide Existence iii a summer ray, Forms, such as up the wooded creelks > It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that this Duet is a t The celebrated portrait by Leonardo da Vinci, which he iS parody of the often-translated and parodied ode of Horace, “I Donec to have occupied four years in painting.-V-sai, vol. vii ;ratus eram tibi,” &c. I 13-,6 These gay things, born but to quadrille, The circle of their doom fulfil(That dancing doom, whose law decrees That they should live, on the alert toe, -and,%-ns,like kevs life of ups do I Of Broadwood’s in a long concerto:) While thus the fiddlc’s spell, ivithi?2, Calls up its re,-tlin of restless sprites, Without, as if some Mandarin Were holding there his Feast of Lights, Lamps of all hues, from walls and bower  Broke on the eye, like kindling flowers, Till, budding into light, each tree Bore its fu.. fruit of brilliancy. WALTZ DUET.’ Sir.g on, thou mourtiftil lute-day is fast going, Soon will its light from thy chordal die away; One little glearii in the west is still glowing, When that hath vanish’d, farewell to thv lav Mark, how it fades!-see, it is fled I. –

Now, sweet lute, be thou, too, dea(l.

Page 377 view page image age~ ~ ~ ~~IH SUMRFEE: ()f H,lle’s shore at noon-day glide, Or, nighltlv, on her glist’niiing sea, WVoo to’ biiht waves with melodyNow link’d theliir t wit l e leanue again Of voices sweet, and sung a strain, Such as, had Sappho’s tuneful ear But caught it, on the fatal steep, She would have’)aus’d, entranc’d, to hear, And, for that day, deferr’d her leap.

Close after him, a page-in dre s s And shape, his miniature expressAn ample basket, fill’d with store Of totys and trinkets, laughing bore; Till, having reach’d this verdant seat, He laid it at his mastel’s feet, Who, half in speech and half in song, Chaunted this invoice to the throng: SONe’. SONG AND TRIO. WHO’LL buy?-‘tis Folly’s shop, who’ll buy? We’ve toys to suit all ranks and ages; Besides our usual fools’ suj)ply, We’ve lots of playthings, too, for sages. For reasoners, here’s a juggler’s cup, That fullest seems “,hen nothing’s in it; And nine-pins set, like systems, up, To be knock’d down the following minute. Who’ll buy?-‘tis folly’s shop, who’ll buy: ON one of those sweet nights that oft Their lustre o’er the Ogean fling, Beneath nmy casement, low and soft, I heard a Lesbian lover sing; And, list’ning both with ear and thought, These sounds upon the night-breeze caught Oh, happy as the gods is he, “Who gazes at this hour on thee!” The song was one by Sappho sung, In the first love-dreams of her lyre, When words of passion from her tongue Fell like a shower of living fire. And still, at close of ev’ry strain, I heard these burning words again”Oh, happy as the gods is he, “Who listens at this hour to thee!” Gay caps we’ve here of ioolscap make, For bards to wear in dog-day weather; Or bards the bells alone may take, And leave to wits the cap and feather. Tetotums we’ve for patriots got, Who court the mob with antics humble; Like theirs the patriot’s dizzy lot, A glorious spin, and then-a tumble. Who’ll buy, &c. &c Once more to Mona Lisa turn’d Each asking eye-nor turn’d in vain; Though the quick, transient blush that burn’d Bright o’er her cheek, and died again, Shiow’d with what inly shame and fear Was utter’d what all lov’d to hear. Yet not to sorrow’s languid lay Did she her lute-song now devote; But thus, with voice that, like a ray Of southern sunshine, seem’d to float So rich with climate was each noteCall’d up in every heart a dream Of Italy, with this soft theme: Here, wealthy misers to inter, We’ve shrouds of neat post-obit paper; While, for their heirs, we’ve quicksilver, That, fast as thev can wish, will caper For aldermen we’ve dials true, That tell no hour but that of dinne: For courtly parsons sermons new, That suit alike both saint and sinner. Who’ll buy, &-, /c No time we’ve now to name our terms, But, whatsoe’er the whims that seize you. This oldest of all mortal firms, Folly & Co., will try to please you. Or, should you wish a darker hue Of goods than we can recommend you, Why then (as we with lawyers do) To Knavery’s shop next door we’ll send you. Who’ll buy, &c. &e OH, where art thou dreaming, On land, or on sea? In my lattice is gleaming The watch-light for thee; And this fond heart is glowing To welcome thee home, And the night is fast going, But thou art not come: No, thou com’st not! While thus the blissful moments roll’d, Moments of rare and fleeting light, That show themselves, like grains of gold In the mine’s refuse, few and bright; Behold where, opening far away, The long Conservatory’s range, Stripp’d of the flowers it wore al day, But gaining lovelier in exchange, Presents, on Dresden’s costliest ware, A supper such as Gods might share. Ah much-lov’d Supper!-blithe repast Of other times, now dwindling fast, Since Dinner far into the night Advanc’d the march of appetite; Deploy’d his never-ending forces Of various vintage and three courses, And, like those Goths who play’d the dickens With Rome and all her sacred chickens, Put Supper and her fowls s o white, Legs, wings, and drumsticks, all to flight ‘Tis the tim e when night-flowers Should wake from their rest; ‘Tis the hour of all hours, When the lute singeth best. But the flowers are half sleeping Till thy glance they see! And the hush’d lute is keeping Its music for thee.

Yet, thou com’st not! Scarce had the last word left her lip, When a light, boyish form, with trip Fantastic, up the green walk came, Prank’d il na vest, to which the flame Of every lam,) he pass’d, or blue, Or green, ok crimson, lent its hue; As though a live cimeleon’s skin He had despoil d to robe him in. A zone he wore ot clatt’ring shells, And from his lofty cap, where shone A peacock’s plume, there dangled bells That rung as hlie came dancing on. Now wak’d once more by winie-whose tide Is the true Hippocrene, where glide The muse’s sw-anis ws ith happiest wing, Dipping their bills, before they singThe minstrels of the table greet Ths livening ear with descant sweet: I I I II THE SUMMER FETE. 377 SONG.

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37S THE M,‘itRORI S,ONG AND TRRIO. TIlE LEVEE AND COUCHEE. CATi tile Loves aioud,ond Let the hs,‘riig sound Of their wis be lheard alone, I il soft to rest y L,tl(v blest At thiis britht hour hIatlh gone. Let b’e.icv’s neams Pl,v o’ei her drieams, Till, touch d wNithl light all through, Hler spirit be Like a summer sea, Shining and slumb’ring too. And, while thus hush’d she lies, Let the wliisper’d chorus rise- Good evening, good evening, to our Lady’s bright eyes.” And if, for maid of heavenly birth, A young Duke’s proffer’d heart and hand Be things worth waiting for on earth, Both are, this hour, at tier command To-night, in yonder half-lit shade, For love concerns expressly meant, The fond proposa’ first was made, And love and ts eice blush’d consent. Parents and friends (all here, as Jews, Enchanters, housemaids, Turks. Hindoos,) Have heard, approv’(d, and blest the tie; And now, hadst thou a poet’s eye, Thou might’st behold in th’ air, above That brilliant brow, triumphant Love, Holding, as if to drop it down Gently upon her curls, a crown Of Ducal shape-but, oh, such gems Pilfer’d from Peri diadems, And set in gold like that which shines To deck the Fairy of the Mines: In short, a crown all glorious-such as Love orders when he makes a Duchess. But the day-beam breaks, See, our Lady wakes! Call the Loves around once more, Like stars that wait At Morning,‘s gate, Her first steps to adore. Let the veil of night From her dawning sight All gently pass away, Like mists that flee From a summner sea, Leaving it full of day. And, while her last dream flies, Let the whisper’d chorus rise. Good morning, good morning, to our Lady’s bright eyes.” But see,‘tis morn in heaven; the Sun Up the bright orient hath begun To canter his immo rta l team; And, t-ough not yet arriv’d in sight, -His leader’s nostrils send a steam Of radiance forth, so rosy bright As makes their onward path all light What’s to be done? if Sol will be So deuced early, so must we; And when the day thus shines outright, Ev’n dearest friends must bid good night. So, farewell, scene of mirth and masking, Now almost a by-gone tale; Beauties, lafe in lamp-light basking, Now, by daylight, dim and pale; Harpers, yawning o’er your harps, Scarcely knowing flats from sharps; Mothers who, while bor’d you keep Time by nodding, nod to sleep; Heads of air, that stood last night Cripi, crispy, and upright, But have now, alas, one sees, a Leaning like the tower of Pisa; Fare ye well-thus sinks away All that’s mighty, all that’s bright; Tyre and Sidon had their day, And ev’n a Ball-has but its night! IF to see thee be to love thee, If to love thee be to prize Nought of earth or heav’n above thee, Nor to live but for those eyes: If such love to mortal given, Be wrong to earth, be wrong to heav’n, ‘Tis not for thee the fault to blame, For from those eyes the madness came. Forgive but thou the crime of loving, In this heart more pride’twill raise To be thus wrong, with thee approving, Than right, with all a world to praise But say, while light these songs resound, What means that buz of whisp’ring round. From lip to lip-as if the Power Of Mystery, in this gay hour, Had thro wn some secret (as we fling Nuts among children) to that ring Of rosy, restless lips, to be Thus scrambled for so wantonly? And, mnark ye, still as each reveals The mystic new~, her hearer steals, A look tov’rds d on enchanted chair, Where, like the Ladv of the Masque, A nymph, as exquisitely fair As Love hirnselft for bride could ask, Sits blushing deep, as if aware Of the winf’d secret circling there. Who is this n mnph? ani(l what, oh Muse, What, in the name of alt odd things That woman’s restless brain pursues, What mean these rrmvstic whisperings. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. For me, ye gracious I owers above Still let me roam, unfix’d and free; l In all things,-but the nymyph I love, I’ll change, and taste variety. But, Patty, not a world of char,ms Could e’er estrange my heart yrom thee;No, Let me ever seek those arms, There still I’ll find variety. fhus runs the tale:-on ilus hing maid, Who sits in beautv’s light array’d, While o’er her leans a tall ong Dervise, (Who from hei eyes, as all observe, is Learning by heart the Marr iage Service,) Ts the bright heroine of our song,The Love-wed Psvehe, horn so long We’ve miss d atno nz this not tal train, We thought her wvinz’d to heaven again. But no-earth still demands her smile; Her friends.‘be Gods, must wait awhile. I I I I i SONG.

VARIETY. AsK what prevailing, pleasing power Allures the sportive, wandering bee To roam, untired, from floa,er to flower, He’ll tell you,‘tis variety. Look Nature round, her features trace, Her seasons, all her changes see; And own, upon Creation’s face, The greatest cliarm’s variety TF I SWEAR BY THAT EYE TF I swear by that eye, you’ll allow, Its look is so shifting and new That the oath I might tilp on it now The very nex’ LIance would undo.

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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Those bat.‘at nestle so sly Such th r, inds of arrows have got, uhat a n c,.., on the glance of an (. o t eve Such d..c.rs, mnay be off in a shot. ‘TWAS a new fef’- i, r .ilithin more T ha n we }(d (Idit’d t?i(, t n f, Which tilen Ad!li< t imt; We saw it in eayh otliel,s e)'. And wish'd, iil every! h nlf,)reath’d sigh, To speak, blut (li(d iiot. .‘noild 1,.,ar by the dewv on your lip, Thougr. ach moment the treasure renews, If my cons ancy wishes to trip, I may ki,s off the oath when I choose. She felt myr li)s’ il)assio-i’d toutch’Twas the first time I dared so much, And vet slle chlid not; But whist)er’d )‘er nmy burning brow, ” Oh! do you d(,u’t f love Xyoui now?” Sweet soul! I di(d not. Or a sigh inay disperse from that flow’r Both the dew and the oath that are there And I’ i make a new vow every hour, To lose them so sweetly in air.

But clear up the heav’n of your brow, Nor fancy my faith is a feather; On my h,art I will pledge you my vow, And they both must be broken together!

Warmly I felt her bosom thrill, I press’d it closer, closer still, Though gently bid not; Till-oh! the world hath seldom heard Of lovers, who so nearly err’d, And yet, who did not. WHEN TiME, WHO STEALS OUR YEARS AWAY.

WHrm Time, who steals our years away, ShaL steal our pleasures too, The nm m’ry of the past will stay, Aid half our joys renew. Then, Julia, when thy beauty’s flow’r Shall feel the wintry air, Remembrance will recall the hour When thou alone wert fair. Then talk no more of future gloom Our joys shall always last; For Hope shall brighten days to come, And Mem’ry gild the past. Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl, I drink to Love and thee: Thou never canst decay in soul, Thou’lt still be young for me. And as thy lips the tear-drop chase, Which on my cheek they find, So hope shall steal away the trace That sorrow leaves behind. Th en fill the bowl!-away with gloom! Our joys shall always last; For Hope shall brighten days to come, And Mem’ry gild the past. “GOOD NIGHT! GOOD NIGHT!” Ou GOOD night! good night! “-And is it so? And must I fro m my Rosa go? Oh Rosa, say,Good night!” once more, And I’ll repeat it o’er and o’er, Till the first glance of dawning light Shall find us saying, still, ” Good night.” Butt mark, at thought of future years When love shall lose its soul, Mv Chloe drops her timid tears, They mingle with my bowl. How like this bowl of wine, mr, fair, Our loving life shall fleet; Though tears may sometimes mingle there, The draughht will still be sweet. Thenr fill the ciip)-away with gloom! Our joys shall alwavs last; For Hope will brighten days to come, And Mem’ry gild the past. Ad Good night! ” you’ll murmur with a sigh, And tell me it is time to fly: find I will vow, will swear to go, While still that sweet voice i: – iurmurs “No!” Till slumber seal our weary sightAnd then, my L)ove, my soul, “Good night!” HA’VE v vo n t seen the timid tear, Steal tremAling from mine eye? Dlave ytou no! mark’d the flush of fear, Or caught the muiirmur’d sigh? And can voI think my love is chill, Nor fix’d cl. you alone? Arid can vou irenid, by doubting still, A neart so much your own? WHY DOES AZURE DECK THE SKY WHY does azure deck the sky? ‘Tis to be like thy looks of blue; Why is red the rose’s dye? Because it is thy blushes’ hue. All that’s fair, by Love’s decree, Has been made resembling thee! T you mv sotl’s affections move, Devently, warmly true; My life has been a task of love, One lon, lo i thought of you. If all vour tender lith be o’er, If still myr truth you’ll try; Alas, I know buit oie proof more i’ll bless your name, and die! Why is falli ng ow se o white, Bult to be like thy bosom fair? Whv are solar beams so br ighit? ‘That they may seemn thy golden hair! All that’s bright, by T,ove’. Reee Has been made resembling the,! 379 D’iD NOI’. FRIEND OF MY SOUL. FRIELVD of my soul, this goblet sip, ‘Twill chase that I)ensive tear; ‘Tis not so sweet as woman’s lip, But, oh!‘tis more sincere. Lile her delusive beam, ‘T%vill steal away thv mind: But, truer than lo-,e’s dream, It leaves no sting behind. Come, twine the wreath, thy bro”-s to shade; These flow’rs were cull’d at noon;Like woman’s love the rose will fade, But, ah! not half so soon. For though the flower’s decay’d, Its fragrance is not o’er; But once when love’s betray’d, Its sweet life blooms no more. And still 11 Good night,” my Rosa, sayBut whisper still, 11 A minute’stay; ” And I will!3tay, and every minute Shall have an age of transport in it; T’ll Time himself shall stay his flight, To listen to our sweet 11 Good night.”

HAV.9’rOU NOT SP-EN THE TIMID TEAR.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. They lose the half of beauty’s light, Who view it through sorr(iw’s tear; And’tis butt to see thee truly bright That I keep my eye-bern clear. Then wait no10 longer till tears shall flow, Fanny, dearest-the hope is v-ain; If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snovw, I shall never attempt it with rain TO ROSA. AY, why should the girl of my soul be in tears At a meeting of rapture like this, When the glooms of the past and the sorrow of years Have been paid by one moment of bliss? Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight, Which dwells on her memory yet?

Do they flow, like the dews of the love-breathing night, From the warmth of the sun that has set? Oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile, That smile, which is loveliest then; And if such are the drops that delight can beguile, Thou shalt weep them again and again. Oh, not to love thee were th sin; For sure, if Fate’s decrees be done, Thou, thou art destin’d still to win, As I am destin’d to be won! FLY FROM THE WORLD. FLY from the world, 0 Bessy! to me, Thou wilt never find any sincerer; I’ll give up the world, 0 Bessy! for thee, I can never meet any that’s dearer.

Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh, That our loves will be censured by many; All, all have their follies, and who will deny That ours is the sweetest of any? I COME, tell me,” says Rosa, as kissing and kist, One day she reclin’d on my breast; <; Come, tell me the number, repeat me the list T Of the nymphs you have lov'd and carest "Oh Rosa!'twas only my fancy that roved, My heart at the moment was free; But I'll tell thee, my girl, how many I've loved And the number shall finish with thee When your lip has met mine, in communion so sweet, Have we felt as if virtue forbid it?Have we felt as if heav'n denied them to meet? No, rather'twas heav'n that did it. So innocent, love, is the joy we then sip, So little of wrong is there in it, That I wish all my errors were lodg'd on your lip, And I'd kiss them away in a minute. My tutor was Kitty; In infancy wild She tauglht me the way to be blest; She taught mne to love her, I lov'd like r.:nlod, But Kitty could fancy the rest. This lesson of dear and enrapturing lore I have never forgot, I allow. I have had it by rote very often before, Blut never by heart until now. l'hen come to your lover, Oh!

fly to his shed, From a world which I know thou despisest; And slumber will hover as light o'er our bed As e'er on the couch of the wisest. And when o'er our pillowv the tempest is driven, And thou, pretty innocent, fearest, I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of heav'n, 'Tis only our lullaby, dearest. Pretty Martha was next, and my soul was &I flame, But my head was so full of romance That I fancied her into some chivalry dame, And I was her knight of the lance. But Martha was not of this fanciful school, And she laugh'd at her poor little knight; While I thought her a goddess, she thought me a foo And I'll swear she was most in the right.

And, oh! while we lay on our deathbed, my love, Looking back on the scene of our errors, A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above, And Death be disarm'd of his terrors. _nd each to the other embracing will say, "

Farewell! let us hope we're forgiven." rhy last fading glance will illumine the way, And a kiss be our passport to heaven! My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris's looks, Again I was tempted to rove; But Cloris, I found, was so learned in books That she gave me more logic than love. So I left this young Sappho, and hasten'd to fly To those sweeter logicians in bliss, Who argue the point with a soul-telling eye, And convince us at once with a kiss. Oh! Susan was then all the world unto me, But Susan was piously given; And the worst of it was, we could never agree On the road that was shortest to Heaven Bt Oh, Susan!" I've said, in the moments of mirtn, " What's devotion to thee or to me? Ta I devoutly believe there's a heaven on earth, "And believe that that heaven's in thee t" YEs! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh; And every smile on mv cheek should turn To tears when thou art nigh. But, between love, and wine, and sleep, So busy a life I live, That even the time it would take t' woe Is more than my heart can give. Then bid me not to despair and pine, Fanny, dearest of all the dears! The Love that's order'd to bathe in wine, Would he sure to take cold in tears. MARY, I believ’d thee true, And I was blest in thus believing; But now I mouirrn that e’er I knew A girl so fair and so deceiving. Fare thee well. Reflected bright in this heart of mine, Fanny, dearest, thy image lies; But, ah, the mi-ror would cease to shine, If dimm’d too often with sighs I 380 tvhy,ire nattire’s beauties felt? Oli!‘tis thine in her we see! lVhN, has music I)ower to iiielt? (5b! because it speaks like thee All that’s sweet, by Love’s decrw Ilas been made resembling thee! THINK ON THAT LOOK. THINK On that look who.3e melting ra) For one sweet moment mix’d with mine And for that moment seem’d to say, I 11 I dare not, or I would be thine!” Think on thy ev’ry smile and glance, On all thou hot to charm and move I And then forgive my bosom’s trance, Nor tell me it is sin to love. THE CATALOGUE.

FANNY, DEAREST. MARY, I BELIEV’D TITEE TRTTF

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MISCELLANEOuS POEMS. 31 Few have e; er lov’d like me, Yes, I have lov’d thee too sincerely! And tew have e’er deceiv’d like thee, Alas! deceiv’d me too severely. An whae r d iingled lliii y cc’)c t,~ ihi, Or shire blit fur a ir:lsic~! s::s,. lvhether the (‘,l l:! )r.ss t!:, uc1~, Or that the . r:!l is sl Iytlv Iriled, Let but the gold( th lou fitedwts t(ol lil, And all their’ bloomi, thei t l,,w is fa:e(l! Oh! better to be alwayi s fiee, Than thus to bind my loss to me. THE timid girl now hung lher lie.d, And, as she turn’d an uipwar(ld q,tance, I saw a doubt its twilight spread Across h r brows divine expanse. Just then, the garland’s brightest rose Gave one of its love-breathing sighst Oh! who can ask how Fanny chose, That ever look’d in Fanny s eyes? “The Wreath, my life, the Wreath shail be “The tie to bind my soul to thee.” Fare thee well!-yet think awhile On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee; Who now would rather trust that smile, And die with thee than live without thee. Fare thee well! I’ll think of thee, Thou leav’st me many a bitter token; For see, distracting woman, see, My peace is gone, my heart is broken! Fare thee well! TAKE

BACK THE SIGH. TAKE back the sigh, thy lips of art In passion’s moment breath’d to me; Yet no-it must not, will not part, ‘Tis now the life-breath of my heart, And has become too pure for thee. Take back the kiss, that faithless sigh With all the warmth of truth imprest; Yet, no-the fatal kiss may lie, Upon thy lip its sweets would die, Or bloom to make a rival blest. THE SALE OF LOVES. I DREAMT that, in the Paphian gTOVeS, Mvy nets by moonlight laying, I caught a flight of wanton Loves, Among the rose-beds playing. – Some just had left their silv’ry shell, While some were full in feather; So pretty a lot of Loves to sell, Were never yet strung together. Come buy my Loves, Come buy my Loves, Ye dames and rose-lipp’d misses! They’re new and bright, The cost is light, For the coin of this isle is lisses. Take back the vows that, night and day, My heart receiv’d, I thought, from thine; Yet, no-allow them still to stay, They might some other heart betray, As sweetly as they’ve ruin’d mine. TO

CLOE.-IMITATED FROM MARTIAL. I coUI.D resign that eye of blue Howe’er its splendour used to thrill me; And ev’n that cheek of roseate hue, To lose it, Cloe, scarce would kill me. First Cloris came, with looks sedate, Their coin on her lips was ready; “I buy,” quoth she, ” my Love by weight, ” Full grown, if you please, and steady.” “Let mine be light,” said Fanny, ” pray ” Such lasting toys undo one; A A light little Love that will last to-day, I To-morrow I’ll sport a new one.” Come buy my Loves, Come bu y my Loves, Ye danes and rose-lipp’d misses! There’s some will keep, Some light and cheap, At from ten to twenty kisses. that snowy neck I mc e’er should miss, However much I’ve rav’d about it; And sweetly as that lip can kiss, I think I could exist without it. In short, so well I’ve learnt to fast, That, sooth my love, I know not whether I migkt iiot bring myself at last, To-do without yout altogether. THE WREATH AND THE CHAIN. I BRIING thee, love, a golden chain, I bring thee too a flowery wreath; The gold shall never wear a stairn, The flow’rets long shall sweetly breathe. Come, tell me which the tie shall be, To bind thy gentle heart to me. The learned Prue took a pert otling thing, To divert her virgin Muse with, And pluck sometimes a quill from his wing, To indite her billet-doux w ith. Poor Cloe would give for a well-fledg’d pair Hter only eye, if you’d ask it; And Tabitha begg’d, old toothless fair, For the youngest Love in the basket. Come buy my Loves, &c. &c. The chain is form’d of golden threads, Bright as Minerva’s yellow hair, When the last beam of evening sheds Its calm and sober lustre thein The Wreath’s of brightest myrtie.- e, , ith sun-lit drops of bliss among it, And many a rose-leaf, cull’d by Love, To heal his lip when bees have stung it. C:.me, tell me which the tie shall be, To bind thy gentle heart to me. But one as leat, ws he n Stsan came, One worth them all together; At sight of her dear looks of shame, He smil’d, and pruii’d his feather. She wish’d the boy-‘tunas more than whim – Her looks, her sighs betray’d it; But kisses were not enough for him, I ask’d a heart, and she paid it! Good-by, my Loves, Good-by, my Loves, ‘Twculd make you smile to’ve seen us First trade for this Sweet chilh of bliss, And then nurse the boy between us. TO A BOY W irH A WATCH Yes, yes, I read that ready eye, Which answers w hen the tongue is loath, Thou lik’st the form of either tie, And spread’st thy playfuil hands for both.

Ah!-if there were not something wrong, The world woutld see them blended oft; The Chain would make the Wreath so strong! The Wreath would make the Chain so soft! Then might the gold, the flow’rets be Sweet fetters for my love and me. But, Fanny, so unblest they twine, That (Heaven alone can tell the reason) I t I MISCELLAN’EOTTS POEMS. 381 To it not sweet, beloved youth, To rove throuh Eriidition’s bowers, And cull the olden fruits of truth, And gather 11 Fancv’s brilliant flowers?

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. And is it not more sweet than this, To feel trihy p)arents’ hearts approving, And!pay t!,etn back in sums of blissI Thie dear, the endless debt of loving? ,,Oh! when shall this horr-ible darklness disperse!, Said WVillumberg’s lord to the Seer of the Cave;“It can never dispel,” said the wizard of verse, “Till the bright star of chivalry sinks in the wave Ie And wh( was the bright star of chivalry then? Who could be but Reuben, the flow’r of the age? For Reuben was first in the comnbat of men, Though Youth had scarce written his name on her pap For Willumberg’s daughter his young heart had beat, For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn, When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet, It walks o’er the flow’rs of the mountain and lawn. The little gift wae osend thee, boy, May sometimes teach thy soul to ponder, If indolence or siren joy Should ever tempt that soul to wvander. ‘Twill tell thee that the zinged day Can ne’er be chain’d by man’s endeavour That life and time shall fade away, While heav’n and virtue bloom forever! Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever. Sad, sad were the words of the Seer of the Cave, That darkness should cover that castle for ever, Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave! To the wizard she flew, saying, ”

Tell me, oh, tell! Shall my Reuben no more be r.,tor’d to my eyes?” “Yes, yes-when a spirit shall toll the great bell Of the mould’ring abbey, your Reuben shall rise!” Twice, thrice he repeated “Your Reuben shall rise!”

And Rose felt a moment’s release from her pain; And wip’d, while she listen’d, the tears from her eyes, And hop’d she might yet see her hero again. O h! I had lon, in freedom rov’d, Though many seem’d my soul to share; ‘Twas passion when I thought I lov’d, ‘Twas fancy when I thought them fair. That hero could smile at the terrors of death, When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose, To the Oder he flew, and there, plunging beneath, In the depth of the billows soon found his repose How strangely the order of destiny falls! Not long in the waters the warrior lay, When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls, And the castle of Willumberg bask’d in the ray All, all but the soul of the maid was in light, There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank Two days did she wander, and all the long night, In quest of her love, on the wide river’s bank FTv’n she, my muse’s early theme, Beguil’d me only while she warm’d; ‘Twas young desire that fed the dream, And reason broke what passion form’d. Then all the pain which lovers feel Had never to this heart been known; But then, the joys that lovers steal, Should they have ever been my own? Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell, And heard but the breathings of night in the air; Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell, And saw but the foam of the white billow there And often as midnight its veil would undraw, As she look’d at the light of the moon in the stream. She thought’twas his helmet of silver she saw, As the curl of the surge glitter’d high in the beam. And now the third night was begemming the sky; Poor Rose, on the cold dewy margent reclin’d, There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye, When-hark!‘twas the bell that came deep in wind! That little cage I would not part, In which my soul is prison’d now, For the most light and winged heart That wantons ore.he passing vow. Stilh, my belov’d! still keep in mind, However far remov’d fromn me, That there is one thou leav’st behid, Whose heart respires for only thee’ She startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade, A form o’er the waters in majesty glide; She knew’twas her love, though his cheek was decay’d, And his helmet of silver was wash’d by the tide Was this what the Seer of the Cave had foretold? Dim, dim, through the phantom the moon shot a gleam ‘Twas Reuben, but, ah! he was deathly and cold, And fleeted away like the spell of a dream! Twice, thrice did he rise, and as often she thought From the bank to embrace him, but vain her endeavow Then, plunging beneath, at a billow she caugft, And sunk to repose on its bosom for ever’ No, no! That heart if only mine BP ties all other ties above, For I have w,%ed it at a shrine lWhere wve leave ha(] no priest but Love.

REUBEN AND ROSE A T.ALE OF ROMANCE. 1 E d(arkness that lInIn upon Willumberg’s walls Had )long beien renmemtnber’d with awe and dismay; For;‘eirs not a sunbeam had play’d in its halls, And’t seem’d as shut out from the regions of day. Though the valleys were brighten’d by many a beam, Yet none could the woods of that castle illume; And the lightning, which flash’d on the neighboiring stream, Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom! ANACREONTIC PRESS the grape, and let it pour Around the board its purple show’r, And, while the drops my goblet steep, I’ll think in woe the clusters weep. IIn .,I 4 It miist be,) to tliee, mv votith; With tli’s idea tol’I is lighter; This sweetens all tl-ie fruits of’

truth, And ina!es the flower of fancy brighter. To… – -..

RI,-,M]F.‘MBE:R him thou leav’st behind, lvhose heart is warmly bound to thee, Close as the ten(l’i-est links can bind A heart as warm as heart can be. But thou-ah! better had it been If I had still in freedom rov’d, If I bad ne’er thy beauties seen, For ther. I never should have lov’d. Oh!

trust mc, when I swear thee this, Dearest! the pain of thee, The very pain is sweeter bliss Than i)assion’s wildest ecs’asy. the And thoii;h tin,eiiial ties Iiitve boijnd ‘rhv f,,ite uito an,)thei‘s care, Th-it arin, clas-ii.; thv bosom round, Ca,i,iot c,)!ifiiie ttie heart that’s there. Weep on, weep on, iny pouting vine! I-leav’n grant no tears, but tears of wille. Weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow, I’ll taste the luxury of woe.

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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. To…..... MOCK me 1jo more wit1 L,.ve’s begliliig dream, A dream, I first ill~ls:rv as sweet: One smile of friendshili,,) S, of’ o,,l esteem, Far dearer were tlai,iSssiO’, S bland deceit! THAT awlirtinle, ws-hen first I espied it At onrice put my heart out of pain; Till t he eve, that ga s I e lowing beside it, Disturb’d my ideas again.

Thou art just in the twilight at present, Whienl woman’s declension begins; When. fading from all that is pleasant, She bids a good night to her sins. I’ve heard y(,iu oft eternal tru,th (dclare; Your heart was only 11irie, t o0ice believ’d. Ah! shall I say that all’oir, owvs were air? And must I say, my hi,pes wVere all deceiv’d? Vow, then, no longei that olir siolls are twin’d, That all our joys are lelt with minltual zeal; Julia!

‘tis pith, pitv mak es you kind; You know I love, and you would seem to feel. Yet t hou still art so lovelv to me, I would sooner, my exquisite mother! Repose in the sunset of thee, Than bask in the noon of another.

But shall I still go seek within those arms A joy in which aflectionr takes no part? No, no, fare ell! y ou give me b ut you r charms, When I had fondly thought you gave your hear TO MRS........ 0S] SOME CALUMNIES

AGAINST HER CHARACTER Is not thy mind a gentle mil.d? Is not that heart a heart refin’d? Hast thou not every gentle grace, We love in woman’s mind and face? Andrl, oh! art thou a shrine for Sin To hold her hateful worsip in? THE SHRINE MY fates had destin’d me to rove A long, long pilgrimage of love; And many an altar on my way Has lur’d my prious steps to stay; For, if the saint was young and fair, I turn’d and sung my vespers there. This, from a youthful pilgrim’s fire, Is what your pretty saints require: To pass, nor tell a single bead, With them would be profane indeed! But, trust me, all this young devotion Was but to keep my zeal in motion; And, ev’ry humbler altar past, I now have reach’d THE SHRINE at last! No, no, be happy-dry that tearThough some thy heart hath harbour’d near, May now repay its love with blame; Though man, who ought to shield thy fame, Ungenerous mall, be first to shun thee; Though all the world look cold upon thee, Yet shall thy pureness keep thee still Unharm’d by that surrounding chill; Like the fam’d drop, in crystal found, Floating, while all was froz’n round,Unchill’d, unchanging shalt thou be, Safe in thy own sweet purity. To…...... WaEN I lov’d you, I can’t but allow I had many an exquisite minute; But the scorn that I feel for you now Hath even more luxury in it. cWrrIT SOME MANUSCRIPT POEMS, ON LEAVING ToR COUNTRY. WHEN, casting many a look behind, I leave the friends I cherish herePerchance some other friends to find, But surely finding none so dear Thus, whether we’re on or we’re off, Some witchery seems to await you; To love you was pleasant enough, And, oh!‘tis delicious to hate you I TO JULIA. Haply the little simple page, Which votive thus I’ve trac’d for thee, May now and then a look engage, And steal one moment’s tloiiught for me. rIN ALLUSION

TO SOMfE ILLIBERAL CRITICISMS. WHY, let the stingless critic chide With all that fume of vacant pride Which mantles o’er the pedant fool, Like vapour on a stagrnant pool. Oh! if the song, to feeling true, Can please th’ elect, the sacred few, Whose souls, by Taste and Nature taught, Thrill with the v,enuirnec pulse of thoughtIf some fond feeling maid like thee, The xarm-ev’(1 child of Sympathy, Shall say, while o’er my simple theme She languishes in Passioii’s dream, “He was, indeed a tender soul No critic lwv, no chill control, Should ever freeze, by timid art, Tho flo”

ings of so f, nd a heart! Yes, soul of N.taure! soul of Love! That, h(ev’rinr like a snow-wing’d dove, Breath’d o’er m- cradle warolinzs wild, And hail’d me Passion’s warmest child,Grant ome tlie teir from Beautt’s eye, From Feelinz’s breast the votive sigh; Oh! let ma s’, mv mem’ry, find A shrine Within the tender mind And I will smil when critic’s chide, And I will solrn the fuime of pride Which mantles o’er the pedant fool, Like vapnur round some stagnant pool! For, trust me, theyr who n ever melt With pity, never melt with love; And such will frown at all I’ve felt, And all my loving la-ys reprove. I 383 l’O.1 U T,’. A – TO A LADY, But, oh! in pity let not tho.,e Whose’hearts are not of’ gentle iiiotild, Let not the eve that sel(ioni flows With feeling’s tear, niv sotig behold. But if, perhaps, soi,-e gentler mind, Which rather loves to praise than blame, Should in my page an interest find, And linger Icindly oii my name; Tell him-or, oh! if, gert](r still By female lips my time I)e blesi: For where do all iffect’ons thrill So sweetlv as in woman’s breast? Tell her, that he whole lovin, themes Her e3,e indulgent waiiders o’er, Could sometimes wake fi,oin i(ite dreams, And bolder flights of t, iiev soar; That Glory oft x,,oiil,i clalin the lay, And Friendship oft his niiiyibers move; But whistler then, that, 11 sooth to say, 11 Iiis sweetest song ivas given to Love!’

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. For instance, then, if Natture’s care IHaI not l)ortray’d, in lines so fair, The inward soul of Lucy L-nd-n, This is the label she’d have pinn’d on. i’:~o~y;; t “,.,-, – r,:l a! bid us part, Our scu;Ils it c; t,, s’:.11 not sever; T’Fhe heart wvill s’ec its kindred heart, And cliog to it as close as eveir. LABEL FIRST. Within this form there lies enshrin’d The purest, brightest gem of mind. Though Feeling’s hand may sometimes throw Upon its charms the shade of woe, The lustre of the gem, when veil’d, Shall be but mellow’d, not conceal’d. But must we, mus we i)art indeed? Is all our dream of rapture over? And does not Julia’s bosom bleed To leave so dear, so fond a lover? Does she too mourn?-Perhaps she may; Perhaps she mourns our bliss so fleeting’ But why is Julia’s eye so gay, If Julia’s heart like mine is beating? Now, sirs, imagine, if y ou’re able, That Nature wrote a second label, They’re her own words,-at least suppose soAnd boldly pin it on Pomposo. I oft have lov’d that sunny glow Of gladness in her blue eye gleamingBut can the bosom bleed with woe, While joy is in the glances beamning? No, no!-Yet, love, I will not chide; Although your heart were fond of roving, Nor that, nor all the world beside Could keep your faithful boy fromn loving LABEL

SECOND. When I compos’d the fustian brain Of this redoubted Captain Vain, I had at hand but few ingredients, And so was forc’d to use expedients I put therein some small discerning, A grain of sense, a grain of learning; And when I saw the void behind. I fill’d it up with-froth and wind t You’ll soon be distant from his eye, And, with you, all that’s worth possessing Oh! then it will be sweet to die, When life has lost its only blessing! TO JULIA. ON HER BIRTHDAY WHrEN Time was entwining the garland of years, Which to crown my beloved was given, Though some of the leaves might be sullied with te Yet the flow’rs were all gather’d in heaven. And long may this garland be sweet to the eye, May its verdu re for ever be new; Young Love shall enrich it with many a sigh, And Sympathy nurse it with dew. Oh! while this heart bewilder’d took Sweet poison from her thrilling eye, Thus would she smil e, and l isp, and look, And I would hear, and gaze, and sigh! A REFLECTION AT SEA. SEEr how, beneath the mooilibeam’s smile, Yon little billow heaves its breast, And foams and sparkles for awtile, Then murmuring subsides to rest. Yes, I did love her-w ildly love She was her sex’s best deceiver! And oft she swore she’d never rove And I was destin’d to believe her! Then, lady, do not wear the smile Of one whose smile could thus betray; Alas! I think the lovely wile Again could steal mv heart away. For, when those spells that charm’(l my mind, On lips so pure as thine I see, I fear the heart wlhich she resign’d Will err again, and fly to thee! CLORIS! if I were Persia’s king, I’d make my graceful queen of thee; While FANNY, wild and artless thing, Should but thy humble handmaid be. IN vain we fondly strive to trace The soul’s reflection in the face; In vain we dwell on lines and crosses, Crooked nmouth, or short proboscis; Boobies }.ave look’d as wise and bright A^q Plato or thie Stagirite And manv a sage and learned skull Has pee)‘d tlirou;1h windows dark and dull Since then, though art do all it can, We ne’er can reach the inward man, Nor (howso,e’er c learn’d’ITlhebans”

doubt) The i,warid lwo.a, from without, Alethitks’twere w ell if Nature could End Nature could, if Nature would) tme pithv, short descriptions write, On tablets large, in black and white, Which she might ha ab o ut our t hrottles, Like labels upon physic-bottles; And where all men might read-but stayAs dialectic sages say, The argument m(ost apt ark ample For common use is the example. SAY, did you not hear a voice of death! And did you not mark the paly form Which rode on the silvery mist of the heath, And sung a ghostly dirge in the storm? Was it the wailing bird of the gloom, That shrieks on the house of woe all night! Or a shiv’ring fiend that flew to a tomb, To howl and to feed till the glance of light? ‘Twas not the death-bird’s cry firom the wood, For shiv’ring fiend that hung on the blast; ‘Twas the shade of Helderic-man of blood It screams for the guilt of days that are past. III I -1, 4 — --.. – - — . =.L ‘I’o liz_,Ill,,. To. – - -. SWF-ET lady, look not thus again: Those bright deluding smiles recall A maid reinember’d now with pain, Who was my love, my life, my all! Thus man, the sport of bli,,,s and care, Rises on time’s evei-,tful sea; And, having swell’d a morneiit there, Thus melts into eternity! CLORTS AND FANNY. ..NATURE’S LABELS. A FRAGMENT. There is but o?te objection in’ it That, verily, I’m miicb afraid I should, in some tinluc,’.iy miniite, Forsake the mistress for the maid. THE SHIELD.

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MISCELLANEOIJS POEMS. See, h),w tile red:, ra 4 li4, tii strays, And s-ares the (ti, hosts of the heath Now ()1 t lhe l a,,“ss a-i. it laI.qs, WVhere hlt^a,’ the shel d oi)r this son of death. That shi 1(1 is l i, t;!

i;r’ i h rn urd’rous stains Len’T has it }li,g fiorom hle col( y3ew’s spray; It is blose., yrt sl, Hins and ash’d by rains, But neitiher can taike the bleed away! Oft by that New, on the blasted field, Demons dance to the red moon’s light; % bile the damp boughs creak, and the swinging shield Sings to the raving spirit of night a DREAMS. To…s.i..r… [Nr slumber, I prithee how is it That souls are oft taking the air, And paying each other a visit, While bodies are heaven knows where? Last night,‘tis in vain to deny it, Your Soul took a fancy to roam, For I heard her, on tiptoe so quiet, Come ask, whether mine was at home. Andl mine let her in with delight, And they talk’d and they laugh’d the time through; For, when souls come together at night, There is no saying what they mayn’t do! And your little Soul, heaven bless her! Had much to complain and to say, Of how sadly you wrong and oppress her By keeping her prison’d all day. “I I hav,pe’,” aid she, “but to steal a For a peep now and then to her eye, ,Or, to quieit the fever I feel, “Just venture abroad on a sigh; ,In an instanit she frightens me in I With some phantom of prudence or terror, For fear I should stray into sin, “Or, what is still worse, into error!

So, instead of displaying my graces, By daylight, in language and mien, I am shut up in corners and places, nWhere truly I blush to be seen!” Upon hearing this piteous confession, My Soul, looking tenderly at her, Declar’d, as for grace and discretion, He did not know much of the matter; But, to-morrow, sweet Spirit!” he said, “Be at home after midnight, and then I4 will come when your ladv’s in bed, And wle’ll talk o’er the subject againfi.” So she whisper’d a word in his ear, I suppose to her door to direct him, And, just after midnight, my dear, Your polite little soul may expect him. TO ROSA. WRITTUN DURING ILLNESS. THe: wisest soul, by anguish torn, Will soon unlearn the lore it knew; And when the shrining casket’s worn, The gem within will tarnish too. Bult lovoe s an essence of the soul, Which sinks not with this chain of clay; Which throbs beyond the chill control Of with’rin~g train or pale decay. And surely, when the touch of Death Dissolves the spirit’s earthly ties, Love still attends th’

immortal breath, And makes it purer for the skies! Oh Rosa, wshen, to seek its sphere, Mry soul shall leave this orb of men, That love wvhich form’d its treasure here, Shall be its best of treasures then! And as, in fabled dreams of old, Some air-born genius, child of time, Presided o’er each star that roll’d, And track’d it through its path sublime; So thou, fair planet, not unled, Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray, Thy lover’s shade, to thee still wed, Shall linger round thy earthly way. Let other spirits range the sky, And play around each starry gem; I’ll bask beneath that lucid eye, Nor envy worlds of suio s to them. And when that heart shall cease to beat, And when that b reath at l ength is free, Then, Rosa, soul to soul we’ll meet, And mingle to eternity! TO JULIA, WEEPING. Om! if your tears are giv’n to care, If real woe disturbs your peace, Come to my bosom, weeping fair! And I w ill bi d y ou r weeping cease. But if with Fancv’s vision’d fears, With dreams of p voe your bosom thrill, You look so lovely in your tears, That I must bid you drop them still. THE WREATH

YOU WOVE. THE. wreath you wove, the wreath you wove Is fair-but oh, how fair, If Pity’s hand had stol’n from Love One leaf to mingle there! If every rose with gold were tied, Did gems fo,r dewdrops fall, One faded leaf where Love had sigh’d Were sweetlv worth them all. The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove Our emblem well may be, its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love Must keep its tears for me. To…........ THr: world had just begun to steal Each hope that led me lightly on; I felt not, as I us’d to feel, And life grew dark and love was gone No eye to mingle sorrow’s tear, No lip to mingle pleasure’s breath, No circling arms to draw me near’Twas gloomy, and I wiish’d for death But when I saw that gentle eye, Oh! something seem’d to tell me then, That I was yet too young to die. And hope and bliss might bloom again XVith every gentle smile that crost Your kindling cheek, you lighted home Some feeling, which my heart had lost, And peace, which far had learn’d to roam. ‘Texas then indeed so sweet to live, H-ot>e look’d so new and Love o kind, That, though I mourn, I ye t forgive The ruin they have left behind 385

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3Sq6 THE ML I could have iov’d you-oh, so well! The dream, that wishing boyhood knows, Is but a bright; beguiling spell, That only lives while passion glows: With olive-branch I I,,)in(d thv fiead, Heart’s ease along thv path I shl(d, Which A-as to bloom thr(ough all thy year, Nor yet did I forget t o )in d Love’s roses, with his nmytle twiin’d, And dew’d by sympathetic tears. But when this early flush declines, When the heart’s sunny morning fleets, You know not then how close it twines Round the first kindred soul it meets. Such was the wild but precious boon Which Fancy, at her magic noon, Ba-de me to Nona’s image pay; And where it thus my fate to be Thy little guardian deity, How blest around thy steps I’d play. Yes, yes, I could have lov‘4, as one Who, while his youth’s enchantments fall, Finds somethtling dear to rest upon, Which p&ys him for the loss of all. Thy life in peace should glide along, Calm as some lonely shepherd’s song That’s heard at distance in the grove; No cloud should ever dim thy sky, No thorns along thy pathway lie, But all be beauty, peace, and love. NF.vER mind how the pedagogue proses, You want not antiquity’s stamp; A lip, that such fragrance discloses, Oh! never should smell of the lamp. . Old Cloe, whose withering kiss Hath long set the Loves at defiance, Now, done with the science of bliss, May take to the blisses of science. Indulgent Time should n ever bring To thee one blight upon his wing, So gently o’er thy brow he’d fly; And death itself should but be felt Like that of daybeams, when they melt, Bright to the last, in evening’s sky I But for you to be buried in books Ah, Fanny, they’re pitiful sages, Who could not in one of your looks Read more than in millions of pages. INCONSTANCY. AiN do I then wonder that Julia deceives me, When surely there’s nothing in nature more common She vows to be true, and while vowing she leaves me And could I expect any more from a woman? A stronomy finds in those eyes Better light than she studies above; And Music would borrow your sighs As the melody fittest for Love. Oh, woman!

your heart is a pitiful treasure; And Mahomet’s doctrine was not too severe, When he held that you were but materials of pleasuri And reason and thinking were out of your sphere Your Arithmetic only can trip If to count your own charms you endeavour; And eloquence glows on your lip When you swear, that you’ll love me for ever. By your heart, when the fond sighing lover van wm it, He thinks that an age of anxiety’s paid; But, oh, while he’s blest, let him die at the minute If he live but a day, he’ll be surely betray’d. Thus you see, what a brilliant alliance Of arts is assembled in you;A course of more exquisite science Man never need wish to pursue. ELEGIAC STANZAS, SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY JULIA, ON’ THE DW OF

HER BROTHER. TUoUGH sorrow long has worn my heart; Though every day I’ve counted o’er Hath brought a new and quick’ning smart To wounds that rankled fresh before; SWEET spirit I if thy airy sleep Nor sees my tears nor hears my sighs, Then will I weep, in anguish weep, Till the last heart’s drop fills mine eyes. Though in my earliest life ber eft Of tender links by nature tied; Though hope deceiv’d, and pleasure left, Though friends betray’d and foes belied; But if thy sainted soul can feel, And mingles in our misery; Then, then my breaking heart I’ll seal Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me. I still had hopes-for hope will stay After the sunset of delight; So like the star w hich ushers day, We scarce can think it heralds night! The beam of morn was on the stream, But sullen clouds the day deform: Like thee was that young, orient beam, Like death, alas, that sullen storm! I hop’d that, after all its strife, My weary heart at length should rest, And, fainting from the waves of life, Find harbour in a brotlher’s breast. Thou wert not form’d for living here, So link’d thy soul was with the sky; Yet, ah, we held thee all so dear, We thought thou wert not formn’d to at That brother’s breast was warm with truth, Was bright with honosr’s purest ray; He was the dearest, gentlest youth Ah, why then was he torn away? He should have stay’d, h ave linger’d here To sooth e hi s Julia’s ev ery woe; He should have chas’d each bitter tear, And not have caus’d those tears to flow TO….... THE MORNING OF HER

BIRTHDAY. INr witching slumbers of the night, I dreamt I was the airy sprite That on thy natal moment smil’d; And thought I wafted on my wing Those flow’rs which in Elysium spring, To crown my lovely mortal child. I IRROR LTBRARY. TO…........ And, ob!-if a Fellow like me May confer a diploma of hearts, With my lip thus I seal’your degree, My divine little Mistress of Arts! ON THE DEATH OF A LADY. We saw within his soul expand The fruits of genius, nurs’d by taste; While Science; with a fost’ring hand, Upon his brow her chaplet placd I

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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. We saV, by bright degrees, his mind (Cr(os ree ih all that makes men dear;En:li (teil’d, social, and refin’(d, In tfiietdshi!) firm, in love sincere. Such alas the youth we lov’d so well, And such the hopes that fate denied;WVe lov’li, but ah! could scarcely tell Howi deep, how dearly, till he died! Of these I sung, and notes and words Were sweet, as if the fiery air From Lamia’s lip hung o’er the chords, And Lamia’s voice still warbled there! Close as the fondest links could strain, Twiii’d with my very heart he grew; And by thlat fiite which breaks the chain, The heart is almost broken too. But wh en, alas, I turn’d the them e, And when of vows and oaths I spoke, Of truth and hope’s seducing dream The chord beneath my finger broke. False harp! false woman!-such, oh, such Are lutes too frail and hearts too willing; Any hand, whate’er its touch, Can set their chords or pulses thrilling. TO THE LARGE AND BEAUTIFUTL

MISS.... IN ALLUSION TO SOME PARTNERSHIP IN A LOTTERY SHARD. Isv wedlock a species of lottery lies, Where in blanks and in prizes we deal; But how comes it that you, such a capital prize, Should so long have remain’d in the wheel? If ever, by Fortune’s indulgent decree, To me such a ticket should roll, A sixteenth, Heav’n knows! were sufficient for me; I For what could Ido with the whole? I SAW the peasant’s hand unkind From yonder oak the ivy sever; They seemd in very being twin’d; Yet now the oak is mesh as ever! A DREAM. ! THOUGHT this heart enkindled lay On Cupid’s burning shrine: I thought he stole thy heart away, And p]ac’d it near to mine. Not so the widow’d ivy shines: Torn from its dear and only stay, In drooping widowhood it lines, And scatters all its bloom away. I saw thv heart begin to melt, Like (ce before the sun; Till both a glow congenial felt, And mingled into one! Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine, Till fate disturb’d their tender ties: Thus gay indifference blooms in thine, While mine, deserted, droops and dies! TO…... WITH all my joul, then, let us part, Since both are anxious to be free; And I will send you home your heart, If you will send back mine to me. HYMN OF A VIRGIN OF DELPHI, AT THE TOMB OF

HER MOTHER We’ve had some happy hours together, But joy must often change its wing; And spring would be but gloomy weather, If we had nothing else but spring. Om, lost, for ever lost-no more Shall Vesper light our dewy way Along the rocks of Crissa’s shore, To hymn the fading fires of day; No more to Temp6’s distant vale In holy musings shall we roam, Through summer’s glow and winter’s gale, To bear the mystic chaplets home. ‘Twas then my soul’s expanding zeal, By nature warm’d and led by thee, In everv breeze was taught to feel The breathings of a Deity. Guide of my heart!

still hovering round, Thy looks, thy words are still my ownI see thee raising from the ground Some laurel, by the winds o’erthrown, And hear thee say, “This humble bough “, Was planted for a doom divine; And, though it dralo”n languor now, “, Shall flourish on the Delphic shrine! ,’ Thus, in the v:le of earthly sense, “T Though sunk awhile the spirit lies, ‘ A viewless hand shall cull it thence, s” To bloom immortal in the skies:”

‘Tis not that I expect to find A more devoted, fond and true one, With rosier cheek or sweeter mind Enough for me that she’s a new one. Thus let us leave the bower of love, Where e have loiter’d long in bliss; And you may dows n that pathway rove, While I shall take my way through this –

SHEr never look’d so kind before” ”’ Yet snhy the wantoen’s smi le recall?

~ I’ve seen this witchery o’er and o’er, ,,‘Tis hollow, vain, and heartless all!” Thus 1 said arid, sighing, drain’d The cup which she so late had tast,q; Upon wvhose rim still fresh remain’e The breath, so oft in falsehood wastes. All that the young should feel and know, By thee was taught so sweetly well, rhy words fell soft as vernal snow, And all was brightness where they fell! Fo nd soo ther of my infant tear, Fond sharer of my infant joy, Is not thy shade still ling’ring here? Am I not still thy soul’s employ? Oh yes-and, as in former days, When, meeting on the sacred mount, Our nymphs awak’d their choral lays, And danc’d around Cassotis’ fount; I took the harp, and would have sung As if’twere not of her I sang; But still the notes on Lamia hung On whom but Lamia could they hang? Those eyes of hers, that floating shine, Like diamonds in some Eastern river; That kiss, for which, if worlds were mine, A world foi every kiss I’d give her. ‘I . 387 Tli-,tt. ft ,ime so delicate, yet -,,artri’d IVith fltishesgf IoN-e’s genial hue; – A mould ti-ansp7rent, as if form’d To let the sl)lrlt’s light shine through And when that tlirill is most awake, And when you think HeaveD’S joys await yoi% The nymph will change, the chord will break Oh Love, oh Music, how I hate you! TO JULTA.

A,NQACREONTIC.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. As then,‘twas all thy wish and care, That mine should be the sirplest mien, My lyre and voice the sweetest there, Mnly foot the lightest o’er the green: So still, each look and step to mould, Thy guardian care is round me spread. Arranging every snowy fold, And guiding every mazy tread. And, when I lead the hymning choir, Thy spirit still, unseen and free, Hovers between my lip and lyre, And weds them into harmony. Flow, Plistus, flow, thy murmuring wave Shall never drop its silv’ry tear Upon so pure, so blest a grave, To memory so entirely dear!

Is my Rosa’s lute unstrung? Once a tale of peace it sung To her lover’s throbbing breastThen was he divinely blest! Ah! but Rosa loves no more, Therefore Rosa’s song is o’er; And her lute neglected lies; And her boy forgotten sighs. Silent lute-forgotten loverRosa’s love and song are over!

STILL the question I must parry, Still a wayward truant prove: Where I love, I must not marry; Where I marry, cannot love. ELEGIAC STANZAS. WHEN wearied wretches sink to sleep, How heavenly soft their slumbers lie! How sweet is death to those who weep, To those who weep and long to die! Were she fairest of creation, With the least presuming mind; Learned without affectation; Not deceitful, yet refin’d; Saw you the soft and grassy bed, Where flow’rets deck the green earth’s breat J ‘Tis there I wish to lay my head, ‘Tis there I wish to sleep at rest. Wise enough, but never rigid; Gay, but not too lightly free; Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid; Fond, yet satisfied with me: Oh, let not tears emblm my tomb, None but the dews at twilight given! Oh, let not sighs disturb the gloor, None but the whisp’ring wind’ f heaven Were she all this ten times over, All that heav’n to earth allows, I should be too much her lover Ever to become her spouse Love will never bear enslaving; Summer garments suit him best; Bliss itself is not worth having, If we’re by compulsion blest. ON beds of snow the moonbeam slept, And chilly was the midnight gloom, When by the damp grave Ellen wept Fond maid! it was her Lindor’s tomb’ TO JULIA. OUR hearts- my love, were form’d to be The genuine twins of Sympathy, They live with one sensation: In joy or grief, but most in love, Like chords in unison they move, And thrill with like vibration. An angel, wand’ring from her sphere, Who saw this beright, this frozen gem, To dew-ey’d Pit) brought the tear, And hung it on her diadem? How oft I’ve heard thee fondly say, Thy vital pulse shall cease to play When mine no more is moving; Since, now, to feel a joy alone Were worse to thee than feeling none So twinn’d are we in loving! THE SNAKE. MY Love and I, the other day, Within a myrtle arbour lay, When near us, from a rosy bed, A little Snake put forth its head. ANACREONTIC. I LILL’D to thee, to thee I drank, I nothing did but drink and fill; The bowl by turns was bright and lank, ‘Twas drinking, filling, drinking still. At length I bid an artist paint Thy image in this ample cup, That I might see the dimpled saint To whom I quaff’d my nectar up. 4′ See,” said the maid with thoughtful eyes” Yonder the fatal emblem lies! 4′ Who could expect such hidden harm 4 Beneath the rose’s smiling charm?” Never did grave remark occur Less a-propos than this from her Behold, how bright that purple lip Now blushes through the wave at me Every roseate drop I sip Is just like kissing wine from thee I rose to kill the snake, but she, Half-smiling, pray’d it might not be No,”

said the maiden-And, alas, Her eyes spoke volumes while she said it “Ltong as the snake is in the grass, “One may, perhaps, have cause to dread i: “But, when its wicked eves appear, ‘ And when we know for what they wink se,e One must be very simple, dea r, “To let it wound one-don’t you think so?” 11 .3‘88 TO ROSA. Is the song of Rosa rniite? Once more such lan,s ingpir’d ner lute! Never doth a sweeter song Steal the breezy lyre along, When the wind, in odours dviiig, Wooes it with enamour’d sighing, LOVE AND

MARRIAGE ,rHE TEAR. A warm tear gush’d, the wintry air Congeal’d it as it flow’d away: All night it lay an ice-drop there, At morn it glitter’d in the ray. And still I drink the more for this: For, ever when the draugbt f draft Thv lip invit another IMISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And now, my gentle hints to clear, For once I’ll tell you truth, my dear. Whenever you may chance to meet Some loving youth, whose love is sweet, Long as you’re false and he believes you, Long as you trust and he deceives you, So long the blissful bond endures, And while he lies, his heart is yours: But, oh! you’ve wholly lost the youth The instant that he tells you truth. CHLORIS, I swear, by all I ever swore, That from this hour I shall not love thee more., What! love no more? Ohl!

why this alter’d vow?” Pecause I cannot love thee more-than L aow! To MISS...... ON HER ASKING THE AUTHOR WHY SHE HAD SLEEPLESS NIGHTS. I’LL ask the sylph who round thee flies, And in thy breath his pinion dips, Who suns him ill thy radiant eyes, And faints upon thy sighing lips: I’ll ask him where’s the veil of sleep That us’d to shade thy looks of light; And why those eyes their vigil keep, When other suns are sunk in night? TO A LAMP WHICH HIAD BEEN GIVEN HIM BY LAI[ ” OH! love the Lamp” (my Mistress said,) I The faithful Lamp that, many a night, a Beside thy Lais’ lonely bed “. Has kept its little watch of light. ” Full often has it seen her weep, ‘I And fix her eye upon its flame, “1 Till, weary, she has sunk to sleep, ” Repeating her beloved’s name. And I will say-her angel breast Has never throbb’d with guilty sting; Her bosom is the sweetest nest Where Slumber could repose his wing! ” Then love the Lamp-‘twill often lead is Thy step through learning’s sacred way Lk And when those studious eyes shall read, ” At midnight, by its lonely ray, ,Of things sublime, of nature’s birth, ” Of all that’s bright in heaven or earth, Te Oh, think that she, by whom’twas given, De Adores thee more than earth or heaven! ”

And I will sav-her cheeks that flush, Like vernal roses in the sun, Have ie’er by shame been taught to blush, Except for what her eyes have done!

Then tell me, why, thou child of air! Does slumber from her eyelids rove?

What is her heart’s impassion’d care? Perhaps, oh sylph! perhaps,‘tis love. Yes-dearest Lamp, by every charm On which thy nuidnight beam has hung; The head reclin’d, the graceful arm Across the brow of ivory flung; COMa tell me where the maid is found, Wlihe heart can love without deceit, And 1 will range the world around, To sigh one moment at her feet. Oh!

tell me where’s her sainted home, What air receives her blessed sigh, A pilgrimage of years I’ll roam Tc catr h one sparkle of her eye! The heaving bosom, partly hid, The sever’d lip’s unconscious sighs, The fringe that from the half-shut lid Adown the cheek of roses lies: By these, by all that bloom untold, And long as all shall charm my heart, I’ll love my little Lamp of gold My Lamp and I shall never part. And often, as she smiling said, In fancy’s hour, thy gentle rays Shall guide my visionary tread Through poesy’s enchanting maze. Thy flame shall light the page refin’d, Where still we catch the Chian’s breath, Where still the bard, though cold in death, Has left his soul unquench’d behind. Or, o’er thy humbler legend shine, Oh man of Ascra’s d(ieary glades! To whom the nightly warbling Nine A wand of inspiration gave, Pluck’d from the greenest tree, that shades The crystal of Castalia’s wave. And if her cheek be smooth and bright, While truth within her bosom lies, I’ll gaze upon her morn and night, Till my heart leave me through my eyes. Show me on earth a thing so rare, I’ll own all miracles are true; To make one maid sincere and fair, Oh,‘tis the utmost Heaven can do! I DO confess, in many a sigbh, My lips have breath’d you many a lie; And who, with such delights in vieh ai Would lose them, for a lie or two? Then, turning to a purer lore, We’ll cull the sages’ deep-hid store; From Sci ence tu.yeal he- golden clue, And every mystic plath pursue, Where Nature, far from vulgar eyes, Through labyrinths of wonder flies. ‘Tis thus my heart shall learn to know How fleeting is this world below, Where all that meets the morning light, Is chang’d before the fall of night! Nay, look not thus, with brow leplovirtig; Lies are, my dear, the soul of loving. If half we tell the girls were true, If half we swear to think’, and do, Were aught bit lyilv’s bright illusion, This worl’i Hwe;llli be in strange confusion If ladies’ e-es were, every one, .. lovers sw,ear, a radiant sun, Astronomyv nist le-.ve the sklies, To learn ihei loie il lad(lies’ eves Oh, no-believe Lme, lovely girl, WVhen nature turns y’oii teeth to pearl, Your neck to snow. voutr eyes to fire, Your amnber lock’s to foldenl wire, Then, only then caii leaven decree, Thabt,’:i,,!d 1 ve for only’ me, Or I for you, as gight aid moron, We’ve swearing kist, and kissing sworn a I I 389 ,rile SURPRISE. THE PHILOSOPHER ARISTIPPUS THE WONDER. LYING. I’ll tell tbee, as I trim thy fire, — Swift, swift the tide of being runs, —

And Time, who bids thy flame expire, Will also quench yon heaven of’sxins.’ Oli, then if earth’s united power Can never cl-,aiii one feathery four; It’ every print,,,,e leave to-day To-me,i-row-i-, wave will sweep away;

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E MIRROR LIBRA 390 ~~TH 0hio pauses to inquire of heaven Why- were the fleeting treasures given, The suInny days, the shady nights, And all their brief but dear delights, Which heaven has made for man to use, And man should think it crime to lose? Who that has cull’d a fresh-blown rose Will ask it why it breathes and glows, Unmindful of the blushing ray, In which it shines its soul away; Unmindful of the scented sigh, WiTh which it dies and loves to die. Pleasure, thou only good on earth! One precious moment giv’n to theeOh! by my Lais’ lip,‘tis worth The sage’s immortality. Then far be all the Wi sdom hence, That would our joys one hour delay! Alas, the feast of soul and sense Love calls us to in youth’s bright day, If not soon tasted, fleets away. LIGHT sounds the harp when the combat is over, When heroes are resting, and joy is in blooin; When laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, And Cup)id makes wings of the warrior’s plume.

Hut, when the foe returns, Again the hero burns; High flanges the sword in hi., hand once more: The clang of mingl.-a: arms Is then the sound tli.

charms, And brazen notes of war, that stirring trumpets pour;Then, again comes the Harp, when the combat is over When heroes are resting, and Joy is in bloomWhen laurels hang loose from the brow of the lover, And Cupid makes wings of the warrior’s plume. Light went the harp when the War-God, reclining, Lay lull’d on the white arm of Beauty to rest, When round his rich armour the myrtle hung twining, And flights of young doves made his helmet their nest But, when the battle came, The hero’s eye breath’d flame: Soon from his neck the white armn was flung; While, to his wak’ning ear, No other sounds were dear But brazen notes of war, by thousand trumpets sung. But then came the light harp,.when danger was ended, And Beauty once more lull’d the War-God to rest; When tresses of gold with his laurels lay blended, And flights of young doves made his h( Imet heir nest Ne’er wert thou form’d, my Lamp, to slhed Thy splendour on a lifeless page;Whate’er my blushing Lais said Of thoughtful lore and studies sage, ‘Twas mockery all-he r glance of Joy Told me thy dearest, best employ.

And, soon as night shall close the eye Of heaven’s young wanderer in the west; When seers are gazing on the sky, To find their future orbs of rest; Then shall I take my trembling way, Unseen hut to those worlds above, And, led by thy mysterious ray, Steal to the night-bower of my love. TO ROSA.

FILL high the cup with liquid flame, And speak my Heliodora’s name Repeat its magic o’er and o’er, And let the sound my lips adore, Live in the breeze, till every tone, And word, and breath, speaks her alone. Give me the wreath that withers there, It was but last delicious night, It circled her luxuriant hair, And caught her eyes’ reflected light. Oh! haste, and twine it round my brow: ‘Tis all of her that’s left me now. And see-each rosebud drops a tear, To find the nymph no longer hereNo longer, where such heavenly charms As hers should be-within these arms. LxIKE one who trusts to summer skies, And puts his little bark to sea, Is he who, lur’d by smiling eyes, Consigns his simple heart to thee. For fickle is the summer wind, And sadly may the bark be tost; For thou art sure to change thy mind, And then the wretched heart is lost! WRITTEN IN A COMMONPLACE

BOOK. THIs tribute’s from a wretched elf, Who hails thee, emblem of himself. The book of life, which I have trac’d, Has been, like thee, a motley waste Of follies scribbled o’er and o’er, One folly bringing hundreds more. Some have indeed been writ so neat, In characters so fair, so sweet, That those who judge not too severely, Have said thev lov’d such follies dearly: Yet, still, 0 book! the illusion stands; For these were penn’d by female hands: The rest-alas! I own the truthHave all been scribbled so uncouth Thb Prudence, with a with’ring look, Disd(lainftil, flings away the book. Like thine, its pages here and there Have oft been stain’d with blots of care; And sometimes hours of peace, I own, Upon some fairer leaves have shown, White as the snowings of that heav’n by which those hours of peace were given. But now no longer-such, oh, such The blast of Disappointment’s touch!  No longe’r now those hours appear; Each leaf is sullied by a tear Blank, bland is everv page vith care, Not ev’n a folly bri htens there. Will they yet brighten?-never, never! Then s’itut tee book, 0 God, for ever! Do not disturb thei r tr anquil dream, Though love hath ne’er the myst’ry warrd; Yet heav’n will shed a soothing beam, To bless the bond itself hath form’d. Ll(‘,HT SOUNDS THE HARP. FROM THE

GREEK OF MELEAGER TIIE RING. No-Lady! Lady! keep the ring: Oh! think, how many a future year, Of placid smile and downy wing, May sleep within its holy sphere. But then, that eye that burning eye, Oh! it doth ask, with witching power, If heaven can ever bless the tie Where love inwreatbs no genial flower Away, away, bewildering look, Or all the boast of virtue’s o’er; Go-hie thee to the sage’s book, And learn from him to feel no mcre I cannot warn thee; every touch, That brings my pulses close to thine, Tells me I want thy aid as niiic,[. Ev’n more, alas, than thou d,-kt mine. Yet, st’ay,-one hope, one effort yet A moment turn those eyes away, An(i let me, if I can, forget The light that leads my -ioiil astray lb 1.

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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. As for vou my sweet-vocen andi invisible love, You must sirelv be one of those spirits that rove By the bantik wlierie, at twiclight, the poet reclines, When the star of the west (n11 his solitude shines, And the ma-tic,tl fingers of fancy have hung Every breeze with a sighl, every leaf with a tongue. Oh! hint to him then,‘tis retirement alone Can hallow his harp or ennoble its tone; Like you, with a veil of seclusion between, His song to the world let him utter unseen, And like you, a legitimate child of the spheres, Escape from the eye to enrapture the ears. Wh en, o’er thv face some gleam of thought, Like davbeatns throug h the morning air, Flath gradual stole, and I have caught The feeling ere it kindled ther. Tihe svml)athy I the n betra y’d, Pernaps was but the child of art, The guile of one, who long hath play’d With all these wily nets of heart. Sweet spirit of mystery! how I should love, In the wearisome ways I am fated to rove, To have you thus ever invisibly nigh, Inhaling for ever your song and your sigh! Mid the crowds of the world and the murmurs of care, I might sometimes converse with my nymph of the air, And turn with distaste from the clamorous crew, To steal in the pauses one whisper from you. O h! thin e i s no t my earliest vow; Though few the years I yet have told, Canst thou believe I’ve liv’d till now, With loveless heart or senses cold? Nto-other nymphs to joy and pain This wild and wandering heart hath mov’d; With some it sported, wild and vain, While some it dearly, truly, lov’d. Then come and be near me, for ever be mine, We shall hold in the air a communion divine, As sweet as, of old, was imagin’d to dwell In the grotto of Numa, or Socrates’ cell. And oft, at those lingering moments of night, When the heart’s busy thoughts have put slumber to flight You shall come to my pillow and tell me of love, Such as angel to angel might whisper above. Sweet spirit!-and then, could you borrow the tone Of that voice, to my ear like some fairy-song known, The voice of the one upon earth, who has twin’d With her being for ever my heart and my mind, Though lonely and far from the light of her smile, An exile, and weary and hopeless the while, Could you shed for a moment her voice on my ear, I will think, for that moment, that Cara is near; That she comes with consoling enchantment to speak, And kisses my eyelid and breathes on my cheek, And tells me, the night shall go rapidly by, For the dawn of our hope, of our heaven is nigh Yrs, if’twere my common love, That led mv pliant heart astray, I grar.., there’s not a power above, Coulld wipe the faithless crime away. Fair spirit! if such be your magical power, It will lighten the lapse of full many an hour; And, let fortune’s realities frown as they will, Hope, fancy, and Cara may smile for me still. – But,‘twas my doom to err with one In every look so like to thee That, underneath yon blessed sun, So fair there are but thou and she. Both born of beauty, at a birth, She held with thlirie a kindred sway, And wore the only shape on earth That could have lutr’d my soul to stray, THEreY say that Love had once a book (The urchin likes to copy you,) Where, all who came, the pencil took, And wrote, like us, a line or two. Then blame me not, if false I be, ‘Twas love that wak’d the fond excess; My heart had been more true to thee, Had mine eye priz’d thy beauty less. ‘Twas Innocence, the maid divine, Who kept this volume bright and fair, And saw that no unhallow’d line Or thought profane should enter there; TO TIJE

INVISIBLE GIRL. r’mEY try to persuade me, my dear little sprite, That your’e not a true daughter of ether and light, N v have anv concern with those fanciful forms That dance upon rainbows and ride upon storms; That, in short, you’re a woman; your lip and your eye As mortal as ever drew gods from the sky. But I will not believe them-no, Science, to you I have long bid a last and a careless adieu: Still flying. from Nature to studv her laws, And dullinz delight by exploring its cause, You for!et hoer superior, for mortals below, Is the fiction they dream to the truth that they know Oh! who, tnat has e’er enjoyed rapture complete, Would ask holw we feel it, or why it is sweet; How rays are confus’d, or howv particles fly ,r’htcmgh the medium refin’d( of a glance or a sigh; Is there one, ws ho but once would not rather have known it, Than writteo, with!Iarvey, whole volumes upon it? I I I I 291 Thou say’st, that we vere boni to meet, I’hat our Hearts bear o,-e common seal — Thinlc, Ladv, thinlc, how man’s deceit Cari seem to sigli and felgii to feel. I%e cbeek to thine I fondly lay, To theirs hath been as fondly laid; I’he words to thee I warmly say, To them have been as warmly said. Then, scorn at once a worthless heart, Wortbless alike, or fix’d or free; Think of the pur-, bright soul thou art, And-love not me, oh love not me. Enouzh-no%,.,, turn thine eyes again; Wfi’at, still that look and still that sigh! Dost thou not feel my counsel then? Oh! no, beloved,-nor do 1. THE RESEMBLANCE. TO MRS. BL

WRITTEN IN HER ALBUX’F And daily did the pages fill With fond device and loving lore, And every leaf she ttirn’d was still Afore bright than that she turn’d before Beneath the touch of Hope, how soft, How light the ma-ic pencil ran! Till Fear would come, alas, as oft, And trembling close what Hope began A tear or two had droppld from Grief, And Jealousy woiild, now and ther., Ruffle in haste some snow-white leaf, Which Love had still to smooth again But, ah! there came a bloomin,, boy, Who often turn’d The pres er, And wrote therein such word;i of joy, That all who read them sigh’d for mtre

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392 THE MIRROR LIB] And Pleasure was’nis spirit’s name, And though so soft his voice and look, Yet Innocence, whene’er he came, Would tremble for her spotless book. WHERE is now the smile, that lightend Every hero’s couch of rest? Where is now the horpe, that brighten’d Honour’s eye and Pity’s breast? Have we lost the wreath we braided For our weary warrior men? Is the faithless olive faded? Must the bay be plick’d again.’ ‘or, oft a Bacchant cup he bore, With earth’s sweet nectar sparkling bright; And muchl shle fear’d lest, mantling o’er, Some drops should on the pages light. And so it chanc’d, one luckless nilght, The urchin let that goolet fall O’er the fair book, so pure, so white, And sullied lines and marge and all! Passing hour of sunny weather Lovely, in your light awile, Peace and Glory, wed together, Wander’d through our blessed isle. And the eyes of Peace would glisten, Dewy as a morning sun, When the timid maid would listen To the deeds her chief had done In vain now, touch’d with shame, he tried To wash those fatal stains away; Deep, deep had sunk the sullying tide, The leaves grew darker every day. And Fancy’s sketches lost their hue, And Hope’s sweet lines were all effac’d, And Love himself now scarcely knew What love himself so lately trac’d. At length the urchin Pleasure fled, (For how, alas.! could Pleasure stay?) And Love, while many a tear he shed, Reluctant flung the book awav. Is their ho ur of dalliance over? Must the maiden’s trembling feet Waft her from her warlike lover To the desert’s still retreat? Fare you well! with sighs we banish Nymnh so fair and guests so bright; Yet tht smile, with which you vanish, Leaves behind a soothing light; The index now alone remains, Of all the pages spoil’d by Pleasure, And though it bears some earthly stains, Yet Memory counts the leaf a treasure. Soothing light, that long shall sparkle O’er your warrior’s sangiiin’d way, Through the field where horrors darkle, Shedding hope’s consoling ray. Long the smile his heart will cherish, To its absent idol true; While around him myriads perish, Glory still will sigh for vou! And oft, they say, she scans it o’er, And oft, by this memorial aided, Brings back the pages now no more, And thinks of lines that long have faded. I know not if this tale be true, But thus the simple facts are stated; And I refer their truth to you, Since Love and you are near related. GROW to my lip, thou sacred kiss, On which my souls beloved swore That there should come a time of bliss, When she would mock my hopes no more. And fancy shall thy glow renew, In sighs at morn, and dreams at night. And none shall steal thy holv dew Till thou’rt absolv’d by rapture’s rite. Sweet hours that are to make me blest, Fly, swift as b reezes, to the goal, And let my love, my more than soul Come blushing to this ardent breast. Then, while in every glance I drink The rich o’erflowings of her mind, Oh! let her all enamour’d sink In sweet abandonment resign’d, Blushing for all our struggles past, And murmuring, “I am thine at last!” WVRITTEN IN A LADY’S COMMONPLACE BOOK. HERE: is one leaf reserv’d for me, From all thy sweet memorials free; And here my simple song might tell The feelings thou must guess so well. But could I thus, within thy mind, One little vacant corner find, Where no impression yet is seen, Where no memorial yet hath been, Oh! it should be my sweetest care To ritte my name for ever there! SY SEEING HER WITH A WHITE VEIL AND

A RICH GIRDLE PUT off the vestal veil, nor oh! Let weeping angels view it; Your cheeks belie its virgin snow, And blush repenting through it. TO A LAD.Y-, ON HER SINGING. THY song has taught my heart to feel Those soothing thoughts of heav’nly love, Which o’er the sainted spirits steal When list’ning to the spheres above! Put off the fatal zone you wear; The shining pearls around it Are tears, that fell from Virtue there, The hour when Love unbound it. When, tir’d of life and misery, I wish to sigh my latest breath, Oh, Emma! I will fly to thee, And thou shalt sing me into death. A NIGHT THOUGHT. How oft a cloud, with envious veil, Obscures yon bashful light, Whicb seems so modestly to steal Along the waste of night!

Ant if along thy lip and cheek That smile of heav’nly softness play, Which,-ah! for, ive a mind that’s weak, So oft has stol n my mind away; ‘Tis thus the world’s obtrusive wrongs Obscure with malice keen Some timid heart, w,hich onlv longs To live and die unseen. Thou’lt seem an angel of the sky, That comes to charmn me into bliss: “II gaze and die-Who woukl not die, If death were half so sweet as this t ! I i t ! I PEACE AND

GLORY. THE KISS. To…........

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NATIONAL AIRS, BY THOMAS MOORE. A TEMPLE TO FRIENDSHIP.* “A Temple to Friendship,” said Laura, enchanted, “I’ll build in this garden-the thought is divine!” Her temple was built, and she now only wanted An image of Friendslip to place on the shrine. She flew to a sculptor, who set down before her A Friendship, the fairest his art could invent; but so ccld and so dull, that the youthful adorer Saw plainly this was not the idol she meant. “i Oh! never,” she cried, “could I think of enshrining An image, whose looks are so joyless and dim;But yon little god, upon roses reclining, We’ll make, if you please, sir, a Friendship of him.?’ So the bargain was struck; with the little god laden She joyfully flew to her shrine in the grove; Farewell,” said the sculptor, “you’re not the first maiden Who came but for Friendship and took away Love.” Who wou l d seek or prize Delights that end in aching? Who would trust to ties That every hour are breaking? Better far to be In utter darkness lying, Than to be blessed with light and see That light for ever flying. All that’s bright must fade The brightest still the fleetest; All that’s sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest! SO WARMLY WE MET. So warmly we met and so fondly we parted, That which was the sweeter even I could not tell That first look of welcome her sunny eyes darted, Or that tear of passion, which blessed our farewell. To meet was a heaven, and to part thus another Our joy and our sorrow seemed rivals in bliss; Oh! Cupid’s two eyes are not liker each other In smiles and in tears, than that moment to this. The irst was like daybreakl, new, sudden, delicious The dawn of a pleasure scarce kindled up yet; The last like the farewell of daylight, more precious, More glowing and deep, as’tis nea,er its set. Our meeting, though happy, was tinged by a sorrow To think that such happiness could not remain; While our parting, though sad, gave a hope that to-morrow Would bring backli the blest hour of meeting again. FLOw on, thou shining river; But, ere thou reach the sea, Seek Ella’s bower, and give her The wreaths I fling o’er thee. And tell her thus, if she’ll be mine, The current of our lives shall be, With j oys along their course to shine, Like those sweet flowers on thee. But if, in wand’ring thither, Thou find’st she mocks my prayer, Then leave those wreaths to wither Upon the cold bank there; And tell her thus, when youth is o’er, Her lone and loveless charms shall b Thrown by upon life’s weedy shore, Like those sweet flowers from thee THOSE EVE.NING BET.LS. THOSE evening bells! those evening bells I IHow m any a tale th eir music t ells, Of youth, and homne, and that sweet time, W'hen last I heard their soothing chime. ALL

THAT’S BRIGHT MUST FADE. ALL that’s bright must fade The brightest still the fleetest; All that’s sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest.

Stars that shine and fall; The flower that drops in springing;These, alas!

are types of all To which our hearts are clinging Those joyous hours are passed away; And many a heart that then was gay, WI ithin the tomb now darkly dwells, And hears no more those evening bells. A nd so’t will be whe n I am gone; That tuneful peal will still ring on, WN hile other bards shall w,a1l these dells, Akn-l sing your praise, swivct evening bells! ‘

The tlioug,ht is taken from a song by ILe Prieur, called ” La Statue de l’Amitie.’ I I II I I,I All that’s bright must fade The brightest still the fleetest; All that’s sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest I FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER.

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94 THE MiRROR LIBRARY. SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES. ‘Tis l only on th changeful heart The blame of falsehood lies; Love lives in every other part, But there, alas! he dies. Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one I Lovely still, but dear no more; Once his soul of truth is gone, Love’s sweet life is o’er. SHOULD those fond hopes e’er forsake thee,* Which now so sweetly thy heart employ; Should the cold world come to wake thee From all thy visions of youth and joy; Should the gay friends, for whom thou wouldst banish Him who once thought thy young heart his own, All, like spring birds, falsely vanish, And leave thy winter unheeded and lone; Oh!‘tis then that he thou hast slighted Would come to cheer thee, when all seemed o’er; Then the truant, lost and blighted, Would to his bosom be taken once more. Like that dear bird we both can remember, Who left us while summer shone round, Bult, when chilled by bleak December, On our threshold a welcomne still found. DOST thou re membe r th at pl ace so lonely, A place for lovers, and lovers only, Where first I told thee all my s ecret sighs? When, as the moonbeam, that trembled o’er th ee, Illum’d thy blushes, I knelt befor e thee, And read my hope’s sweet triumph in those eyes? The n, th en, while closely heart was drawn to heart, Love bound us-never, never more to part! And when I called thee by names the dearest’ That love could fancy, the fondest, nearest ” My life, my only life!” among the rest; In those sweet accents that still enthral me, Thou saidst, “Ah! wherefore thy life thus call me? Thy soul, thy soul’s the name that I love best; For life soon passes,-but how blessed to be That soul which never, never parts from thee!” REASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY.

REASON, and Folly, and Beauty, they say, Went e a party of pleasure one day; Folly played Around the maid, The beins of his cap rung merrily out; While Reason took To his sermon-bookOh! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt, Which was the pleasanter no one need doubt. OH, COME TO ME

WHEN DAYLIGHT SET& OH, come to me when daylight sets; Sweet! then come t o m e, When smoothly go our gondolets O’er the moonlight sea. When Mirth’s awake, and Love begins, Beneath that glancing ray, With sound of lutes and mandolins, To steal young hearts away. Then, come to me when daylight sets; Sweet! then come to me, When smoothly go our gondolets O’er the moonlight sea. Oh, then’s the hour for those who love, Sweet! like thee and me; When all’s so calm below, above, In heaven and o’er the sea. When maiden’s sing sweet barcarollesf And echo sings again So sweet, that all with ears and souls Should love and listen then. So, come to me when daylight sets, Sweet! then come to me, When smoothly go our -ondolets O’er the moonlight sea. Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage, Turned for a moment to Reason’s dull page, Till Folly said, “Look here, sweet maid!”

The sight of his cap brought her back to herself; While Reason read His leaves of lead, With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf!l No-no one to mind him, poor sensible elfl Then Reason grew jealous of Folly’s gay cap; Had he that on, he her heart might entrap “There it iS,” Quoth Folly, “1 old quiz!” (Folly was always good-natured,‘tis said), “Under the sun There’s no such fun, As Reason with my cap and bells on his head, Reason with my cap and bells on his head!” But Reason the hevI-dress so awkwardly wore, That Beauty now liked him still less than before; While Fgily took Old Beasor’s book, And twisted the leaves in a cap of such ton, That Beauty vowed (Though not aloud), She liked him still better in that than his own, Yes-liked him still better in that than his own. FA E THEE WELL, THOU LOVELY ONE I OFT, IN THE STILLY NIGHT. OFT, in the stilly night, Ere slumber’s chain has bound me, Fond Mesmory br ings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood’s years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken I Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber’s chain hath bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends, so linked together, I’ve seen around me fall, Like leaves in wintry weather; FARE thee well, thou lovely one! Lovely still, but dear no more; Once his soul of truth is gone, Love’s sweet life is o’er. Thy words, whate’er their flattering spell, Could scarce have thus deceived; But eyes that acted truth so well Were sure to be believed. Then, fare thee well, thou lovely one I Lovely still, but dear no more; Once his soul of truth is gone, Love’s sweet life is o’er. Yet those eyes look constant still, True as stars they keep their light; Still those cheeks their pledge fulfil Of blushing always bright. * The thought in this verse is borrowed from tile original Portu guese words. t Barcarolles, sorte de chansons en langue Venitienne, que chan tent les gondoliers a Denise.-Rousseau. Oictwnaire de I..uique. – This is one of the mans instances among my lyrical poemst.,houh the above. it must be owned. i, an extreme case-where ihe mnetre has been necessarily sacrificed to the structure of the aar v 394 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. DOST THOU REMEMBER.

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NATIONAL AIRS. 395~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Now fast around the sea and shore Night threw her darkling chain; The sunny sails were seen no more, Hope’s morning dreams of bliss were o’er, Love never came again. I feel like one, Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. MY HARP HAS ONE UNCHANGING THEME. My harp has one unchanging theme, One strain that still comes o’er Its languid chord, as’twere a dream Of joy that’s now no more. In vain I try, with livelier air, To wake the breathing string; That voice of other times is there, And saddens all I sing. HARK! THE VESPER HYMN IS STEALING. HARK! the vesper hymn is stealing O’er the waters soft and clear; Nearer yet and nearer pealing, And now bursts upon the ear; Jubilate, Amen. Farther, now, now farther stealing, Soft it fades upon the ear; Jubilate, Amen. Now, like moonlight waves retreating To the shore, it dies along; Now, like angry surges meeting, Breaks the mingled tide of song; Jubilate, Amen. Hush! again, like waves, retreating To the shore, it dies along; Jubilate, Amen. Breath on, breathe on, thou languid strain, Henceforth be all my own; Though thou art oft so full of pain Few hearts cal bear thy tone. Yet oft thou’rt sweet, as if the sigh, The breath that Pleasure’s wings Gave out, when last they wantoned by, Were still upon thy strings. OH, NO-NOT EVEN WHEN

FIRST WE LOVED. Oji, no not even when first we loved, Wert thou as d(lear as now thou art; Thy beauty then my senses moved, But now thy virtues bind my heart. What was but Passion’s sigh before, Has since been turned to Reason’s vow: And, though I then might love thee more. Trust me, I love thee better now. THuRE comes a time, a dreary time, To him whose heart hath flown O’er all the fields of youth’s sweet prime, And made each flower its own. ‘Tis when his soul must first renounce Those dreams so bright, so fond; Oh! then’s the time to die at once, For life has naught beyond. When sets the sun on Afric’s shore, That instant all is night; And so should life at once be o’er, When Love withdraws his light; Nor, like our northern day, gleam on Through twilight’s dim delay, The cold remains of lustre gone, Of fire long passed away. Although my h eart in earlier youth Might kindle with more wild desire. Believe me, it has gained in truth Much more than it has lost in fire. The flame now warmsqny inmost core, That then but sparkled o’er my brow, And, though I seemed to love thee more Yet, oh, I love thee better now WHEN Love was a child, and went idling round, T’Mong flowers, the whole summer’s day, One morn in the valley a bower he found, So sweet, it allured him to stay. O’erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair, A fountain ran darkly beneath; ‘Twas Pleasure had hung up the flow’rets there; Love knew it, and jumped at the wreath. But Love didn’t know-and, at his weak years, What urchin wa s likely to know?That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears The fountain that murmured below. AT morn, beside yon summer sea, Young Hope and Love reclined; But scarce had noon-tide come, when he Into his bark leaped smilingly, And left poor Hope behind. “I go,” said Love, “to sail awhile Across this sunny main;” And then so sweet his parting smile, That Hope, who never dreame of guile Believed he’d come again. Te caught at the wreath-but with too much haste. As boys when impatient will dolL fell in those waters of briny taste, And the flowers were all wet through. This garland h e now wears night and day; And, though it all sunny appears With Pleasure’s own light, each leaf they say, Still tastes of the fountain of tears. ,qe lingered there till evening’s beam Along the waters lay; A:ld o’er the sands, in thoughtful -dream, Oft traced his name, which still the stream, As often washed away. At length a sail appears in sight, And toward the maiden moves I ‘Tis Wealth that comes, and gay and bright, His golden bark reflects the light, But ah! it is not Love’s. HE.AR me but once, while o’er the grave, In which our Love lies cold and dead, I count each flattering hope he gave Of joys, now lost, and charms now fled. Who could have thought the smile he wore, When first we mnet, wo(,-uld fade away? Or that a chill would e’e r come o’er Those eyes so bright through many a day? Hear mne but oiice, &e. Another sail ‘twas Friendship showed Her night-lamp o’er the sea; And calm the light that lamnp bestowed; But Love h ad light s t hat warmer glowed, And where, alas? was he? 395

NATIONAL AIRS. THERE COMES A TIME. WHEN LOVE WAS A CHILD. LOVE AND HOPE.

HEAR ME BUT ONCE,

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396 ‘H~ MIRROR LIBRARY COMMON SENSE AND GENIUSW When the dance and feast are done, Arm in arm as home we stray, How sweet to see the dawning sun O’er her cheek’s warm blushes play Then, too, the farewell kiss The words, whose parting tone Lingers still in dreams of bliss, That haunt young hearts alone. THEN, FARE THEE WELL. WHILE I touch the string, Wreath my brows with laurel, For the tale I sing Has, for once, a moral. Common Sense, one night, Though not used to gambols, Went out by moonlight, With Genius, on his rambles, While I touch the string, &c. Common Sense went on, Many wise things saying; While the light that shone Soon set Genius straying. One his eye ne’er raised From the path before him; Tother idly gazed On each night-cloud o’er him. While I touch the string, &c. THEN, fare thee well, my own dear love, This world has now for us No greater grief, no pain above The pain of parting thus, Dear love! The pain of parting thus. Had we but known, since first we met, Some few short hours of bliss, We might, in numbering them, forget The deep, deep pain of this, Dear love! The deep, deep pain of this. But no, alas, we’ve never seen One glimpse of pleasure’s ray, But still there came some cloud between, And c ha sed i t all away, Dear love! And chased it all away. Yet even could those sad moments last, Far dearer to my heart Were hours of grief, together past, Than years of mirth apart, Dear love! Than years of mirth apart. So they came, at last, To a shady river; Common Sense soon passed, Safe, as he doth ever; While the boy, whose look Was in heaven that minute, Never saw the brook But tumbled headlong in it! While I touch the string, &c. How the Wise One smiled, When safe o’er the torrent, At that youth so wild, Dripping from the current I Sense went home to bed; Genius, left to shiver On the bank.‘tis said, Died of that cold river! While I touch the string, &c. Farewell! our hope was born in fears And nursed’mid vain regrets; Like winter suns, it rose in tears, Like them in tears it sets, Dear love I Like them in tears it sets. JOYS OF YOUTH HOW FLEETING!

WHISP’RINGS, heard by wakeful maids, To whom the night-stars guide us; Stolen walks through moonlight shades, With those we love beside us, Hearts beating, At meeting; Tears starting, At parting; Oh, sweet youth, how soon it fades! Sweet joys of youth, how fleeting! Wand’rings far away from home, With life all new before us; greetings warm, when home we come, From hearts whose prayers watched o’er us. Tears starting, At parting; Hearts beating, At meeting; Oh, sweet youth, how lost on some! To some, how bright and fleeting! GAYLY SOUNDS THE CASTANET. PEACE be around thee, wherever thou rovest; May life be for thee one summer’s day, And all that thou wishest, and all that thou lovest Come smiling around thy sunny way!

If sorrow e’er this calm should break, May even thy tears pass off so lightly, Like spring-showers, they’ll only make The smiles that follo w shine more brightly. May Time, who sheds his blight o’er a., And daily dooms some joy to death, O’er thee let years so gently fall, They shall not crush one flower beneath. As half in shade and half in sun This world along its path advances, May that side the sun’s upon Be all that e’er shall meet thy glances! GAYLY sounds the castanet, Beating time to bounding feck, When, afer daolight’s golden set, Maids and youths by moonlight meet. Oh, then, how sweet to move Through all that maze of mirth, Led by light from eyes we love Beyond all eyes on earth. LovE is a hunter-boy, Who makes young hearts his prey; And, in his nets of joy, Ensnares them night and day. In vain concealed they lie Love tracks them everywhere; In vain aloft they fly Love shoots them flying there. Then, the joyous banquet spread On the cool and fragrant ground, Evith heaven’s bright sparklers overhead, And still brighter sparkling round. Oh, then, ]ow sweet to say Into some love] one’s ear, Thoughts reservel through many a day To be thus wliisp;ered here. I 396 ‘I’HE MIRROR LIBRARY PEACE BE

AROUND THEE. LOVE IS A HUNTER-BOY. But Itis his joy most sweet, I At early dawn to trace The print of Beauty’s feet, And give the trembler chase. And if, throu!zh vir.in snow, He tracks her footsteps fttir, How sweet tor Love to li’now ione went before Iiiin there.

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NATIONAL AIRS. WHO’LL BUY MY LOVE-KNOTS? HYMELV, late, his love-knots selling, Called at many a maiden’s dwelling, None could doubt, who saw or knew them, Hymen’s call was welcome to them. ” Who’ll buy my love-knots?

Who’ll buy my love-knots?” Soon as that sweet cry resounded How his baskets were surrounded! OH, DAYS OF YOUTH. OH, days of youth and joy, long clouded, Why thus for ever haunt my view? When in the grave your light lay shrouded, Why did not Memory die there too? Vainly doth Hope her strain now sing me, Telling of joys that yet remainNo, never more can this life bring me One joy that equals youth’s sweet pain. D’im lies the way to death before me, Cold winds of Time blow round my brow; sunshine of youth!

that once fell o’er me, Where is your warmth, your glory now? ‘Tis not that then no pain could sting me:; ‘Tis not that now no joys remain; Oh,‘tis that life no more can bring me One joy so sweet as that worst pain. Maids, who now first dreamt of trying These gay knots of Hymen’s tying; Dames, who longe had sat t o watch him P assin g by, but ne’e- could catch him; ” Who’ll buy my love-knots? Who’ll buy my love-knots?”

All at that sweet cry assembled; Some laughed, some blushed, and some trembled. ” Here are knots,” said Hymen, taking Some loose flowers, ” of Love’s own making; ” Here are gold ones-you may trust’em”(These, of course, found ready custom). ” C ome, buy my love-knots! Come, buy my love-knots! Some are labelled’ Knots to tie menLove the maker-bought of Hymen.”’ WHEN FIRST THAT SMILE. WHur. first that smile, like sunshine, blessed my sight, Oh what a vision then came o’er me! Long years of love, of calm and pure delight, Seemed in that smile to pass before me. Ne’er did the peasant dream of summer skies, Of golden fruit, and harvests springing, With fonder hope than I of those sweet eyes, And of the joy their light was bringing. Where now are all those fondly promised hours?

Ah! woman’s faith is like her brightnessFading as fast as rainbows, or day-flowers, Or aught that’s known for grace and lightness. Short as the Persian’s prayer, at close of day, Should be each vow of Love’s repeating; Quick let him worship Beauty’s precious ray Even while he kneels, that ray is fleeting! Love, who saw the whole proceeding, Would have laughed, but for good-breeding; While Old Hymen, who was used to Cries like that these dames gave loose to “Take back our love-knots! Take back our lovte-knots!”

Coolly said, “There’s no returning Wares on Hymen’s hands-good morning!”

HOW OFT, WHEN WATCHING STARS. PEACE TO THE SLUMBERERS! PEACE to the slumb’rers! They lie on the battle-plain, With no shroud to cover them; The dew and the summer rain Are all that weep over them. Peace to the slumb’rers! OFT, when the watching stars grow pale, And round me sleeps the moonlight scene, To hear a flute through yonder vale I from my casement lean. “c Come, come, my love!” each note then seems to say, ” Oh, come, my love! the night wears fast away!” Neve r to mor tal ear Could words, though warm they be, Speak Passion’s language half so clear As do those notes to me! Vain was their bravery! The fallen oak lies where it lay Across the wintry river; Bu t br ave hearts, once swept away, Are gone, alas! for ever. Vain was their bravery! Wo to the conqu’ror! Our limbs shall lie as cold as theirs Of whom his sword bereft us, Ere we forget the deep arrears Of vengeance they have left us! Wo to the conqu’ror I COME, CHASE THAT STARTING TEAR AWAY. Then quick my own light lute I seek, And strike the chords with loudest swell; And, though they naught to others speak, He knows their language well. ” I come, my love!”

each note then seems to say, “I come, my love!-thine, thine till break of day.” Oh, weak the power of words, The hues of painting dim, Compared to what those simple chords Then say and paint to him i CoME, chase that starting tear awav, Ere mine to meet it springs; To-nigh, at least, to-night be gay, Whate’er to-morrow brings. Like sun-set gleams, that linger late WTh ien a ll is darkening fast, Are hours like these we snatch from Fate The brightest, and the last. Then, chase that starting tear, &c.

WHEN THOU SHALT WANDER. WHEN thou shalt wander by that sweet light We used to gaze on so many an eve, When love was new and hope was bright, Ere I could doubt or thou deceive Oh, then, reamemb’ring how swift went by Those hours of transport, even thou mayst sig! To gild the deepening gloom of heaven But one bright hour allow, Oh, think that one bright hour is given, In all its snlendor, now. Let’s live it out-then sink in night, Like waves that from the shore One minute swell, are touched with light, Then lost for e ermore? Come, chase that starting tear, &c, Yes, proud one! even thy heart may own That love lik e ours was far too sweet To be, like summer garments, thrown Aside, when passed the summer’s beat: And wish in vain to know again Such days, such nig)ts, as blest thee then. 397 %I Scarce their bargains were completed, When the nymphs all cried, 11 We’re cheated I See these flowers-they’re drooping sadly; This gold-knot, too, ties but badly Who’d buy such love-knots? Who’d buy such love-knots? Even this tie, with Love’s name round itAU a sham-he never bound it.”

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY SAY, WHAT SHALL BE OUR SPORT TO-DAY? Much Cloe laughed at Susan’s task; But mark how things went on; These light-caught Loves, ere you could ask Their name and age, were gone I So weak poor Cloe’s nets were wove, That, though she charmed into them New game each hour, the youngest Love Was able to break through them. Come, listen, maids, &c.

SAY, what shall be our sport to-day I There’s nothing on earth, in sea, or air, Too bright, too high, too wild, too gay, ,gor spirits like mine to dare! like the returning bloom Of those days, alas, gone by, When I loved, each hour-I scarce knew whom And was blessed-I scarce knew why. Meanwhile, young Sue, whose cage was wrought Of bars too strong to sever, One Love with golden pinions caught, And caged him there for ever; Instructing, thereby, all coquettes, Whate’er their looks or ages, That, though’tis pleasant weaving nets, ‘ris wiser to make cages. Thus, maidens, thus do I beguile The task your fingem ply. May all who hear like Susan smile, And not, like Cloe, sigh I Ay-those were days when life had wings, And flew, oh, flew so wild a height, That, like the lark which sunward springs, ‘Twas giddy with too much light. And though of some plumes bereft, With that sun, too nearly set, I’ve enough of light and wing still left, For a few gay soarings yet. FAREW. LL, Theresa! yon cloud that over Heaven’s pale night-star gathering we see, Will scarce from that pure orb have passed, ere thy lover Swift oer the wide wave shall wander from thee.

Long, like that dim cloud, I’ve hung around thee, Darkening thy prospects, saddening thy brow; With gay heart, T’heresa, and bright cheek I found thee; Oh, think how changed love, how changed art thou nowl But here I free thee; like one awaking From fearful slumber, thou breakst the spell; ‘Tis over-the moon, too, her bondage is breaking Past are the dark clouds; Theresa, farewell! O’ER mountains bright With snow and light, We Crystal Hunters speed along; While rocks and caves, And icy waves, Each instant echo to our song; And, when we meet with store of gems We grudge not kings their diadems. O’er mountains bright With snow and light, We Crystal-Hunters speed along; While grots and cave s, And icy waves, Each instant echo to our song. Not half so oft th e lover dreams Of sparkles from his lady’s eyes, As we of those refreshing gleams That tell where deep the crystal lies; Though, next to crystal, we too grant, That ladies’

eyes may most enchant. O’er mountains bright, &c. Sometimes, when on the Alpine rose The golden sunset leaves its ray, So like a gem the floweret glows, We thither bend our headlong way; And, though we find no treasure there, We bless the rose that shines so fair, O’er mountains bright With snow and light, We Crystal-Hunters speed along; While rocks and caves, And icy waves, Each instant echo to our song, SEE, THE DAWN FROM HEAVEN. SEE, the dawn from heaven is breaking O’er our sight, And Earth, from sin awaking, Hails the light! See those groups of angels, winging From the realms above, On their brows, from Eden, bringing Wreaths of Hope and Love. Hark, their hymns of glory pealing Through the air, To mortal ears revealing Who lies there! In that dwelling, dark and lowly, Sleeps the Heavenly Son, He, whose home’s above-the Holy Ever Holy One! NETS AND

CAGES.* ClME, listen to my story, while Your needle’s task you ply; At what I sing some maids will smile, While some, perhaps, may sigh. Though Love’s the theme, and Wisdom blames Such florid songs as ours, VY, T,-ith sometimes, like eastern dames, t a,’ er thoughts by flowers. Then listen, maids, come listen, while Your needle’s task you ply; At what I sing there’s some may smile, While some, perhaps, will sigh. Young Cloe, bent on catching Loves, Such nets had learned to frame, That none, in all our vales and groves, E’er caught so much small game: But gentle Sue, less given to roam, While Cloe’s netS were taking Such lots of Loves, sat still at home, One little love-cage making. Come, listen, maids, &c. Row gently here, My gondolier, So softly wake the tide, That not an ear, On earth, may here, But hers to whom we glide. lad heaven but tongues to speak, as well As st arry eyes to s ee, Oh, think what tales’twould have to tell Of wandering youths like me I Suaggested by the following, remark of Swift: “The reason why so few maniages are happy, is, because young ladies spend their time in making nets, not ili making cages.” i 398 FAREWELL, THERESA!

THE CRYSTAL-HUNTER& ROW GENTLY HERE. Now rest thee here, My gondolier; Hush, hush, for up T go, To climb yon li,-ht Balcony’s height, While thou keepst watch -below. Ah! did we take for heav!n above But half such pa,ns as we Take, day and night., for woman’s love, What an.-Is we should be!

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399 i BRIGHT BE THY DREAMS. BRIGHT be thy dreams-may all thy weeping Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping. May those by death or seas removed, The friends, who in thy spring-time knew thee, All, thou hast ever prized or loved, In dreams come smiling to thee! There may the child, whose love lay deepest, Dearest of all, come while thou steepest; Still as she was-no charm forgot No lustr e lost that life had given; Or, if changed, but changed to what rhou’lt find her yet in Heaven! WHEN the first summer bee O’er the young rose shall hover, Then, like that gay rover, I’ll come to thee. He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the brimWhat a meetiing, what a meeting for me and for him! When the first summer bee, &e. Then, to every bright tree In the garden he’ll wander; While I, oh, much fonder, Will stay with thee. In search of new sweetness through thousands he’ll run, While I find the sweetness of thousands in one Then, to every bright tree, &c. Go, then-‘tis vain to hover Thus’round a hope that’s dead; At length my dream is over; ‘Twas sweet-‘twas false-‘tis fled! Farewell!

since naught it moves thee, Such truth as mine to seeSome one, who far less loves thee, Perhaps more blest will be. THOUGH’TIS ALL BUT A DREAM.

THOUGH’tis all but a dream at the best, And still, when happiest, soonest o’er. Yet, even in a dream, to be blessed Is so sweet, that I ask for no more. The bosom that opes With earliest hopes, The soonest finds those hopes untrue; A s flowers that first In spring-time burst The earliest wither too! Ay-‘tis all but a dream, &c. Farewell, sweet eyes, whose brightness New life around me shed; Farewell, false heart, whose lightness Now leaves me death instead. Go, now, those charms surrender To some new lover’s sighOne who, though far less tender, May be more blest than I.

WHEN THROUGH THE PIAZETTA. WHi-EN through the Piazetta Night breathes her cool air, Then, dearest Ninetta, I’ll come to thee there. Beneath thy mask shrouded, I’ll know thee afar, As Love L nows, though clouded, His own Evening Star. Though by Friendship we oft are deceived, And find Love’s sunshine son o’ercast, Yet Friendship will still l;- bIelieved, And Love trusted on to the last. The web’mong the leaves The spider weaves Is like the charm Hope hangs o’er men; Though often she sees ‘ris broke by the breeze, She spins the bright tissue again. Ay-‘tis all but a dream, &e. In garb, then, resembling Some gay gondolier, I’ll whisper thee, trembling, “Our bark, love, is near; Now, now, while t here hover Those clouds o’er the moon, ‘Twill waft thee safe over Yon silent Lagoon.” WHERE ARE THIE

VISIONS. “WHERE are the visions that round me once hovered, Forms that shed grace fi-om their shad(lows alone; Looks fresh as light from a star ju.,st discovered, And voices that Music might takle for her own?” Time, while I spoke, with his wings resting o’er me, Heard me say, “Where are those visions, oh where?” And pointing his wand to the sunset before me, Said, with a voice like the hollow wind, ” There.” Go, now, and dream o’er that joy in thy slumberMoments so sweet again ne’er shalt thou number. Of Pain’s bitter draught the flavor ne’er flies, While Pleasure’s scarce touches the lip ere it dies. Go, then, and dream, &c. Fondly I looked, when the wizard had spoken, And there,‘mid the dim shining ruins of day, Saw, by their light, like a talisman broken, The last golden fragments of hope melt away. That moon, which hung o’er your parting, so bplendid, Often will shine again, bright as she then didBut, never more will the beam she saw burn In those happy eyes, at your meeting, return. TGo, then, and dream, &c. TAKE HENCE THE BOWL. TAKE hence the bowl; though beaming Brightly as bowl ere shone, Oh, it but sets me dreaming Of happy days now gone. There, in its clear reflection, As in a wizard’s glass, Lost hopes and dead affection, Like shades, before me pass. WiND thy horn, my hunter boy,’ And leave thy lute’s inglorio,q sighs; Hunting is the hero’s joy, Till war his nobler game supplies. Hark! the hound-bells ringing sweet, While hunters shout, and the woods repeat, Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho I Wind again thy cheerful horn, Till echo, faint with answ’ring, dies: Burn, bright torches, burn till morn, And lead us where the wrild boar lies. Hark! the cry, “He’s found, he’s found,” While hill and valley our shouts resound, Hilli-ho! Hilli-ho I i I I I 0 NATIONAL AIRS. Till, as the dream comes o’er me Of those long vanished years, Alas, the wine before me Seems turning all to tears! WHEN THE FIRST SUMMER BEE. GO, TFIEN-‘TIS VAIN. GO, NOW, AND DREAM. ‘%-IND THY HORN, MY HUNTER BOY. Each cup I drain brings hither ‘ome scene of bliss gone by; Briglit lips, too bri!zht to wither, Warm hearts, too warm to die.

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4OT 4()() WHEN THE WINE-CUP IS SMILING. Not for charms, the newest, brightes, That on other cheeks may shine, Would I change the least, the slightest, That is ling’ring now o’er thine. THE GAZELLE. WHEN the wine-cup is smiling before us, And we pledge round to hearts that are true, boy, true, Then the sky of this life opens o’er us, And Heaven gives a glimpse of its blue. T&lk of Adam in Eden reclining, We are better, far better off thus, boy, thus; For him but two bright eyes were shining See, what numbers are sparkling for us! When on one side the grape-juice is dancing, While on t’other a blue eye beams, boy, beams, ‘TLis enough,‘twixt the wine and the glancing, To disturb even a saint from his dreams. Yet, though life like a river is flowing, I care not how fast it goes on, boy, on, So the grape on its bank is still growing, And love lights the waves as they run. See, in his mouth he bears a wreath, My love hath kissed in tying; Oh, what tender thoughts beneath Those silent flowers are lyingHid within the nmystic wreath My love hath kissed in tying! WHERE SHALL WE BURY OUR SHAME? WHERFE shall we bury our shame?

Where, in what desolate place, Hide the last wreck of a name Broken and stained by disgrace X Death may dissever the chain, Oppression will cease when we, gone; But the dishonor, the stain, Die as we may, will live on.

Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, And joy to her, the fairest, Who thus hath breathed her soul to me, In ev ery leaf t hou bearest; Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee, And joy to her, the fairest! Hail, ye living, speaking flowers, That breathe of her who bound ye; Oh,‘twas not in fields, or bowers, ‘Twas on her lips she found ye;Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers, ‘Twas on her lips she found ye. Was it for this we sent out Liberty’s cry from our shore? Was it for this that her shout Thrilled to the world’s very core? Thus to live cowards and slaves! Oh, ye free hearts that lie dead, Do you not, e’en in your graves, Shudder, as o’er you we tread?

NO-LEAVE MY HEART TO REST. No-leave my heart to rest, if rest it may, When youth, and love, and hope, have passed away. Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled, To some poor leaf that’s fallen and dead, Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed? No-leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, When youth, and love, and hece, have passed away. Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright, Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light; But now thou corn’st like sunny skies, Too late to cheer the seaman’s eyes, When wrecked and lost his bark before him lies! No-leave this heart to rest, if rest it may, Since youth, and love, and hope, have passed away. NE’ER TALK OF WISDOM’S GLOOMY SCHOOLS. NE.‘Rl talk of Wisdom’s gloomy schools; Give me the sage who’s able To draw his moral thoughts and rules From the study of the table;Who learns how lightly, fleetly pass This world and a ll that’s in it, From the bumper that but crowns his glass, And is gone again next minute! The diamond sleeps within the mine, The pearl beneath the water; While Truth, more precious, dwells in wine, The grape’s own rosy daughter. And none can prize her charms like him, Oh, none like him obtain her, Who thus can, like Leander, swim Through sparkling floods to gain her! OH, GUARD OUR AFFECTION. OH guard our affection, nor e’er let it feel The blight that this world o’er the warmest will steal: While the faith of all round us is fading or past, Let ours, ever green, keep its bloom to the last. Far safer for Love’tis to wake and to weep, As he used in his prime, than go smiling to sleep; For death on his slumber, cold death follows fast, While the love that is wakeffl lives on to the last. And though, as Time gathers his clouds o’er our head, A shade somewhat darker o’er life they may spread, Transpar ent, a t least, be t e ho the shadow they cast, So that Love’s softened light may shine through to tire last HERE SLEEPS THE BARD. HERE sleeps the Bard who knew so well All the sweet windings of Apollo’s shell; Whether its music rolled like torrents near, Or died, like distant streamlets, on the ear. Sleep, sleep, mute bard: alike unheeded now The storm and zephyr sweep thy lifeless brow;That storm, whose rush is like thy martial lay; That breeze which, like thy love-song, dies away! IF in loving, singing, night and day We could trifle merrily life away, Like atoms danc ing in th e beam, Like day-flies skimming o’er the stream, Or summer blossoms, born to sigh Their sweetness out, and dieHow brilliant, thoughtless, side by side, Thou and I couild make our minutes glide I No atoms ever glanced so bright, No day-flies ever danced so light, Nor summer blossoms mixe their?ifh So close, as thou and I! DO NOT SAY THAT LIFE IS WANING. Do not say that life is waning, Or that Hope’s sweet day is set; While I’ve thee and love remaining, Life is in th’ horizon yet. Do not think those charms are flying, Though thy roses fade and fall; Beauty hath a grace undying, Which in thee survives them all. THE MIRROR LIBRARY. DOST thou not hear the silver bell, Through yonder lime-trees ringing I ‘Tis my lady’s light gazelle, To me her love-thoughts bringin All the while that silver bell Around his dark neck ringing. IF IN LOVING, SINGING.

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NATIONAL AIRb 4(‘I WHEN ABROAD IN THE WORLD. { SLUgmiBF, oh slumber; if sleeping thou mak’st My heart beat so wildly, I’m lost if thou wak’st.”

Thus sung I to a maiden, Who slept one suininer’s day, And, lite a flower o’erladen With too much sunshine, lay. Slumber, oh slumber, &c. WHEN abroad in the world thou appearest, And the young and the lovely are there, To my heart while of all thou’rt the dearest, To my eyes thou’rt of all the most fair. They pass, one by one, Like waves of the sea. That say to the Sun, ” See, how fair we can be.” But where’s the light like thine, In sun or shade to shine?. No-no,‘mong them all, there is nothing like thee, Nothing like thee. ‘ Breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, o’er her cheeks; h’ mute thus she charln me, I’m lost when she speaks.” Thus sing I, while, awaking,I I She murmurs words that seem As if her lips were taking Farewell of some sweet dream. Breathe not, oh breathe not, &c. Oft, of old, without farewell or warning, Beauty’s self used to steal from the skies; Fling a mist round her head, some fine morning, And post down to earth in disguise; But, no ma tt er w ha t s hroud Around her might be, Men peeped through the cloud, And whispered, “‘Tis She.” So thou, where thousands are, Shin’st forth the only starYes, yes,‘mong them all, there is nothing like thee, Nothing like thee. BB[NG THE BRIGHT GARLANDS HITHER.

BRING the bright garlands hither, Ere yet a leaf is dying; If so soon they must wither, Ours be their last sweet sighing. Hark, that low dismal chime! ‘Tis the dreary voice of Time. Oh, bring beauty, bring roses, Bring all that yet is ours; Let life’s day, as it closes, Shine to the last through flowers. 0 SAY, THOU BEST AND BRIGHTEST. 0 SAY, thou best and brightest, My first love and my last, When he, whom now thou slightest, From life’s dark scene hath past, Will kinder lhoughts then move thee?

Will pity wake one thrill For him who lived to love thee, And dying, loved thee still? If when, that hour recalling From which Ie dates his woes.

Thou feel’st a tear-drop falling, Ah! blush not while it flows: But, all the past forgiving, Bend gently o’er his shrine, And say, “This heart, when living, With all its faults, was mine.” Haste, ere the bowl’s declining, Drink of it now or never; Now, while Beauty is shining, Love, or she’s lost for ever. Hark! again that dull chime, ‘Tis the dreary voice of Time. Oh, if life be a torrent, Down to oblivion going, Like this cup be its current, Bright to the last drop flowing! Too plain, alas! my doom is spoken, Nor canst thou veil the sad truth o’er; Thy heart is changed, thy vow is broken, Thou lov’st no more-thou lov’st no more. Though kindly still those eyes behold me, The smile is gone, which once they wore; Though fondly still those arms enfold me, ‘Tis not the same-thou lov’st no more. Too long my dream of bliss believing, I’ve thought thee all thou wert before; But now-alas! there’s no deceiving, ‘Tis all too plain, thou lov’st no more. Oh, thou as soon the dead couldst waken, As lost affection’s life restore, qive peace to her that is forsaken, Or bring back him who loves no more. WHEN NIGHT BRINGS THE HOUR. WHEN night brings the hour, Of starlight and joy, There comes to my bower A fairy-wi aed boy; With eyes so bright, So tull of wild arts, Like nets of light, To tangle young hearts; With lips, in whose keeping Love’s secret may dwell, Like Zephyr asleep in Some rosy sea-shell. Guess who he is, Name but his name, And his best kiss, For reward, you may claim. LIKE ONE WHO, DOOMED.

LIKE one who, doomed o’er distant seas His weary path to measure, When home at length, with fav’ring breeze, He brings the far-sought treasure; His ship, in sight of shore, goes down, That shoie to which he hasted; And all the wealth he thought his own, Is o’er tne waters wasted. Like him, this heart, through many a track Of toil and sorrow straying, One hope alone brought fondly back, Its toil and grief repaying. Where’er o’er the ground He prints his light feet, The flowers there are found Most shining and sweet; His looks, as soft As lightning in May, Though dangerous oft, Ne’er wound but in play: And oh, when his wings Have brushed o’er my lyre, You’d fancy its strings Were turning to fnre. Guess who he is, Name but his name, And his best kiss, Foi reward, you may claim. Like him, alas! I see that ray Of hope before me perish, And one dark minute sweep away What years were given to cherish. I I I I i NATIONAL AlRb 401 SLU-IIBER, Oll SLUMBER. THOU LOV’ST NO MORE.

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4or THE MIRROR LIBI{kRY. ____ KEEP THOSE EYES STILL PURELY MINE. THE

Garland I send thee was culled from those bowers Where thou and I wandered in long vanished hours; Not a leaf or a blossom its bloom here displays, But bears some remembrance of those happy days. The roses were gathered by that garden gate, Where our meetings, though early, seemed always too late I Where ling’ring full oft through a summer-night’s moon, Our partings, though late, appeared always too soon. Should those lips as now respond To sweet minstrelsey, When their accents seem most fond, Then think they’re breathed for me. Make what hearts thou wilt thy own, If when all on thee Fix their charmed thoughts alone, Thou thinkst the while on me. The rest were all culled from the banks of that glade, Where, watching the sunset, so often we strayed, And mourned, as the time went, that Love had no power To bind in his chain even one happy hour. HOPE COMES AGAIN. HOPE comes again, to this heart long a stranger, Once more she sings me her flattering strain; But hush, gentle syren-for, ah! there’s less danger In still suff’ring on, than in hoping again. Long, long, in sorrow, too deep for repining, Gloomy, but tranquil, this bosom hath lain; And joy coming now, like a sudden light shining O’er eyelids long darkene(1, would bring me but pain. Fly then, ye visions, that Hope would shed o’er me; Lost to the future, my sole chance of rest Now lies not in dreaming of bliss that’s before me, But, ah-in forgetting how once I was blest. Phillis, when she might have caught me, All the Spring looked coy and shy, Yet herself in Autumn sought me, When the flow ers were all gone by. Ah, too late;-she found her lover Calm and free beneath his vine, Drinking to the Spring-time over In his best autumnal wine. FEAR NOT THAT, WHILE AROUND

THEE. FEAR not that, while around thee Life’s varied blessings pour, One sigh of hers shall wound thee, WVhose smile thou seekst no more. No, dead and cold for ever Le t ou r past lo ve remain; Once gone, its spirit never Shall haunt thy rest again. Thus may we, as years are flying, To their flight our pleasures suit, Nor regret the blossoms dying, While we still may taste the fruit. Oh, while days like this are ours, Where’s the lip that dares repine? Spring may take our loves and flowers, So Autumn leaves us friends and wine. May the new ties that bind thee Far sweeter, happier prove, Nor e’er of me remind thee, But by their truth and love. Think how, asleep or waking, Thy image haunts me yet; But, how this heart is breakingL For thy own peace, forget. IF thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes, First win our hearts, for there thy empire lies: Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne, Her Right Divine is given by Love alone. WHEN Love is kind, Cheerful and free, Love’s sure to find Welcome from me. But when Love bi ilia, Heartache or pang, Tears, and such things, Love may go hang! What would the rose with all her pride be worth, Were there no sun to call her brightness forth? Maidens, unloved, like flowers in darkness thrown, Wait but that light, which comes from Love alone. Fair as thy charms in yonder g.ass appear, Trust not their bloom, they’ll fade from year to year: Wouldst thou they still should shine as first they shone, Go, fix thy mirror in Love’s eyes alone. If Love can sigh For one alone, Well pleased am I To be that one. But should I see Love given to rove To two or three, Then by, Loyd Love must, in short, Keep fond and tre, Through good report, And evil too. HOW SHALL I WOO? IF I speak to thee in Friendship’s name, Thou thinkst I speak too coldly; If I mention Love’s devoted flame, Thou say’st I speak too boldly. Between these two unequal fires, Why doom me thus to hover? I’m a friend, if such thy heart requires, If more thou seekst, a lover. Which shall it be? How shall I woo? Fair one, choose between the two. THE MIRROR LIBRI,.-RY. 40 THE

GARLAND I SEND THEE. – KiEF,p those eyes still purely mine, Though fax off I be: When on others most they shine, Then think they’re turned on me.

‘RPRING AND AUTUININ. EV’RY season hath its pleasures I Spring may boast her flow’ry prime, Yet the vineyard’s ruby treasures’ Brighten Autumn’s sob’rer time. So Life’s year begins and closes; Days, though short’ning, still can shine; What though youth gave love and roses, Age still leaves us friendq and wine. LOVE ALONE. WHEN LOVE IS KIND. Els, here I swear, Young Love may go, For atight I care To Jericho. c

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LEGENDARY BALLADS. Thougli the vings of Love will brightly play, When first hlie comes to woo thee, There’s a chance that he may fly away As fast as he flies to thee. While Friendship, though on foot she come, No flights of fancy trying, Will, therefore, oft be found at home, When Love abroad is flying. Which shall it be? How shall I woo? Dear one, choose between the two. LEGENDARY BALLADS. Entranced stood the bride, on that miracle gazing, What late was but love is idolatry now; But, ah-in her tremor the fatal lamp raising A sparkle flew from it and dropped on his brow. THE VOICE. IT came o’er her sleep, like a voice of those days, When love, only love, was the light of her ways; And, soft as in moments of bliss long ago, It whispered her name from the garden below. “Alaq!”

sighed the maiden, “how fancy can cheat! The world once had lips that could whisper thus sweet; But cold now they slumber in yon fatal deep, Where, oh that beside them this heart too could sleep!” She sunk on her pillow-but no,‘twas in vain To chase the illusion, that Voice came again!

She flew to the casement-but, hushed as the grave, In moonlight lay slumbering woodland and wave. “Oh sleep, come and shield me,” in anguish she said, “From that call of the buried, that cry of the Dead!” And sleep came around her-but, starting, she woke For still from the garden that spirit-Voice spoke! a I come,’~ she exclaimed, ” be thy home where it may, On earth or in heaven, that call I obey;” Then forth through the moonlight, with heart beating fast Rnd loud as a death-watch, the pale maiden past. Still round her the scene all in loneliness shone; And still, in the distance, that Voice led her on; But whlither she wandered, by wave or by shore, None ever could tell, for she came back no more. IN vain all the Knights of the Underwald wooed her, Though brightest of maidens, the proudest was she; Brave chieftains they sought, and young minstrels they sued her, But worthy were none of the high-born Ladye. “Whomsoever I wed,”

said this maid, so excelling, ” That Knight must the conqu’ror of conqterors be; He must place me in halls fit for monarchs to dwell in; None else shall be Lord of the high-born Ladye!” Thus spoke the proud damsel, with scorn looking round her On Knights and on Nobles of highest degree; Who humbly and hopelessly left as they found her, And worshipped at distance the high-born Ladye. At length came a Knight, from a far land to woo her, With plumes on his helm like the foam of the sea; His vizor was down-but, with voice that thrilled through i,er, He whispered his vows to the high-born Ladye. “Proud maiden! I come with high spousals to grace thee In me the great conqu’ror of conquerors see; Enthroned in a hall fit for monarchs I’ll place thee, And mine thou’rt for ever, thou high-born Ladye!” The maiden she smiled, and in jewels arrayed her, Of thrones and tiaras already dreamt she; And proud was the step, as her bridegroom conveyed her In pomp to his home, of that high-born Ladye. “But whither,”

she, starting, exclaims, “have you led me? Here’s naught but a tomb and a dark cypress-tree; Is this the bright palace in which thou wouldst wed me I” With scorn in her glance, said the high-born Ladyc. “‘Tis the home,” he replied, “of earth’s loftiest crea tures” Then lifted his holm for the fair one to see; But she sunk on the groutnd-‘twas a skeleton’s features, And Death was the Lord of the high-born Ladye! No, ne’er came she back-but the watchman who stood That night in the tower which o’ershadows the flood, Saw dimly,‘tis said, o’er the moon-lighted spray, A youth on a steed bear the maiden away. CUPIXD AND PSYCHE. THEY told her that he, to whose vows she had listened Through night’s fleeting hours, was a spirit unblest;Unholy the eyes, tlmat beside her had glistened, And evil the lips she in darkness had prest. “When next in thy chamber the bridegroom reclineth, Bring near him thy lamp, when in slumber he lies; And there, as the light o’er his dark features shineth, Thou’!t see what a demon hath won all thy sighs!” Too fond to believe them, yet doubting, yet fearing, When calm lay the sleeper she stole with her light; And saw-such a vision!-no image, appearing To bards in their day-dreams, was ever so bright. A youth, but just passing from childhood’s sweet morni g, While round him still lingered its innocent ray; Though gleams, from beneath his shut eyelids, gave warn ing Of summer-noon lightnings that under them lay.

His brow had a grace more than mortal around it, While, gloss) as gold from a fairy-land mine, His sunny hair hung, and the flowers that crowned it Seemne,1 fresh from the breeze of some garden divine. 4! “,‘3 If neither feeling suits thy heart, Let’s see, to please thee, whether We may not learn some precious art To mix their charms together; One feeling, still more sweet, to form From two so sweet alreadyA friendship that like love is warm, A love like friendship steady. Thus let it be, thus let me woo, Dearest, thus we’ll join the two. All’s lost-with a start from his rosy sleep waking, The Spirit flashed o’er her his glances of fire; Then, slow from the clasp of her snowy arms breaking, Thus said, in a voice more of sorrow than ire: 11 Farewell-wh,tt a dream thy suspicion hath broken I Thus ever Affection’s fond vision is crost; Dissolved are her spells when a doubt is but spoken, And love, once distrusted, for ever is lost!” THE

HIGH-BORN LADYE.

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THIE MIIRROR LIBRARY. HERO AND LEANDER. ‘ TrE night-wind is moaning with mournful sigh, There gleameth no moon in the misty sky, No star over Helle’s sea; Yet, yet, there is shining one holy light, One love-kindled star through the deep of night, To lead me, sweet Hero, to thee!” , Shal I recov er My truant lover?” The fountain seemed to answer, ” No;” The fountain answered, “No.” YOUTH AND AGE.* “TEx me, what’s Love?” said Youth, one day. To drooping Age, who crossed his way.” It’s a sunny hour of play, For which repen tance dear doth pay; Repentance! Repentance! And this is Love, as wise men say.” “Tell me, what’s Love?” s aid Youth once more, Fearful, yet fond, of Age’s lore.” Soft as a passing summer’s wind: Wouldst know the bligh t it leave s behind? R epen t R pnance! Repentance!

And this is Love-when love is o’er.” “Tell me, what’s Love?” said Youth again, Trusting the bliss, but not the pain. “Sweet as a May tree’s scented airMark ye what bitter fruit’twill bear, Repentance! Repentance!

This, this is Love-sweet Youth, beware.” Just then, young Love himself came by, And cast on Youth a smiling eye; Who could resist that glance’s ray? In vain did Age his warning say, “Repentance! Repentance!” Youth laughing went with Love away. Thus saying, he plunged in the foamy stream, Still fixing his gaze on that distant beam No eye but a lover’s could see; And still, as the surge swept over his head, “To-night,” he said tenderly, “living or dead, Sweet Hero, I’ll rest with thee!” But fiercer around him the wild waves speed; Oh, Love! in that hour of thy votary’s need, Where, where could thy Spirit be’? He struggles-he sinks-while the hurricane’s breath Bears rudely away his last farewell in death ” Sweet Hero, I die for thee!” THE LEAF AND THE FOUNTAIN. ” TELL me, kind Seer, I pray thee, So may the stars obey thee, So may each airy Moon-elf and fairy Nightly their homage pay thee! Say, by what spell, above, below, In stars that wink or flowers that blow, I mnay discover, Ere night is over, Whether my love loves me or no, Whether my love loves me.” “Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee Hath charms no gold could buy thee: Its stem enchanted, By moon-elves planted, Will all thou seekst suppl) thee. Climb to yon boughs that highest grow, Bring thence their fairest leaf below; And thou’lt discover, Ere night is over, Whether thy love loves thee or no, Whether thy love loves thee.” A HUNTER once in that grove reclined, To shun the noon’s bright eye, And oft he wooed the wandering wind, To cool his brow with its sigh. While mute lay even the wild bee’s hum, Nor breath could stir the aspen’s hair, His song was still, “Sweet Air, oh come!” While Echo answered, “Come, sweet Air!” But, hark, what sounds from the thicket rise? What meaneth that rustling spray? “‘Tis the white-horned doe,” the Hunter cries, “I have sought since break of day,” Quick o’er the sunny glade he springs, The arrow flies from his sounding bow, ”

Hilliho-hilliho!” he gayly sings, While Echo sighs forth ” Hilliho!” ”

See, up the dark tree going, With blossoms round me blowing, From thence, oh Father, This leaf I gather, Fairest that there is growing. Say, by what sign I now shall know If in this leaf lie bliss or wo; And thus discover, Ere night is over, Whether my love loves me or no, Whether my love loves me.” “Fly to yon fount that’s welling, Where moonbeam ne’er had dwelling, Dip in its water That leaf, oh Daughter, And mark the tale’tis telling;*

Watch thou if pale or bright it grow, List thou, the while, that fountain’s flow, And thou’lt discover Whether thy lover, Loved as he is, loves thee or no, Loved as he is, loves thee.” Alas!‘twas not the white-horned doe He saw in the rust ling grove, But the bridal veil, as pure as snow, Of his own young wedded love. And, ah! too sure that arrow sped, For pale at his feet he sees her lie; ” I die, I die,” was all she said, While Echo murmured, ” I die, I die 1″ Forth flew the nymph, delighted, To seek that fount benighted; But, scarce a minute The leaf lay in it,, lVhen, lo, its bloom was blighted! And as she asked, with voice of wo-I List’ning, the while, that fountain’s float Tte ancients had a mode of divination somewhat similar to * The air, to whichl I have adaOpted ttse words, was cooipc.sel ,is; and wve find the Eoipero,r Adrian, when he went to consult I vy Mrs. Ark.wright. to sone olt verses, “Tell me wHat’s lo)ve, kind tFa F.,intain of Ca’alla. pluckir a bay-leaf and dipping;t ilo the ] seplierd, prae 7″ as l;rs ib.: ml ov bjvit tf o ei as muc oi 0 tk s.1rel wateir. i structure a::,i llr:‘asct.,i’,,‘y e!’.:.’, c.:ia’Ti:::!

t;‘ird s e.’.:oit:l3 404 CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS. 4 THE DYING WARRIOR. A WOUNDFD Chieftain, lying By the Danabels leafy side, Thus faintly said, in dying, “Oh! bear, thou foaming tide, This gift to my lady-bride.” ‘Twas then, in life’s last quiver, He flung the scarf he wore Into the foaming river, Which, ah too quickly, bore That pledge of one no more I With fond impatience burning, The Chieftain’s lady stood, To watch her love returning In triumph down the flood, From that day’s field of blood.

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LEGENDARY BALLADS. But she passed like a day-dream-no skill could restor her Whate’er was her sorrow, its ruin came fast; She died with the same spell of mystery o’er her, That song of past days on her lips to the last.

But, field, alas! ill-fated, The lady saw, instead Of the bark whose speed she waited, Her hero’s scarf, all red With the drops his heart ad shed.

One shriek-and all was over Her life-pulse ceased to beat; The gloomy waves now cover That bridal-flower so sweet, And the scarf is her winding-sheet! Nor even in the grave is her sad heart reposing Still hovers the spirit of grief round her tomb; For oft, when the shadows of midnight are closing, The same strain of music is heard through the gloom THE MAGIC MIRROR. “COME, if thy magic Glass have power To call up forms we sigh to see; Show me my love, in that rosy bower, Where last she pledged her truth to me.” ‘he Wizard showed him his Lady bright, Where lone and pale in her bower she lay; ‘ True-hearted maid,” said the happy Knight, “She’s thinking of one, who is far away.” But, lo! a page, with looks of joy, Brings tidings to the Lady’s ear; ‘Tis,” said the Knight, “the same bright boy, Who used to guide me to my dear.” The Lady now, from her fav’rite tree, Hath, smiling, plucked a rosy flower; ,“Such,” he exclaimed, “was the gift that she Each morning sent me from that bower!”

‘TWAS midnight dark, The seaman’s bark Swift o’er the waters bore him, When, thro ugh the night, He spied a light Shoot o’er the wave before him.

“A sail! a sail!” he cries; ” She comes from the Indian shore, And to-night shall be our prize, With her freight of golden ore: Sail on! sail on!” When morning shone, He aw the gold still clearer; But, though so fast The waves he passed, That boat seemed never the nearer. She gives her page the blooming rose, With looks that say, “Like lightning, fly!” ” Thus,”

thought the Knight, “she sooths her woes, By fancying, still, her true-love nigh.” But the page returns-and-oh, what a sight, For trusting lover’s eyes to see!Leads to that bower another Knight, W As young and, alas! as loved as he!” Bright daylight came, And still the same Rich bark before himn floated; While on the prize His wishful eyes Like any young lover’s doated: “More sail! more sail!” he cries, While the waves o’ertop the mast; And his bounding galley flies, Like an arrow before the blast.

Thus on, and on, Till day was gone, And the moon through heaven did hie her, He swept the main, But all in vain, That boat seemed never the nigher. ” Such,” quoth the Youth, “is Woman’s love I” Then, darting forth, with furious bound, Dashed at the Mirror his iron glove, And strewed it all in fragments round. Such ills would never have come to pass, Had he ne’er sought that fatal view: The Wizard would still have kept his Glass, And the Knight still thought his Lady true. THE STRANGER. COM?E I-st, while I tell of the heart-wounded Stranger Who sleeps her last slumber in this haunted ground; Where often, at midnight, the lonely wood-ranger Hears soft fairy music re-echo around. And many a day To night gave way, And many a morn succeeded: While still his flight, Through day and night, T h at rest less mari ner speeded. Who knows-who knows what seas He is now careering o’er? Behind, the eternal breeze, And that mocking bark, before!

For, oh till sky And earth shall die, And their death leave none to rue it, That boat must flee O’er the boundless sea, And that ship in vain Iprsue it. None e’er knew the name of that heart-stricken lady, Her language, though sweet, none could e’er understand; But her features so sunned, and her eyelash so shady, Bespoke her a child of some far Eastern land. ‘Twas one summer night, when the village lay sleeping, A soft strain of melody came o’er our ears; So sweet, but so mournful, half song and half weeping, Like music that Sorrow had steeped in her tears. Ve thought’twas a n anthe m some angel ha d su ng us;- o hi But soon as t he day-beams had gushed from on high, With wonder we saw this bright stranger among us, All lovely and lone, as if strayed from the sky. Nor long did her life for this sphere seem intended, For pale was her cheek, with that spirit-like hue, Which comes when the day of this world is nigh ended, And light from another already shines through. “Hall of my Sires!” he said, “How long, with weary tread, Must I toil on? Each eve, as thus, I wander, Th-y towers seem rising yonder, But, scarce hath (dayligllt shone, Wvhen, like a dream, thou’rt g’ne!” Then her eye, when she sung oh, but once to have seen them  Left tho-iahts in the soul that can never depart; ‘While her looks alil her voice male a language between a t spoke il or ta olit wors to the heart.!ll ‘ln,,t s-Eoke\ niorc t.t,!,n holiv, wo.,‘s to the heart. 40b THE INDIAN BOAT. MORAL. THE PILGRIM. STILL thus, when twilight gleamed, Far off his Castle seemed, Traced on the sky; And still, as f,,tney bore him To those dim towers before him, He gazed with wishful eye, And thou-ht his home was nigh.

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0THE MIRROR Where rests the Pilgrim now? Here, by this cypress bough, Closed his career; That dream, of Fancy’s weaving, No more his steps deceiving, Alike past hop e and f ear, The Pilgrim’s home is here. So went the Pilgrim still, Down dale and over hill, Day after day; That glimp se of home, so cheering, At twilight still appearing, But still, with morning’s ray, Melting, like mist, away! SET OF GLEES MUSIC BY MOORE. THE

MEETING OF THE SHIPS. WHEN o’er the silent seas alone, For days and nights we’ve cheerless gone, Oh they who’ve felt it know how sweet, Some sunny morn a sail to meet. Sparkling at once is every eye, “Ship ahoy! ship ahoy!” our joyful cry; While answering back the sounds we hear “Ship ahoy!

ship ahoy! what cheer? what cheer?” Then sails are backed, we nearer come, Kind words are said of friends and home; And soon, too soon, we part with pain, To sail o’er silent seas again. Oft, when the toils of day are done, In pensive dreams of thee, I sit to hear that evening gun Peal o’er the stormy sea. Boom!-and while, o’er billows curled, The distant sounds decay, I weep and wish, from this rough world, Like them to die away. SAY, WHAT SHALL WE DANCE? SAY, what shall we dance? Shall we bound along the moonlight plain, To music of Italy, Greece, or Spain? Say, what shall we dance? Shall we, like those who rove Through bright Grenada’s grove, To the light Bolero’s measures move? Or choose the Guaracia’s languishing lay, And thus to its sound die away? Strike the gay chords, Let us hear each strain from ev’ry shore That music haunts, or young feet wander o’er.

Hark!‘tis the light march, to whose measured time, The Polish lady, by her lover led, Delights through gay saloons with step untired to tread, Or sweeter still, through moonlight walks, Whose shadows serve to hide The blush that’s raised by him who talks Of love the while by her side; Then comes the smooth waltz, to whose floating sound Like dreams we go gliding aroundSay, which shall we dance? which shall we dance? Now wrap thy cloak about thee The hours must sure go wronrg, For when they’re passed without thee, They’re, oh, ten times as long. ” HUsH, hush!”-how well That sweet word sounds, When Love, the little sentinel, Walks his night-rounds; Then, if a foot but dare One rose-leaf crush, Myriads of voices in the air Whisper, “Hush, hush!” “Hark, hark,‘tis he!” The night-elves cry, And hush their fairy harmony, While he steals by; But if his silv’ry feet One dewdrop brush, Voices are heard in chorus sweet, Whisp’ring, “Hush, hush!”

Pastee thre o’clock past three. Again that dreadful warning! Had ever time such flight? And see the sky,‘tis morning So now, indeed, good-night. I I I 406 i ,,HE EVENING GUN. I REMF-MB’YTEST thou that setting sun, The last I saw with thee, When loud we heard the evening gun Peal o’er the twilight sea? Boom!-the sounds appeared to sweep Far o’er the verge of day, Till, into realms beyond the deep, They seemed to die away. THE WATCHMAN. ,L

TRIO. WATCHMAN. PAST twelve o’clock-past twelve. Good-night, good-night, my dearest How fast the moments fly! ‘Tis time to part, thou hearest That hateful watchman’s cry. WATCHMAN. Past one o’clock-past one. Yet stay a moment longer Alas! why is it so, The wish to stay grows stronger, The more Itis time to go? WATCHMAN. HUSH, HUSH! Past two o’clock-past two.

WATCHMAN. WATCHMAN. Past three o’clock-past tbree. Good-ni,-ht, good-night.

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SET OF GLEES-SONGS, BALLADS, ETC: Come, charge high again, boys, nor let the full wine Leave a space in the brimmer, where daylight may shine; “Here’s the frieids of our youth-though of some we’re bereft, May the links that are lost but endear what are left!” Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra! ON to the field, our doom is sealed, To conquer or be slaves: This sun shall see our nation free, Or set upon our graves. Once more fill a bumper-ne’er talk of the hour; On hearts thus united old Time has no power. “May our lives, though, alas! like the wine of to-night, They must soon have an end, to the last flow as brigl’t.” Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra! SHE. Farewell, oh farewell, my love, May Heaven thy guardian be, And send bright angels irom above To bring thee back to me. Quick, quick, now, I’ll give you, since Time’s glass will run Even faster than ours doth, three bumpers in one; “Here’s the poet who sings-here’s the warrior who fightsHere’s the statesman who speaks in the cause of men’s rights!” HE. On to the field, the battle-field, Where Freedom’s standard waves, This sun shall see our tyrant yield, Or shine upon our graves. Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra! COME, fill round a bumper, fill up to the brim, He who shrinks from a bumper, I pledge not to him; “Here’s the gairl t hat each loves, be her eye of what hue, Or lustre, it may, so her heart is but true.” Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra! Come, once more, a bumper!-then drink as you please, Though, who could fill half-way to toast such as these? ”’ Here’s our next joyous meeting-and oh! when we meet, May our wine be as bright, and our union as sweet!” Charge! (drinks) hip, hip, hurra, hurra! BALLADS, SONGS, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, ETC. So droops the maid whose lover hath forsaken her, Thrown from his arms, as lone and lost as thou; In vain the smiles of all Like sun-beams round her fall; The only smile that could from death awaken her, That smile, alas! is gone to others now. TELL HER, OH, TELL

HER. TO-DAY, dearest! is ours: Why should Love carelessly lose it? This life shines or lowers Just as we, weak mortals, use it. ‘Tis time enough, when its flowers decay, To think of the thorns of Sorrow; And Joy, if left on the stem to-day, May wither before to-morrow. TELL her, oh, tell her, the lute she left lying Beneath the green arbor, is still lying there; And breezes, like lovers, around it are sighing, But not a soft whisper replies to their prayer. Tell her, oh, tell her, the tree that, in going, Beside the green arbor she playfully set, As lovely as ever is blushing and blowing, And not a bright leaflet has fallen from it yet. Then why, dearest! so long Let the sweet moments fly over? Though now, blooming and young, Thou hast me devoutly thy lover; Yet Time from both in his silent lapse, Some treasure may steal or borrow; Thy charms may be less in bloom, perhaps, Or I less in love to-morrow. So while away from that arbor forsaken, The maiden is wandering, still let her be As true as the lute, that no sighing can waken, And blooming for ever, unchanged as the tree I POOR WOUNDED HEART. “SHE has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool; She has wit but you musn’t be caught so;” Thus Reason advises, but Reason’s a fool, And’tis not the first time I have thought so, Dear Fanny, ‘Tis not the first time I have thought so. PORoo wounded heart, farewell!

Thy hour of rest is come; Thou soon wilt reach thy home, Poor wounded heart, farewell! The pain thou’lt feel in breaking Less bitter far will be, Than that long, deadly aching, This life has been to thee. “She is lovely; then love her, nor let the bliss fly; ‘Tis the charm of youth’s 7anishing season;” Thus Love has advised me, and who will deny That Love reasons much better than Reason, Dear Fanny? Love reasons much better than Reason. There-broken heart, farewell! The pang is o’er The parting pang is o’er; Thou now wilt bleed no more, Poor broken heart, farewell! No rest for thee but dying Like waves, whose strife is past, On death’s cold shore thus lying, Thou sleepst in peace at last Poor broken heart, farewell!

POOR broken flower! what art can now recover thee? Torn from the stem that fed thy rosy breath In vain the sun-beams seek To warm that faded cheek; Th,e dews of heaven, that once like baln fell ova thee, Now are but tears, to weep thy early death. I 407 THE PARTING BEFORE THE BATTLE. HE. HIP, HIP, HURRA! TO-DAY, DEAREST! IS OURS. DEAR FANNY. POOR BROKEN FLOWER. I .

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408 WHEN ON THE LIP THE SIG If, i;n the race we are destined to run, love, They who have light hearts the happiest be, Then, happier still must be they who have none, love, And that will be my case when mine is with thee.

WHEN on udi the lip te sih delays, .As if’twould linger there for eve?; When eyes would give the world to gaze, Yet still look down, and venture never; When, though with fairest nymphs we rove, There’s one we dream of more than anyIf all this is not real love, ‘Tis something wondrous like it, Fanny! It matters not where I may now be a rover, I care not how many bright eyes I may see; Should Venus herself come and ask me to’ove her, I’d tell her I couldn’t-my heart is with thee. And there let it lie, growing fonder and fonder For, even should Fortune turn truant to me, Why, let her go-I’ve a treasure beyond her, As long as my heart’s out at int’rest with thee’! To think and ponder, when apart, On all we’ve got to say at meeting; And yet when near, with heart to heart, Sit mute, and listen to their beating; To see but one bright object move, The only moon, where stars are manyIf all this is not downright love, I prithee say what is, my Fauny! When Hope foretells the brightest, best, Though Reason on the darkest reckons; When Passion drives us to the west, Though Prudence to the eastward beckons; When all turns round, below, above, And our own heads the most of anyIf this is not stark, staring love, Then you and I are sages, Fanny. BLA CK AND BLUE EYES. THE brilliant black eye May in triumph let fly All its darts without caring who feels lem; But the soft eye of blue, Though it scatter wounds too, Is much better pleased when it heals’em Dear Fanny! But the soft eye of blue, Though it scatter wounds too, Is much betterpleased when it heals’era. The black eye may say, “Come and worship my rayBy adoring, perhaps, you may move me!” But the blue eye, half hid, Says, from under its lid, “I love, and am yours, if you love me ” Yes, Fanny! The blue eye, half hid, Says, from under its lid, “I love, and am yours:f r’ yme e iX THE EAST INDIAN. ., COME, May, with all thy flowers, Thy sweetly-scented thorn, Thy cooling evening showers, Thy fragrant breath at morn; When May-flies haunt the willow, When May-buds tempt the bee, Then o’er the shining billow My love will come to me. From Eastern Isles she’s winging Through wat’ry wilds her way, And on her cheek is bringing The bright sun’s orient ray; Oh, come and court her hither, Ye breezes mild and warmOn e winter’s gale would wither So soft, so pure a form. Come tell me, -Len, shy, In that lovely blue eye, Not a charm of its teint I discover; Oh why should you wear The only blue pair That ever said “No” to a lover? Dear Fanny! Oh, why should you wear The only blue pair That ever said “No” to a lover? The fields where she was straying Are blest with endless light, With zephyrs alweays playing Through gardens always bright. Then now, sweet May! be sweeter Than e’er thou’st been before; Let sighs from roses meet her When she comes near our shore. OR

CALL IT BY SOME BETTER NAME. OH, call it by some better name, For Friendship sounds too cold, While Love is now a worldly flame, Whose shrine must be of gold; And Passion, like the sun at noon, That burns o’er all he sees, Awhile as warm, will set as soon Then, call it none of these.

THE YOUNG MULETEERS OF GRENAIA. OH, the joys of our evening posada, Where, resting at close of day, We young Muleteers of Grenada, Sit and sing the sunshine away; So merry, that even the slumber~, That round us hung, seem gone; Till the lute’s soft drowsy numbers Again beguile them on. Oh the joys, &e. Imagine something purer far, More free from stain of clay Than Friendship, Love, or Passion, are, Yet human still as they; And if thy lip, for love like this, No mortal word can frame, Go, ask of angels what it is, And call it by that name! HERE, TAKE MY HEART. OUR FIRST YOUNG

LOVE. OUR first young love resembles That short but brilliant ray, Which smiles, and weeps, and trembles Through April’s earliest day. And not all life before us, However its lights may play, Can shed a lustre o’er us Like that first April ray. Fi:RE, take my heart-‘twill be safe in thy keeping, While I go wand’ring o’er land and o’er sea; 24iiling or sorrowing, waking or sleeping, What need I care, so my heart is with thee?

i I I i I TilE MIRROR LIBRARY. Then as each to his loved sultana In sleep still breathes the sigh, The name of some black-eyed Tirana Escapes our lips as we lie. Till, with morning’s rosy twinkle, Again we’re up and goneWhile the mule-bell’s drowsy tinkle Beguiles the rough way on. Oh the joys of our merry posada, Where, restin- at close of day, We, young Muleteers of Grenada, Thus sing the gav moments away.

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BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. FROM LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM. FROM life without freedom, say, who would not fly? For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die?

Hark!-hark!‘tis the trumpet! the call of the brave, The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave. Our country lies bleeding-haste, haste to her aid; One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade. In death’s kindly bosom our last hope remains The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains. On, on to the combat; the heroes that bleed For virtue and mankind are heroes indeed. And oh, even if Freedom from this world be driven, Despair not-at least we shall find her in heaven. Our summer sun may squander A blaze serener, grander; Our autumn beamn May, like a dream Of heaven, die calm away; But, no-let life before us Bring all the light it may, ‘Twill ne’er shed lustre o’er us Like that first youthful ray.

BEING weary of love, I flew to the grove, .And chose me a tree of the fairest; Saying, “Pretty Rose-tree Thou my mistress shalt be, And I’ll worship each bud thou bearest. For the hearts of this world are hollow, And fickle the smiles we follow; And’tis sweet when all Their witch’ries pall, o have a pure love to fly to; So, my pretty Rose-tree, Thou my mistress shalt be, Jind the only one now I shall sigh to.” HERE’S the bower she loved so much, And the tree she planted; Here’s the harp she used to touch Oh, how that touch enchanted! Roses now unhee ded sigh; Where’s the hand to wreath them? Songs around neglected lie; Where’s the lip to breathe them? Here’s the bower, &c. Spring may bloom, but she we loved Ne’er shall feel its sweetness; Time, that once so fleetly moved, Now hath lost its fleetness. Years were days, when here she strayed. Days were moments near her; Heaven ne’er formed a brighter maid, Nor Pity wept a dearer! Here’s the bower, A When the beautiful hue Of thy cheek through the dew Of morning is bashfully peeping, “Sweet tears,” I shall say (As I brush them away), At least there’s no art in this weeping.” Although thou shouldst die to-morrow, ‘Twill not be from pain or sorrow; And the thorns of thy stem Are not like them Wita which men wound each other; So my pretty Rose-tree, Thou my mistress shalt be, And I’ll ne’er again sigh to another. I SEE THE MOON RISE CLEAR. I saw the moon rise clear O’er hills and vales of snow, Nor told my fleet reindeer The track I wished to go.

Yet quick he bounded forth; For well my reindeer knew I’ve but one path on earth The path which leads to you. NIGHTS of music, nights of loving, Lost too soon, remembered long, When we went by moonlight roving, Hearts all love and lips all song. When this faithful lute recorded All my spirit felt to thee; And that smile the song rewarded Worth whole years of fame to me I Nights of song, and nights of splendor, Filled with joys too sweet to lastJoys that, like the star-light, tender, While they shone, no shadow cast. Though all other happy hours From my fading memory fly, Of that star-light, of those bowers, Not a beam, a leaf shall die! The gloom that winter cast How soon the hbart forgets, When summer brings, at last, Her sun that never sets! So dawned my love for you; So, fixed through joy and pain, Than summer sun more true, ‘Twill never set again. LOVE AND THE

SUN-DIAL. YOUNG Love found a Dial once, in a dark shade, Where man ne’er had wandered nor sunbeam played “Why thus in darkness lie,” whispered young Love; “Thou, whose gay hours in sunshine should move?” “I ne’er,”

said the Dial, “have seen the warm sun, So noonday and midnight to me, Love, areone.” Then Love took the Dial away from the shade, And placed her where Heaven’s beam warmly played There she reclined, beneath Love’s gazing eye, While, marked all with sunshine, her hours flew by. “Oh, how,”

said the Dial, “can any fair maid, That’s born to be shone upon, rest in the shade?” SHINE OUT, STARS! bHINE out, Stars! let Heaven assemble Round us every festal ray, Lights that move not, lights that tremble, All to grace this Eve of May. Let the flower-beds all lie waking, And the odors shut up there, From their downy prisons breaking Fly abroad through sea and air. And would Love, too, bring his sweetness, With our other joys to weave, Oh. what glory, what completeness, Then would crown this bright May eve! Shine oiit, Stars! let night assemble Roun l uis every festal ray, Ligzhts that move not, lia,hts that tremble, lTo adorn this Eve of Alay. 2

But night now comes on, and the sunbeam’s o’er, And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no mnore. Alone and neglected, while bleak rain and winds Are stormin. around her, with sorrow she finds Thlit T,ovre l!ad but ni1llerf(l a fi\e sunny hours  Tli hei left tlec rernainder to dar:tes an l h;wcrs! lo THE PRETTY ROSE-TREE. HERE’S THE BOWER. A FINLAND LOVE-SONG.

NIGHTS OF MUSIC.

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I’HiE MIRROR LIBRARY. LOVE’S LIGHT SUMMER-CLOUD. PAIN and sorrow shall vanish before ut Youth may wither, but feeling will last; .1l the shadow that e’er shall fall o’er us, Love’s light summer-cloud only shall cast.

Oh, if to love thee more Each hour I number o’er, If this a passion be Worthy of thee, Then be happy, for thus I adore thee. Charms may wither, but feeling shall last: All the shadow that e’er shall fall o’er thee, Love’s light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. ‘TIs said-but whether true or not Let bards declare who’ve seen’emThat Love and Time have only got One pair of wings between’em. In courtship’s first delicious hour, The boy full oft can spare’em; So, loit’ring in his lady’s bower, He lets the gray-beard wear’em. Then is Time’s hour of play; Oh, how he flies, flies away! But short the moments, short as bright, When he the wings can borrow; If Time to-day has had his flight, Love takes his turn to-morrow.

Ah! Time and Love, your change is then The saddest and most trying, When one begins to limp again, And t’other takes to flying. Then is Love’s hour to stray; Oh, how he flies, flies away! Rest, dear bosom, no sorrows shall pain thee, Sighs of pleasure alone shalt thou steal; Beam, bright eyelid, no weeping shall stain the Tears of rapture alone shalt thou feel. Oh, if there be a charm In love, to banish harm If pleasure’s truest spell Be to love well, Then be happy, for thus I adore thee. Charms may wither, but feeling shall last: All the shadow that e’er shall fall o’er thee, Love’s light summer-cloud sweetly shall cast. But there’s a nymph whose chains I feel, And bless the silken fetter, Who knows, the dear one, how to deal With Love and Time much better. So well she checks their wanderings, So peacefully she pairs’em, That Love with her ne’er thinks of wings, And Time for ever wears’em. This is Time’s holyday; Oh, how he flies, flies sway! RMEMEBER the time, in La Mancha’s shades, When our moments so blissfully flew; When you called me the flower of Castilian maids, And I blushed to be called so by you; When I taught you to warble the gay seguadije, And to dance to the light castanet; Oh, never, dear youth, let you roam where you will, The delight of those moments forget. They tell me, you lovers from Erin’s green isle, Every hour a new passion can feel; And that soon, in the light of some lovelier smile, You’ll forget the poor maid of Castile. But they know not how brave in the battle you are, Or they never could think you would rove; For’tis always the spirit most gallant in war That is fondest and truest tn love. LOVE, WANDERING THROUGH

THE GOLDEN MAZE. Loft, wand’ring through the golden maze Of my beloved’s hair, Traced every lock with fond delays, And, do t ing, lingered ther e.

And soon he found’twere vain to fly; His heart was close confined, For, every ringlet was a tie A chain by beauty twined. MRRILY EVERY BOSOM

BOUNDETH. THE TYROLESE SONG OF LIBERTY. MERRILY every bosom boundeth, Merrily, oh! Where the song of Freedom soundeth, Merrily, oh! There the warrior’s arms Shed more splendor; There the maiden’s charms Shine more tender; Ev’ry joy the land surroundeth, Merrily, oh! merrily, oh! Wearily every bosom pineth,. Wearily, oh! Where the bond of slavely Lmicthew Wearily, oh! There the warrior’s dart Hath no fleetness; There the maiden’s heart Hath no sweetnessEv’ry flower of life declineth, Wearily, oh! wearily, oh! Cheerily then from hill and valley, Cheerily, oh! Like your native fountains sally, Cheerily, oh! If a glorious death, Won by brav,,ry, Sweeter be than bi-ea’h Siizhe.t in slavery, Round the fla- of Freedom rally Cheerily, oh! cheerily, oltWu LOVE THEE? LovE thee?-so well, so tenderly Thou’rt loved, adored by me, Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, Were worthless without thee. Though brimmed with blessings, pure and rare, Life’s cup before me lay, Unless thy love were mingled there, I’d spurn the draught away. Love thee?-so well, so tenderly Thou’rt loved, adored by me, Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty, Are worthless without thee. Without thy smile, the monarch’s lot To me were dark and lone, While, with it, even the humblest cot, Were brighter than his throne.

Those worlds, for which the eonqu’ror sighs, eFor me would have no charms; My onll world thy gentle eyes My throne thy circling arms! Oh, yes, so well, so tenderly Thou’rt loved, adored by me, Whole realms of light and liberty Were worthless without thee. OH, SOON RETURN. OUR white sail caught the evening ray, The wave beneath us seemed to burn, When all the weepiti~ maid could 3ay Was, ” Oh, so)on r-etur n!” .i 410 LOVE AND TIME.

REMEMBER THE TIME. THE CASTILIAN MAID.

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-~~~~~~BLAS SOGS ET. Through many a clime our ship was driven, O’er many a billow rudely thrown; Now chilled beneath a northern heaven, Now sunned in siummer’s zone: And still, where’er we bent our way, When evening bid the west wave burn, I fancied still I heard her say, “Oh, soon return!”

LUSITANIAN WAR-SONG. THE song of war shall echo through our mountains, Till not one hatefti link remains Of slavery’s lingering chains; Till not one tyrant tread our plains, Nor traitor lip pollute our fountains. No!

never till that glorious day Shall Lusitania’s sons be gay, Or hear, oh Peace, thy welcome lay Resounding through her sunny mountains. If ever yet my bosom found Its thoughts one moment turned from thee, ‘Twas when the combat raged around, And brave men looked to me. But though the war-field’s wild alarm For gentle Love was all unmeet, He lent to Glory’s brow the charm, Which made even (langer sweet. And still, when vict’ry’s calm came o’er The hearts where rage had ceased to burn, Those parting words I heard once more, “Oh, soon return!-Oh, soon return!” The song of war shall echo through our mountains, Till Victory’s self’ shall, smiling, say, “Your cloud of foes hath passed away, And Freedom comes, with newborn ray, To gild your vines andc lizht your fountains.” Oh, never till that glorious day Shall Lusitania’s sons be -ay, Or hear, sweet Peace, thy welcome lay Resounding through her sunny mountains. THE YOUNG ROSE. THE young rose I give thee, so dewy and bright, Was the flow’ret most dear to the sweet bird of night, Who oft, by the moon, o’er her blushes hath hung, And thrilled every leaf with the wild lay he sung. Oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be Prolonged by the breath she will borrow from thee; For, while o’er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, She’ll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still. COULDST thou look as dear as when First I sighed for thee; Couldst thou make me feel again Every wish I breathed thee then, Oh, how blissful life would be! Hopes, that now beguiling leave me, Joys, that lie in slumber coldAll would wake, couldst thou but give me One dear smile like those of old. No-there’s nothing left us now, But to mourn the past; Vain was every ardent vowNever yet did Heaven allow Love so warm, so wild, to last. Not even hope could now deceive me Life itself looks’dark and cold: )Oh, thou never mo re canst give me One dear smile like those of old. How happy once, though winged with sighs, My moments flew along, While looking on those sniling eyes, And list’ning to thy magic song! But vanished now, like summer dreams, Those moments smile no more; For me that eye no longer beams, That song for me is o’er. Mine the cold brow, That speaks thy altered vow, While others feel thy sunshine now, Oh, could I change my love like thee, One h op e might y et be mineSome other eyes as bright to see, And hear a voice as sweet as thine: But never, never can this heart Be waked to life again;’ With thee it lost its vital part, And withered then! Cold its pulse lies, And mute are even its sighs, AR other grief it now defies. THE

DAY OF LOVE. HE beam of morning trembling Stole o’er the mountain brook, With timid ray resembling Affection’s early look. rhus love begins-sweet morn of love! The noontide ray ascended, And o’er the valley’s stream Diffused a glow as splendid As passion’s riper dream. * thus love expands- warm noon of love! But evening came, o’ershadin,g The glories of the sky, Like faith and fondness fading From passion’s altered eye. Thus love declines-cold eve of love! IF, after all, -‘ou still will doubt and fear me, And think this heart to other loves will stray, If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, hear me; By ev’ry dream I have when thou’rt away, By ev’ry throb I feel when thou art near me, I love but thee-I love but thee! WHEN twilight dews are falling soft Upon the rosy sea, love, I watch the star, whose beam so oft Has lighted me to thee, love. And thou too, on that orb so dear, Doost often gaze at even, And think, though lost for ever here, Thliou’it yet be mine in heaven. There’s ntt a garden walk I tread, There’s not a flower I see, loves, But brinzs to mind some hope that’.

fled, Some joy that’s gone with thee, love. And still I wish that hour was near, When, friends and foes forgiven, The pains, the ills we’ve wept through here, May turn to smiles in heaven By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing, Where Love, in depth of shadow, holds his throne, And by those lips, which give whate’er thou’rt saying, Or grave or gay, a music of its own, A music far beyond all minstrel’s playing, I love but thee-I love but thee! By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes, As pure as moonlizht sleeping upon snow, And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush discloses A hue too bright to bless this world below, Anl only fit to (dwell on E(len’s roses, I love but thee-I love but thee! I I BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 41 i ONE DEAR SMILE. HOW HAPPY, ONCE. 41 I LOVE BUT THEE. WHEN

TWILIGHT DEWS.

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412 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Oh, joy alone should be thought of now, Let our sorrows go sleep awhile; Or, should thought’s dark cloud come o’er thy brow Let Love light it up with his smile. YEs, yes, when the bloom of Love’s boyhood is o’er, He’ll turn into friendship that feels no decay; And though Time may take from him the wings he once wore, The charms that remain will be bright as before, And he’ll lose but his young trick of flying away. Then let it console thee, if Love should not stay, That Friendship our last happy mnoments will crown: Like the shadows of morning, Love lessens away, While Friendship, like those at the closing of day, Will linger and lengthen as life’s sun goes down. When the flowers of life’s sweet garden fade. If but one bright leaf remain, Of the many that once its glory made, It is not for us to complain. But thus to meet and thus to wake In all Love’s early bliss; Oh, Time all other gifts may take, So he but leaves us this! Then let joy alone be remembered now, Let our sorrows go sleep awhile; Or if thought’s dark cloud come o’er thy brow, Let Love light it up with his smile I WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET. WHEN midst the gay I meet That gentle smile of thine, Though still on me it turns most sweet, I scarce can call it mine: But when to me alone Your secret tears you show, Oh, then I feel those tears my own, And claim them while they flow. Then still with bright looks bless The gay, the cold, the free; Give smiles to those who love you.ss, But keep your tears for me.

LOVE THEE, DEAREST? LOVE THEE? The snow on Jura’s steep Can smile in many a beam, Yet still in chains of coldness sleep, How bright soe’er it seem.

But, when some deep-felt ray, Whose touch is fire, appears, Oh, then the smile is warmed away, And, melting, turns to tears. Then still with bright looks bless The gay, the cold, the free; Dive smiles to those who love you less, But keep your tears for me. L eave thee, dearest? leave thee? No, that star is not more true; When my vows deceive thee, He will wander too.

A cloud of night May veil his light, And death shall darken mine But-leave thee, dearest? leave thee’ No, till death I’m thine. I GIVE thee all-I can no more Though poor the off’ring be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee. A lute whose gentle song reveals The soul of love full well; And, better far, a heart that feels Much more than lute could tell. Though love and song may fail, alas! To keep life’s clouds away, At least’twill make them lighter pass, Or gild them if they stay.

And even if Care, at moments, flings A discord o’er life’s happy strain, Let love but gently touch the strings, ‘Twill all be sweet again! YOUNG

Jessica sat all the day, With heart o’er idle love-thoughts pining; Her needle bright beside her lay, So active once!-now idly shining. Ah!

Jessy,‘tis in idle hearts That love and mischief are most nimble; The safest shield against the darts Of Cupid, is Minerva’s thimble. The child, who with a magnet plays, Well knowing all its arts, so wily, The tempter near a needle lays, And laughing, says, “We’ll steal it slyly.” The needle, having naught to do, Is pleased to let the magnet wheedle; Till closer, closer come the two, And-off, at length, elopes the needle. Now, had this needle turned its eye To some gay reticule’s construction, It ne’er had strayed from duty’s tie, Nor felt the magnet’s sly seduction.

Thus, girls, would you keep quiet hearts, Your snowy fingers must be nimble; The safest shield against the darts Of Cupid, is Minerva’s thimble. PEACE, PEACE TO HIM THAT’S GONEF WHEN I am dead, Then lay my head In some lone, distant dell, Where voices ne’er Shall stir the air, & Or break its silent spell If any sound Be heard around, Let the sweet bird alone, That weeps in song Sing all night long, “Peace, peace to him that’s gone I” LET JOY ALONE BE REMEMBERED NOW. LET thy joys alone be remembered now, Let thy sorrows go sleep awhile; Or if thought’s dark cloud come o’er thy brow, Let Love light it up with his smile. For thus to meet, and thus to find, That Time, whose touch can chill Each flower of form, each grace of mind, Hath left thee blooming still-W i I TFIE MIRROR LIBRARY. 41 “I YES, YES, WHEN THE BLOOM. LOVE thee, dearest? love thee? Yes, by yonder star I swear, Which through tears above thee Shines so sadly fair; Though often dim, With tears, like him, Like him thy truth will shine, And-love thee, dearest 7 love thee f Yes, till death I’m thine.’ MY HEART AND LUTE.

YOUNG JESSICA. Yet, ob, were mine Oike sigh of thine, One pityin- word from thee, Like gleams o-f heaven, To sinners given. Would be that word Po me.

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BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 4l Howe’er unblest, My shade would rest While list’ning to that tone; Enough’twould be To hear from thee, ” Peace, peace to him that’s gone I” WAKE thee, my dear-thy dreaming Till darker hours will keep; While such a moon is beaming, ‘Tis wrong tow’rd Heaven to sleep. Moments there are we number, Moments of plain and care, Which to oblivion’s slumber Gladly the wretch would spare. But now-who’d think of dreaming When Love his watch should keep? While such a moon is beaming, ‘Tis wrong tow’rd Heaven to sleep. If e’er the Fates should sever My life and hopes from thee, love, The sleep that lasts for ever Would then be sweet to me, love; But now,-away with drea ming! Till darker hours’tooi1l 1.eep; While such a moon is beaming, ‘Tis wrong tow’rd Heaven to sleep.

‘TIS ALL FOR THEE. IF life for me hath joy or light, ‘Tis all from thee, My thoughts by day, my dreams by night, Are but of thee, of only thee.

Whate’er of hope or peace I know, My zest in joy, my balm in wo, To those dear eyes of thine I owe, ‘Tis all from thee. My heart, even ere I saw those eyes, Seemed doomed to thee; Kept pure till then from other ties, ‘Twas all for thee, for only thee. Like plants that sleep, till sunny May Calls forth their life, my spirit lay, Till touched by Love’s awak’ning ray, It lived for thee, it lived for thee. When Fame would call me to her heights, She speaks by thee; And dim would shine her proudest lights, Unshared by thee, unshared by thee. Whene’er I seek the Muse’s shrine, Where bards have hung their wreathes divine, And wish those wreaths of glory mine, ‘Tis all for thee, for only thee. LIGHTLY, Alpine rover, Tread the mountains over; Rude is the path thou’st yet to go; Snow cliffs hanging o’er thee, Fields of ice before thee, While the hid torrent moans below. Hark, the deep thunder, Through the vales yonder! ‘Tis the huge av’lanche downward cast i From rock to rock Rebounds the shock. But coura ge, boy! the danger’s past. Onward, youthful rover, Tread the glacier over, Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last. On, ere light forsake thee, Soon will dusk o’ertake thee; O’er yon ice-bri(dge lies the way! Now, for the risk prepare thee; Safe it yet may bear thee, Though’twill melt in morning’s ray. THE SONG OF THE OLDEN TIME.* THERE’s a song of the olden time, Falling sad o’er the ear, Like the dream of some village chime, Which in youth we loved to hear. And even amid the grand and gay, When Music tries her gentlest art, I never hear so sweet a lay, Or one that hangs so round my heart, As that song of the olden time, Falling sad o’er the ear, Like the dream of some village chime, Which in youth we loved to hear. Harli, that dread howling! ‘Tis the wolf prowling,Scent of thy track the foe hath got; And cliff and shore Resound his roar. But courage, boy,tthe danger’s past? Watching eyes have found thee, Loving arms are round thee. Safe hast thou reached thy father’s cot. And when all of this life is gone, Even the hope, lingering now, Like the last of the leaves left on Autumn’s sere and faded bough,‘Twill seem as still those friends were near, Who loved me in youth’s early day, If in that parting hour I hear The same sweet notes, and die away,To that song of the olden time, Breathed like Hope’s farewell strain, To say, in some brighter clime, Life and youth will shine again! THE,RE came a nymph dancing Gracefully, gracefully, Her eye alight glancing Like the blue sea; And while all this gladness Around her steps hung, Such sweet notes of sadness Her gentle lips sung, That ne’er while I live from my mem’ry shall fade The song, or the look, of that young Indian maid. Her zone of bells ringing Cheerily, cheerily, Chimed to her singing Light echos of glee; But in vain did she borrow Of mirth the gay tone, Her voice spoke ot’ sorrow, Andl sorrow alone. Nor e’er while I live f!:on my mem’rI shall fade The son,, or il}e h((a, of that young Indian maid RosE of the Desert! thou, whose blushing ray, Lonely and lovely, fleets unseen away; No hand to cull thee, none to woo thy sigh,In vestal silence left to live and die,Rose of the Desert!

thus should woman be, Shining uncourted, lone and safe, like thee. Rose of the Garden, how unlike thy doom! Destined for others, not thyself, to bloom; Culled ere thy beauty lives through half its day; A moment cherished, and then cast away; Rose of the Garden! such is woman’s lot,Worshipped, while blooming-when she fades, forgot. I 1t, this song, which is one of the many set to music by myself, thie occasi(onal lawvlessness of the metre arises, I need hiardly say, from the pectl ar structure.f the air. i BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. 413 WAKE THEE, MY DEAR. THE

BOY OF THE ALPS. THE YOUNG INDIAN MAID. ROSE OF THE DESERT.

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414 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. FOR THEE ALONE. FOR thee alone I brave the boundless deep, Those eyes my light through ev’ry distant sea; My waking thoughts, the dream that gilds my sleep, The noontide rev’ry, all are given to thee, To thee alone, to thee alone. Though future scenes present to Fancy’s eye Fair forms of light that crowd the distant air, When nearer viewed, the fairy phantoms fly, The crowds dissolve, and thou alone art there, Thou, thou alone. SING to Love-for, oh,‘twas he Who won the glorious day; Strew the wreaths of victory Along the conqu’ror’s way. Yoke the Muses to his car, Let them sing each trophy won; While his mother’s joyous star Shall light the triumph on. Hail to Love, to mighty Love, Let spirits sing around; While the hill, the dale, and grove, With “mighty Love” resound; Or, should a sigh of sorrow steal Amid the sounds thus echoed o’er, ‘Twill but teach the god to feel His victories the more. To win thy smile, I speed from shore to shore, While Hope’s sweet voice is heard in every blast, Still whisp’ring on, that when some years are o’er, One bright reward shall crown my toil at last, Thy smile alone, thy smile alont Oh place beside the transport of that hour All earth can boast of fair, of rich, and bright, Wealth’s radiant mines, the lofty thrones of power Then ask where first thy lover’s choice would light? On thee alone, on thee alone. See his wings, like amethyst Of sunny Ind their nue; Bright as when, by Psyche kist, They trembled through and through. Flowers spring beneath his feet; Angel forms beside him run; While unnumbered lips repeat “Love’s victory is won!” Hail to Love, to mighty Love, &e. HER LAST WORDS, AT PARTING. HER last words, at parting, how can I forget? Deep treasured through life, in my heart they shall stay; Like music, whose charm in the soul lingers yet, When its sounds from the ear have long melted away. Let Fortune assail me, her threat’nings are vain; Those still-breathing words shall my talisman be”Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain, There’s one heart, unchanging, that beats but for thee.” LET’S take this world as some wide scene, Through which, in frail, but buoyant boat, W ith skies now dark and now serene, Together thou and I must float: Beholding oft, on either shore, Bright spots where we should love to stay; But Time plies swift his flying oar, And away we speed, away, away. Should chilling winds and rains come on, We’ll raise our awning’gainst the shower; Sit closer till the storm is gone, And, smiling, wait a sunnier hour. And if that sunnier hour should shine, We’ll know its brightness can not stay, But happy, while’tis thine and mine, Complain not when it fades away. So shall we reach at last that Fall Down which lhfe’s currents all must go, The dark, the brilliant, destined all To sink into the void below. Nor even that hour shall want its charms, If, side by side, still fond we keep, And calmly, in each other’s arms Together linked, go down the steep. From the desert’s sweet well though the pilgrim must hie, Never more of that fresh-springing fountain to taste, He hath still of its bright drops a treasured supply, Whose sweetness lends life to his lips through the waste. So, dark as my fate is still doomed to remain, These words shall my well in the wilderness be”Remember, in absence, in sorrow, and pain, There’s one heart, unchanging, that beats but for thee.” SONG OF HERCULES

TO HIS DAUGHTER.* ” I’VE been, oh, sweet daughter,. To fountain and sea, To seek in their water Some bright gem for thee, Where diamonds were sleeping, Their sparkle I sought, Where crystal was weeping, Its tears I have caught. The sea-nymph I’ve courted In rich coral halls; With Naiads have sported By bright waterfalls. But sportive or tender, Still sought I, around, That gem, with whose splendor Thou yet shalt be crowned. Andl see, while I’m speaking, Yon soft light afar; The pearl I’ve been seeking There floats like a star! In the deep Indian Ocean I see the gem shine. And quick as light’s motion Its wealth shall be thine.” Then eastward, like lightning, The hero-god flew, His sunny looks bright’ning The air he went through. And sweet was the duty, And hallowed the hour, Which saw thus young Beauty Embellished by Power. Founded on the fable reported r,y Arrian (in Indicis) of Ilercules hav!ig searched the Indian Ocean, to find the pearl with whirc’ he ad(,rnd his daughter Pandora. BE still, my heart: I h ear them come: Those sounds announce my lover near: The march that brings our warriors home Proclaims he’ll soon be here. Hark, the distant tread, O’er the mountain’s head, While hills and dales repeat the L-ound; And the forest deer Stand still to hear, As those echoing steps ring round. Be still, my heart, I hear them come, Those sounds that speak my soldier near; Those joyous steps seem winged for home Rest, rest, he’ll soon be here. I t THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 414 LOVE’S VICTORY. LET’S TAKE THIS

WORLD AS SOME WE[)E SCENE. THE HOMEWARD MARCH. But hark, more faint the footsteps grow, And now they wind the distant gladeii, Not here their home-alas! they go To gladden h-,jprier maids! –

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-~ ~ ~ BLAS SOGS ETC 415 Like sounids in a dream, The tbotsteps seem, As down the hills they die away; And the march, whose song So pealed along, Now fades like a funeral lay. ‘Tis past,‘tis o’er-hush, heart, thy pain i And though not here, alas! they come, Rejoice for those, to whom that strain Brings sons and lovers home. CALI be thy sleep as infants’

slumbers! Pure as angel thoughts thy dreams! May ev’ry joy this bright world numbers Shed o’er thee their mingled beams! Or if, where Pleasure’s wing hath glided, There ever must some pang remain, Still be thy lot with,he divided Thine all the bliss, and mine the pain I Day and night my thoughts shall hover Round thy steps where’er they stray; As, even when clouds his idol cover, Fondly the Persian tracks its ray. If this be wrong, if Heaven offend ed By worship to its creature be, Then let my vows to both be blended, Half breathed to Heaven and half to thee WHO has not felt how sadly sweet The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o’er the heart too soon to fleet, When far o’er sea or land we roam? Sunlight more soft may o’er us fall, To greener shores our bark may come; But far more bright, more dear than all, That dream of home, that dream of home. NIGHT waneth fast, the morning star Saddens with light the glimmn’ring sea, Whose waves shall soon to realms afar Waft me from hope, from love, and thee. Coldly the beam from yonder sky Looks o’er the waves that onward stray; But colder still the stranger’s eye To him whose home is far away.

Oh, not at hour so chill and bleak, Let thoughts of me come o’er thy, breast; But of the lost one think and speak, When summer suns sink calm to re st. So, as I wander, Faney’s dream Shall bring me o’er~the sunset seas, Thy look, in ev’ry melting beam, Thy whisper, in each dying breeze. Ask of the sailor youth when far His light bark bounds o’er ocear.‘s foam, What charms him most, when evening’s star Smiles o’er the wave? to dream of home. Fond thoughts of absent friends and loves At that sweet hour around him come; His heart’s best joy, where’er he roves, That dream of home, that dream of home. THEY TELL ME THOU’RT THE FAVORED GUEST.* THEY tell me thou’rt the favored guest, Of every fair and brilliant throng; No wit like thine to wake the jest, No voice like thine to breathe the song; And none could guess, so gay thou art, That thou and I are far apart. Alas! alas’

how diff’rent flows With thee and me the time away! Not that I wish thee sad-Heaven knows Still, if thou canst, be light and gay; I only know, that without thee The sun himself is dark to me. STILL WHEN DAYLIGHT. STILL when daylight o’er the wave Bright and soft its farewell gave, I used to hear, while light was falling, O’er the wave a sweet voice calling, Mournfully at distance calling. Ah! once how blest that maid would come, To meet her sea-boy hast’ning home; And through the night those sounds repeating, Hail his bark with joyous greeting, Joyously his light bark greeting. Do I thus haste to hall and bower, Among the proud and gay to shine? Or deck my hair with gem and flower, To flatter other eyes than thine? Ah! no, with me love’s smiles are past, Thou hadst the first, thou hadst the last. But, one sad night, when winds were high, Nor earth, nor heaven, cotil(l hear her cry, She saw his boat come tossing over Miduight’s wave-but not her lover! No, never more her lover. WAKE UP, SWEET MELODY. And still that sad dream loath to leave, She comes with wand’ring mind at eve, And oft we hear, when night is falling, Faint her voice through twilight calling, M,tir’ffully at twilight calling. THE

SUMMER WEBS. WAK e up, sweet melody! Now is the hour W hen young and loving hearts Feel most thy power. One note of music, by moonlight’s soft rayOh,‘tis worth thousands heard coldly by day. Then wake up, sweet melody! Now is the hour When young and loving hearts Feel most thy power.

THE summer webs that float and shine, The summer dews that fall, Though light they be, this heart of mine Is lighter still than all. It tells me every cloud is past Which lately seemed to lour; That Hope hath wed young Joy at lasts And now’s their nuptial hour! Ask the fond nightingale, W hen his sweet flower Loves most to hear his song, In he r g reen bower?ln O h, he will tell thee, through summer-nights long, Fondest she lends her w hole s oul to his song. T hen wake up, sweet melo dy! Now is the hou r When young and loving hearts Feel most thy power. With light thus round, within, above, With naught to wake one sigh, Except the wish, that all we love Were at this moment nighIt seems as if life’s brilliant sun Had stopped in fill career, To make this hour its b)rightest one, Anl rest in radiance here. ~Part of a trarisiation of s,,ne l,-tin verses. supposed to haveH o n been ad dressed by Ifipp,oIt Tauire!la to her husband, during his absence at the (ay cmurt )f Leo X. The verses may be found in X appendix to Roscoe’s work. I 3,kLLADS, SONGS, ETC. 415 CALM BE THY SLEEP.

THE DREAM OF HOME. THE EXILE.

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4 ii TEMRORLBAY THEY MET BUT ONCE. THEY met but once, in youth’s sweet har, And never since that day Hath absence, time, or grief had power To chase that dream away. They’ve seen the suns of other skies, On other shores have sought delight; But never more, to bless their eyes, Can come a dream so bright! They met but once-a day was all Of Love’s young hopes they knew; And still their hearts that day recall As fresh as then it flew. COME, maids and youths, for here we sell All wondrous things of earth and air; Whatever wild romancers tell, Or poets sing, or lovers swear, You’ll find at this our Fancy Fair. Here eyes are made like stars to shine, And kept, for years, in such repair, That even when turned of thirty-nine, They’ll hardly look the worse for wear, If bought at this our Fancy Fair. We’ve lots of tears for bards to shower, And hearts that such ill usage bear, That, though they’re broken ev’ry hour, They’ll still in rhyme fresh breaking bear, If purchased at our Fancy Fair. As fashions change in everything, We’ve goods to suit each season’s air, Eternal friendships for the spring, And endless loves for summer wear All sold at this our Fancy Fair. Sweet dream of youth! oh, ne’er again Let either meet the brow They left so smooth and smiling then, Or see what it is now. For, Youth, the spell was only thine; From thee alone the enchantment flows, That makes the world around thee shine With light thyself bestows. They met but once-oh, ne’er again Let either meet the brow They left so smooth and smiling then, Or see what it is now. We’ve reputations white as snow, That long will last, if used with care, Nay, safe through all life’s journey go, If packed and marked as “brittle ware” Just purchased at the Fancy Fair. WITH MOONLIGHT BEAMING. D RHOU WOULDST HAVE ME SING AND PLAY.

IF thou wouldst have me sing and play, As once I played and sung, First take this time-worn lute away, And bring one freshly strung. Call back the time when pleasure’s sigh First breathed among the strings; And Time himself, in flitting by, Made music -with his wings. But how is this?

though new the lute, And shining fresh the chords, Beneath this hand they slumber mute, Or speak but dreamy words. In vain I seek the soul that dwelt Within that once sweet shell, Which told so warmly what it felt, And felt what naught could tell. To halls of splendor Let great ones hie; Through light more tender Our pathways lie. While round, from banks of brook or lake, Our company blithe echoes make; And, as we lend’em Sweet word or strain, Still back they send’em, More sweet, again. Oh, ask not then for passion’s lay, From lyre so coldly strung; With this I ne’er can sing or play, As once I played and sung. No, bring that long-loved lute again Though chilled by years it be, If thou wilt call the slumb’ring strain, ‘Twill wake again for thee. Though time have frozen the tuneful stream Of thoughts that gushed along, One look from thee, like summer’s beam, Will thlaw them into song. Then give, oh give, that wak’ning ray, And once more blithe and young, Thy bard again will sing and play, As once he played and sung. Then from the green recess Of her night-bower, Beaming with bashfulness, Spoke the bright flower:,, Though morn should lend her Its sunniest splendor, What would the Rose be, Unsung by thee?” MIND NOT

THOUGH DAYLIGHT. MIND) not though daylight around us is breakingWho’d think now of sleeping when morn’s but just waking I Sound the merry viol, and daylight or not, Be all for one hour in the gay dance forgot. See young Aurora, up heaven’s hill advancing, Though fresh from her pillow, even she too is dancing: While thus all creation, earth, heaven, and sea, Are dancing around us, oh, why should not we? Who’ll say that moments we use thus are wasted? bich sweet drops of time only flow to be tasted; While hearts are high bealing, and harps full in tulle, The fult is all morning’s for comingi so soon. 41 ” THE MIRROR LIBRARY. THE FANCY FAIR.

WITH moonlight beaming Thus o’er the deep, Who’d linger dreaming In idle sleep? Leave joyless souls to live by dayOur life begins with yonder ray; And while thus brightly The moments flee, Our barks skim lightly The shining sea. BEAUTY AND SONG. Do’wN in yon summer vale, Where the rill flows, Thus said a Nightinp,,all, To his loved Rose:“Though rich the pleasures Of song’s sweet measures, Vain were its melody, 31 Rose, without thee. Thus still let Son- attend Woman’s bright way: Thus still let woman lend Light to the ray. Like stars, through beaven’s sea, Floating in harmony, Beauty shall glide alon-,I Circled by Song.

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BALLI,ADS, SONGS, ET’C. CHILD’S SON-G. FROM A MASQUE. While, plunging deep and long beneath, The other bathes him o’er and o’er In that sweet current, even to death: Then, tell me which, Tell me which shall we adore?

[ HAv-E a garden of my own, Shining with flow-ers of every hue; I loved it dearly while alone, But I shall love it more with you: And there ihe gotl;ten bees shall come, In suminmer-time at break of morn, And wake us with their busy hum Around the Siha’s fragrant thorn. The boy of heaven, even while he lies In Beauty’s lap, recalls his home; And when most happy, inly sighs For something happier still to come. While he of earth, too fully blest With this bright world to dream of more, Sees all his heaven on Beauty’s breast: Then, tell me which, Tell me which shall we adore? The maid who heard the poet sing These twin-desires of earth and sky, And saw, while one inspired his string, The other glistened in his eyeTo name the earthlier boy ashamed, To choose the other fondly loath, At length, all blushing, she exclaimed “Ask not which, Oh, ask not which-we’ll worship both. I have a fawn from Aden’s land, On leafy buds and berries nurst; And you shall feed him from your hand Though he may start with fear at first.

And I will lead you where he lies For shlelter in the noontide heat; And you oiay touch his sleeping eyes, And feel his little silv’ry feet. THE

HALCYON HANGS O’ER OCEAN. THE halcyon hangs o’er ocean, The sea-larkl sk ims the brine; Thiis bright world’s all in motion, No heart seems sad but mine. To walk through sunbright places, With heart all cold the while; To look in smiling faces, When we no more can smile; Th’ extremes of each thus taught to shun, With hearts and souls between them given, When weary of this earth with one, We’ll with the other wing to heaven.” Thus pledged the maid her vow of bliss; And while one Love wrote down the oath, The other sealed it with a kiss; And Heaven looked on, Heaven looked on, and hallowed both. To feel, while earth and heaven Around thee shine wth bliss, To thee no light is given Oh, what a doom is this I THE LEGEND OF

PUCK THE FAIRY. WOULDST know what tricks, by the pale moonlight, Are played by me, the merry little Sprite, Who wing through air from the camp to the court, From king to clown, and of all make sport; Singing, I am the Sprite Of the merry midnight, Who laugh at weak mortals, and love the moonlight. THE WORLD WAS I[UJSHED. THE world was hrushed, the moon above Sailed through ether slowly; When, near the casement of my love, Thus I whispered lowly: ‘Awalke, awake, how canst thou sleep? The field I seek to-morrow Is one where man hath fame to reap, And woman gleans but sorrow.” Let battle’s gield be what it O iay,” Thus spoke a voice replying,, “,Th ink not thy l ove, while thou’rt away, Will here sit idly sighing. No-woma n’s soul, if not for fam e, For lov e can bra te all danger!” Then forth from out the casem ent c ame A plumed and armed stranger. A stranger? No:‘twas she, the maid, Herself before me beaming, With casque arrayed, and falchion blade Beneath her girdle gleaming! Close side by side, in freedom’s fight, That blessed morning found us; In ~iet’ry’s light we stood ere night, And Love, the morrow, crowned us I To a miser’s bed, where he snoring slept, And dreamt of his cash, I slyly crept; Chink, chink o’er his pillow like money I rang, And he waked to catch-but away I sprang, Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. I saw through the leaves, in a damsel’s bower: She was waiting her iove at that starlight hour: ,,“Hist-hist!” quoth I, with an amorous sigh, And she flew to the door, but away flew I, Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. While a bard sat inditing an ode to his love, Like a pair of blue meteors I stared from above, And he swooned-for he thought’twas the ghost, po man! Of his lady’s eyes, while away I ran, Singing, I am the Sprite, &e. WHEN thou art nigh, it seems A new creation round; The sun hath fairer beams, The lute a softer sound. Though thee alone I see, And hear alone thy sigh, ‘Tis light,‘tis song to me, ‘Tis all-when thou art nigh. When thou art nigh, no thought Of grief comes o’er my heart; I only think-could aught But joy be where thou art? Life seems a waste of breath, When far from thee I sigh; And death-‘ay, even death Were sweet, if thou wert nigh. THERFr. are two loved, the poet sings, Both born of Pr-auty at a birth: The one, akin,-, heaven, hath wings, The other, earthly, walks on earth. With this’,Srough bowers below we play, With!fat through clouds above we soar; With both, perchance, may lose our way: Then, tell me which, ‘1 ell me which shall we adore? The one, when tempted down from air, A t Pleasutre’s f(ant to lave his lip, Nor lingers long, nor oft will dare His wing within the wave to dip.. i I I I I i 417 WHEN THOU ART NIGH. THE TWO LOVES.

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418 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. SONG OF A HYPERBOREAN. ROUND THE WORLD GOES. I comE from a land in the sun-bright deep, Where golden gardens grow; Where the winds of the north, becalmed in sleep, Their conch-shells never blow.*

Haste to that holy Isle with me, Haste-haste! ROUND the world goes, by day and night, While with it also round go we; An d i n the flight of one day’s light An image of all life’s course we see. Round, round, while thus we go round, The best thing a man can do, I s to make it, at least, a merry-go-round, By-send ing the wine round too. Our first gay stage o f lif te is when Youth, in its dawn, salutes the e ye Season of bliss! Oh, who wouldn’t then Wish to cry, ” Stop!” to earth and sky? But, round, round, both boy and girl Are whisked through that sky of blue; And much would their hearts enjoy the wha rl, If-the ir heads didn’t whirl round too. Next, we enjoy our glorious noon, Thinking all life a life of light; But shadows come on,‘tis evening soon, And, ere we can say, ” How short!”-‘tis ni hL Round, round, still all goes round, Even while I’m thus singing to you; And the best way to make it a merry-go-rouad, Is to-chorus my song round too. OH, DO NOT LOOK SO BRIGHT AND B. iLg OH, do not look so bright and bleat, For still there comes a fear, When brow like thine looks happiest, That grief is then most near. There lurks a dread in all delight, A shadow r.ear each ray, That warns us then to fear their flight, When most we wish their stay. Then look not thou so bright and blest, For ah! there comes a fear, When brow like thine looks happiest, That grief is then most near. Why is it thus that fairest things The soonest fleet and die? That when most light is on their wings, They’re then but spread to fly I And, sadder still, the pain will stay The bliss no more appears; As rainbows take their light away, And leave us but the tears! Then look not thou so bright and blest. For ah! there comes a fear, When brow like thine looks happiest, That grief is th”n most near. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. So near the track of the stars are we,t That oft, on night’s pale beams, The distant sounds of their harmony Come to our ears, like dreams. Then, haste to that holy Isle with me, &c., &c. The Moon, too, brings her world so nigh,t That when the night-seer looks To that shadowless orb, in a vernal sky, He can number its hills and brooks. Then, haste, &c., &c. To the Sun-god all our hearts and lyresll By day, by night, belong; And the breath we draw from his living fires, We give him back in song. Then, haste, &c., &e. From us descends the maid who brings To Delos gifts divine; And our wild bees lend their rainbow wings To glitter on Delphi’s shrine.~ Then, haste to that holy Isle with me, Haste-haste! THou bidst me sing the lay I sung to thee In other days, ere joy had left this brow; But think though still unchanged the notes may be, How diff’rent feels the heart that breathes them now I T’he rose thou wear’st to-night is still the same We saw this morning on its stem so gay;. But, ah! that dew of dawn, that breath which came Like life o’er all its leaves, hath passed away. Since first that music touched thy heart and mine, How many a joy and pain o’er both have past- The joy, a light too precious long to shine, The pain, a cloud whose shadows always last. And though that lay would like the voice of home Breathe o’er our ear,‘twould waken now a sighAh!

not, as then, for fancied woes to come, But, sadder far, for real bliss gone by. CUPID ARMED. PLACE the helm on thy brow, In thy hand take the spear; Thou art armed, Cupid, now, And thy battle-hour is near. March on!

march on! thy shaft and bowT Were weak against such charms; March on!

march on! so proud a foe Scorns all but martial arms. FLY swift, my light gazelle, To her who now lies waking. To hear thy silver bell The midnight silence breaking. And, when thou coinest, with gladsome feet, Beneath her lattice soringing, Ah, well she’ll know how sweet The words of love thou’rt bringing. Yet, no-not words, f or they But half can tell love’s feeling; Sweet flowers alone can say What passion fears revealing, A once bright rose’s withered leaf, A tow’ring lily broken Oh these may paint a grief No words could e’er have spoken. Not such, my gay gazelle, The wreath thou speedest over Yon moonlight dale, to tell My lady how I love her. And, what to her will sweeter be Than gems the richest, rarest, From Trtith’s immortal tree* One fadeless le,-f thou bearest. * The tree.

cllted ins the East, Amrlta or the Immortal See the darts in her eyes, Tipt with scorn, how they shine! * Ev’ry shaft, as it flies, Mocking proudly at thine. March on! march on! thy feathered darts Soft bosoms soon might move; But ruder arms to ruder hearts Must teach what’tis to love.

Place the helm on thy brow; In thy hand take the spear Thou art armed, Cupid, now, And thy battle-hour is near. ‘ tn the Tower of the Winds, at Athens, there is a concn-sneY DIJtcli in the hands of Boreas.-See ”

Stuart’s Antiquities.” “TIhe north wind,” says Ilerodotus, in speaking of the Hyperboeans. “never blows with them.” t” Sub ipso siderum cardine jacent.”-POM PON. ME A. “They can show the moon very near.”-DIODORUS

SICULUS. U lecat,eus tells us that this lIvperborean island was dedicated m Apollo; and most of the inhabitants were either priests or ‘ongster- t Pausan. THOU BIDST ME SING.

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BALLADS, SONGS, ETC. THE MUSICAL BOX. LOOK here,” said Rose, with laughing eyes, ” Within this box, by magic hid, A tuneful Sprite imprisoned lies, Who sings to me whene’er he’s bid. Though roving once his voice and wing, He’ll now lie still the whole day long; T’rill thus I touch the magic spring  Then hark, how sweet and blithe his song!” (,/ symphony.) That light we thought would last, Behold, e’en now,‘tis past; And all our morning dreams Have vanished with its beams I But come!‘twere vain to borrow Sad lessons from this lay, For man will be to-morrow Just what he’s been to-day. YOUNG LOVE. “Ah, Rose,” I cried, “the poet’s lay Must ne’er e’en Beauty’s slave become; Through earth and air his so)ng may stray, If all the while his heart’s at home. And though in Freedora’s air he dwell, Nor bond nor chain his spirit knows, Touch but the spring thou know’st so well, And-hark, how sweet the love-song flows!” (,I1 syrnphoty.) YouNo Love lived onc e in an humble shed, Where roses breathing, A nd woodbines wreathing Around the lattice t hei r tendrils spread, As wil ad and swee t as the life he led. His garden flourished, For young Hope nourished The infant buds with beams and showers; But lips, though blooming, must still be fed, Aind not even Love can live on flowers. Alas! that Poverty’s evil’eye Should e’er come hither, Stich sweets to wither! The flowers laid down their heads to die, And Hope fell sick as the witch drew nigh. She came one morning, Ere Love had warning, And raised the latch, where the young god lay; “Oh ho!” said Love-” is it you? good-by;” So he he ope’d the window, and flew away I Thus pleaded I for Freedom’s right; But when young Beauty takes the field, And wise men seek defence in flight, Thle doom of poets is to yield. No more nmy heart the enchantress braves, I’mri now in Beauty’s prison hid; The Sprite and I are fellow-slaves, And I, too, sing wh’ene’er I’m bid. WHEN‘10 SAD MUSIC SILENT YOU LISTEN. WHEN to sad music silent you listen, And1 tears on tlose eyelids tremble like dew, Oh, then there ( vells in those eyes as they glisten A sweet hold charm that mirth never knew. But when so:.e lively strain resounding Lights up the sunshine of joy on that brow, Then the young reindeer o’er the hills bounding Was ne’er in its mirth so graceful as thou. When on the skies at midnight thou gazest, A lustre so pure thy features then wear, That, when to some star that b)ri,ght eye thou raisest, We feel’tis thy home thou’rt looking for there. But, when the word for the gay (dance is given, So buoyant thy spirit, so heartfelt thy mirth, ‘)h then we exclaim,‘Ne’er leave earth for heaven, But linger still here, to make heaven of earth.”

To keep one sacred flame, Through life unchilled, unmoved, To love, il wintry age, the same As first in youth we loved; To feel that we adore, Even to such fon d excess, That, though the heart would break with mwre It could not live with less. This is love, faithful love, Such as saints might feel above. THE DAWNN IS BREAKING O’ER US. THE dawn is breaking o’er us, See, heaven hath caught its hue! We’ve day’s long light baf,re us, What sport shall we pursue a The hunt o’er hill and lee? The sail o’er summer sea? Oh let not hour so sweet Unwintte l by pleasure fleet. The dawn is breaking o’er us, See, heaven hath caught its hue; We’ve day’s long light before us, What sport shall we pursue? But see, while we’re deciding, What morning sport to play, The dial’s hand is gliding, And morn hath passed away! Ah, who’d have thought that noon Would o’er us steal so soonThat morn’s sweet hour of prime Would last so short a time? But come, we’ve day before us, Still heaven looks bright and blue Quick, quick, ere eve come o’er us, What sport shall we pursue? SPIRIT OF JOY. SPIRIT of Joy, thy altar lies In youthful hearts that hope like mine; And’tis the light of laughing eyes, That leads us to thy fairy shrine. There if we find the sigh, the tear, They are not those to Sorrow known; But breath so soft, and drops so clear, That Bliss may claim them for her own. Then give me, give me, while I weep, The sanguine hope that brightens wo, And teaches even our tears to keep The tinye of pleasure as they flow. The child, who sees the dewv of night Upon the spangled hedge at morn, Attempts to catch the drops of light, But wounds his finger with the thorn. Thus oft the brightest joys we seek, Are lost, when touched, and turnet to pain; The flush they kindled leaves the cheek, The tears they wakenlong remain. OBut give me, give me, &c., &c .I i 4i Z’ TO SIGH, YET

FEEL NO PAIN. To sigh, yet feel no pain, To weep, yet scarce know why; To sport an hour with Beauty’s chain, Then throw it idly by. To kneel at many a shrine, Yet lay the heart on none; To think all other charms divine, But those we just have won. This is love, f-,iitbless love, Stich as kindleth hearts that rove. Alas! why thus delaying? We’re n,)w c-tt ev’enin-7,‘s hour; Its farewell be,-im is playin(z O’er hill -ind “,,-tve ani bower.

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42 riIIE M1RROI lIBRARY. WHEN LEILA TOUCHED THE LUTE. WHEN Leila touched the lute, Not then alone’twas felt, But. when the sounds were mute, In memory still they dwelt. Sweet lute! in nightly slumbers Still we heard thy morning numbers A LOTTERY, a lottery, In Cupid’s Court there used to be; Two roguish eyes T he high est prize In Cupid’s scheming Ibottery; And kis ses, too, As good as n ew, Which weren’t very h ard to win, For he, wh o won The eyes of fun, Was sure to have the kisses in. A Lottery, a Lottery, &c. This Lottery, this Lottery, In Cupid’s Court went merrily, And Cupid played A Jewish trade In this his scheming Lottery; For hearts, we’re told, In shares he sold To many a fond believing drone, And cut the hearts So well in parts, That each believed the whole his own. Ckorus.-A Lottery, a Lottery, In Cupid’s Court there used to be; Two roguish eyes The highest prize In Cupid’s scheming Lottery. kh! how could she, who stole Such breath from simple wire, Be led, in pride of soul, To string with gold her lyre? Sweet lute! thy chords she breaketh; Golden now the strings she waketh? But where are all the tales Her lute so sweetly told?

In lofty themes she fails, And soft ones suit not gold. Rich lute! w e see thee glisten, But, alas! no more we listen! BOAT GLEE. THE song that lightens our languid way When brows are glowing, And faint with rowing, Is like the spell of Hope’s airy lay, To whose sound through life we stray.

The beams that flash on the oar awhile, As we row along through waves so clear, Illume its spray, like the fleeting smile That shines o’er Sorrow’s tear. Nothing is lost on him who sees With an eye that feeling gave; For him there’s a story in every breeze, And a picture in every wave. Then sing to lighten the languid way; When brows are glowing, And faint with rowing: ‘Tis like the spell of Hope’s airy lay, To whose sound through life we stray. The streamlet frozen on its way, To feed the marble Founts of Kings, Now, loosened by the vernal ray, Upon its path exulting springsAs doth this bounding heart to thee, My ever blissful Maami! OH

THINK, WHEN A HERO IS SIGHING. OH think, when a hero is sighing,A What danger in such an adorer! What woman could dream of denyingM The hand that lays laurels before her? No heart is so guarded around, But the smile of a victor would take it; No bosom can slumber so sound, But the trumpet of Glory will wake it. Such bright hours werente not made to stay I Enough if they a while remain, Like Irem’s bowers, that fade away, From time to time, and come again. And life shall all one Irem be For us, my gentle Maami! Oh haste, for this impatient heart Is like the rose in Yemen’s vale, That rends its inmost leaves apart With passion for the nightingale; So languishes this soul for thee, My bright and blushing Maami I Love sometimes is given to sleeping, And wo to the heart that allows him; For soon neither smiling nor weeping Will e’er from such slumber arouse him. B t though he were sleeping so fast, That the life almost seemed to forsake him, Even then, one soul-thrilling blast From the trumpet of Glory would wake him. LOVE AND HYMEN. THOIUGH sacred the tie that our country entwineth, And dear to the heart her remembrance remains, Yet dark are the ties where no liberty shineth, And sad the remembrance that slavery stains. Oh Liberty, born in the cot of the peasant, But dying of languor in luxury’s dome, Our vision, when absentour glory, when present Where thou art, O Liberty! there is my home. Farewell to the land where in childhood I wandered! In vain is she mighty, in vain is she brave; Unblessed is the blood that for tyrants is squandered, And Fame has no wreaths for the brow of the slave. But hail to thee, Albion! who mneet’st the commotion Of Europe, as calmn as thy cliffs meet the foam; With no bonds but the law, and no slave but the ocean, Hail, T,mnple of’Liberty!

thou art mny home.T ” Soi:~-.!n thi, character of a French.,,ar, T o le t him pine so w ere a sin; One, to whom all the world’s a debtorSo Doctor Hymen was called in, And Love that night slept rather better. After a mronth of datilv call, So fast the dose wvent on restoring, That Love, who first ne’er slept at all, Now took, thea! to, downright snorig. I I I I i, I’HE MlItItOlt I-,IBRARY. 420 CUPIDIS LOTTERY. GAZEL. HALTF,, Maami, the spring is nigh; Already, in thl unopened flower,,; That sleep around us, Faney’s eye Can see the blush of future bowers; And joy it brings to theeand me, My own beloved Maami! SONG.’ LovF, had a fever-ne’er could close His little eyes till day was breaking; And wild and stran,-e enough, Heaven knows, The tbings be raved about wliile waking. Next day the case,ave further hope yet, Though still some ugly fever latent;,, Dose, as before” gentle opitite, For which old Hymen has a patent.

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SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANT’IOLOGY. SONGS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY Here, to this conquering host of charms I now give up my spell-bound heart, Nor blush to yield e’en Reason’s arms, When thou her bright-eyed conqueror art. Thus to the wind all fears are given; Henceforth those eyes alone I see, Where Hope, as in her own blue heaven, Sits beck’ning me to bliss and thee! HEnRE, at thy tomb, these tears I shed, Tears, which though vainly now they roll, Arc all love hath to give the dead, And wept o’er thee with all love’s soul; Wept in remembrance of that light, Which naught on earth, without thee, gives, Hope of my heart! now quenched in night, But dearer, dead, than aught that lives. Where is she? where the blooming bough That onc e my life’s sol e lu stre made? Torn off by death,‘tis withering now, And all its flowers in dust are laid. WHO’LL buy a little boy? Look, yonder is he, Fast asleep, sly rogue, on his mother’s knee; So bold a young imp’tisn’t safe to keel), So I’ll part with him now, while he’s sound asleep See his arch little nose, how sharp’tis curled, His wings, too, even in sleep unfurled; And those fingers, which still ever ready are found For mirth or for mischief, to tickle, or wound. He’ll try with his tears your heart to beguile, But never you mind-he’s laughing all the while, For little he cares, so he has his own whim, And weeping or laughing are all one to him. His eye is a n s keen as the lightning’s flash, His tongue like the red bolt quick and rash; And so savage is he, that his own dear mother, Is scarce more safe in his hands than another.

In short, to sum up this darling’s praise, He’s a downright pest in all sorts of wavs; And if any one wants such an imp to employ, He shall have a (lead bargain of this little boy. But see, the boy walkes his bright tears flowHis eyes seem to ask coulh I sell him? oh no, Sweet child no, no-though so naughty you be, You shall live evermore with my Lesbia and me. BY PHILODEMIUS. Mly Mopsa is little, my Mopsa is brown, But her cheek is as smooth as the peach’s soft down, And, for blushing, no rose can come near her; In short she has woven such nets round my heart, That I ne’er from my dear little Mopsa can part, Unless I can find one that’s dearer.

Her voice hath a music that dwells on th e ebr, And her eye from its orb gives a daylight so clear, That I’m dazzled whenever I meet her; Her ringlets, so curly, are Cupid’s own net, And her lips, oh their sweetness I ne’er shall forget Till I light upon lips that are sweeter. But’tis no!

her beauty that charms me alone ‘Tis her mind,‘tis that language whose eloquent tone From the depths of the grave could revive one; In short, here I swear, that if death were her doom, I would instantly join my dead love in the tomb Unless I could meet with a live one. ‘TWINEST THOU WITH

LOFTY WREATHII THIY BROW?t TWIN’ST thou with lofty wreath thy brow? Such glory then thy beauty sheds, I almost think, while awed I bow, ‘Tis Rhea’s self before me treads. Be what thou wilt-this heart Adores ws hate’er thou art! TO WEAVE A GARLAND FOR THE ROSE.’ BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. To weave a garland for the rose, And think thus crowned’twould lovelier be, Were far less vain than to suppose That silks and gems add grace to thee. Where is the pearl whose orient lustre Woull not, besid(e thee, look less bright?

What gold could match the glossy cluster Of those young ringlets full of light? Bring from the land, where fresh it gleams, The bright blue gem of India’s mine, And see how soon, though bright its beams, ‘Twill pale before one glance of thine; Those lips, too, when their soulds have blest us With some divine, mellifluous air, Who would not say that Beauty’s cestus Had let loose all its witceh’ries there? A E’en when, enwrapped in silv’ry veils,: Those sunny locks elude the sightOh, not e’en then their glory fails To haunt me with its unseen light. Change as thy beauty may, It chcarms in every way. Fes, then the Graces still attend, Presiding o’er each new attire, And lending every dart they send Some new, peculiar touch of fire. B3e what thou wilt-this heart Adores whate’er thou art! M,,opa.

BRUNCK. t} yrglT)[ o1’. tUNC,. ivii. * BU,eCK o Kal at parpop 6rs’,Korroll KaOe,.)v. Ap. BRUrNCK. Analect. xcv. t KsN:opa.ot ar:yyovtt ref, rptya,; Ap. BRUNCK. Xxxiv. tHAp);a:.’ aKT o.ovlr,L,arrlopa 9 “ooTn’:Xa KCeOazc I I 421 HERE AT THY TOMB.” I BY MELEAGER. 0 SALE OF CLTPID.1 BY MELEAGER. Oh earth! that to thy matron breast Hast taken all those angel charms, Gently, I pray thee, let her rest C.‘ently, as in a mother’s arms. MY

MOPSA IS LITTLE.F BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. Dost thou thy loosened ringlets leave, Like sunny waves to wander free? Then, such a chain of charms they weave, As draws my inmost sou’ from me. Do what thou wilt-I must Be charmed by all thou dost! q ,.t b HOC‘15 EPtl i I

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. WHEN THE SAD WORD.* Who’d stay on land to-day? The very flowers Would from their bowers Delight t o wing away! Leave languid youths to pine On silken pillows, Bi be the billows Of the great deep thine. Hark, to the sail the breese sings, “‘Let us fly;” While soft the sail, replying to the breeze, Says, with a yielding sigh, ” Yes, where you please.” Up, boy! the wind, the ray, The blue sky o’er thee, The deep before thee, Al..-,r aloud, ” Away!” WHEN the sad word, “Adieu,” from my lip is nigh falling, And with it Hope passes away, Ere the tongue hath half breathed it, my fond heart recalling That fatal farewell, bids me stay. For oh!‘tis a penance so weary One hour fromn thy presence to be, That death to this soul were less dreary, Less dark than long absence from thee. Thy beauty, like Day, o’er the dull world breaking, Brings life to the heart it shines o’er, And, in mine, a new feeling of happiness waking Made light what was darkness before. But mute is the Day’s sunny glory, While thine hath a v Jce,t on whose breath, More sweet than than the Syren’s sweet story,; My hopes hang, through life and through death! IN myrtle wreaths my votive sword I’ll cover, Like them of old whose one immortal blow Struck off the galling fetters that hung over Their own bright land, and laid her tyrant low. Yes, loved Harmodius, thou’rt undying; Still midst the brave and free, In isles, o’er ocean lying, Thy home shall ever be. STILL, LIKE DEW IN SILENCE FALLING.1 BY MELEAGER.

STILL, like dew in silence falling, Drops for thee the nightly tear; Still that voice the past recalling, Dwells, like echo, on my ear, Still, still!

In myrtle cleaves my sword shall hide its lightning, Like his, the youth, whose ever-glorious blade Leaped forth like flame, the midnight banquet bright’ning, And in the dust a despot victim laid. Blest youths, how bright in Freedom’s story Your wedded names shall be; A tyrant’s death your glory, Your meed, a nation free! Day and night the spell hangs o’er me, Here for ever fixed thou art; As thy form first shone before me, So’tis graven on this heart, Deep, deep! Love, oh Love, whose bitter sweetness, Dooms me to this lasting pain, Thou who cam’st with so much fleetness, Why so slow to go again?~ Why? why? WHY does she so long delay?

Night is waning fast away; Thrice have I my lamp renewed, Watching here in solitude. Where can she so long delay? Where, so long delay? UP, SAILOR

BOY,’TIS DAY. Up, sailor boy,‘tis day! The west wind blowing, The spring tide flowing, Summon thee hence awavy. Didst thou not hear yon soaring swallow sing? Chirp, chirp,-in every note he seemed to say ‘Tis Spring,‘tis Spring. Up, boy, away, “x5 A~(eo ar,t, [sXXsv ~eyeet.. Ap.

BRUNCK. XxXIX. H HyaTr yap aeo A.yy~ BltOt V. aoes ro flev aso iyya ~ aA~a TO filY ro-a AcpOoyyov. Ev’ eatos ral ro T a)XtI/a rp~LNs KE,o, ro L~qp,V v 7XVEKVEpr1pOv. 11~e Atsto, &, tve,t e,V o..a,. v Xoc Epxoro;. Ap.

BRuNc~. lift. ~ r rravot, lrt Ka 7orv’ et TrraaOlat lVcT EpwgOrT O0,ar’, a’rorrrivat d’ ovJ’ baor laxret. Vainly now have two lamps shone; See the third is nearly gone;1 Oh that Love would, like the ray Of that weary lamp, decay! But no, alas, it burns still on, Still, still, burns on.

Gods, how oft the traitress dear Swore, by Venus, she’d be here! But to one so false as she What is man or deity? Neither doth this proud one fear, No, neither doth she fear. A A70vve, K~eo,pavr,~. Ap. BRUNct.

xxviii. 0t’o. O prtrog apXe~rat tTO AvX,o,; VroKasetv. UNPUBLISHED SONGS, ETC. Not from thee the wound should come, Oh, not from thee. I care not what, or whence, my doom, So not from thee. NOT FROM THEE. NOT from thee the wound should come, No, not from thee. I care not what, or whence, my doom, So not from thee! Cold triumph! first to make This heart thy own; And then the mirror break Where fixed thou shinest alone. I i l i 422 BY

PAUL, THE srLENTIARY. IN MYRTLE WREATHS. BY ALCEUS. WHY DOES SHE SO LONG

DELAY?” BY PAUL, THE SILENTIARY. Yet no-my lips that wish recall; From thee, from tbee If ruin o’er this hea(l must fall, ‘Twill welcome be.

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UNPUBI~hE POM,EC 2 Here to the blade I bare This faithful heart; Wound deepthou’lt find that there, In every pulse thou art. Yes from thee I’ll bear it all; If ruin be The do om t hat o’er this heart must fall, ‘Twerc sweet from thee. Awake thee, bo y, awake thee, boy, Too long thy soul is sleeping; And thou mayest from this minute’s joy Wake to eternal weeping.

Oh, think, this world is not for thee; Though hard its links to sever; Though sweet and bright and dear they be, Break, or thou’rt lost for ever.

THE RUSSIAN LOVER. FLEETLY o’er the moonlight snows Speed we to my lady’s bower; Swift our sledge as lightning goes, Nor shall stop till morning’s hour. Bright, my steed, the northern star Lights us from yon jewelled skies; But, to greet us, brighter far, Morn shall bring my lady’s eyes.

Lovers, lulled in sunny bowers, Sleeping out their dream of time, Know not half the bliss that’s ours, In this snowy, icy clime. Like yon star that livelier gleams From the frosty heavens around, Love himself the keener beams When with snows of coyness crowned. Fleet then on, my merry steed, Bound, my sledge, o’er hill and dale;What can match a lover’s speed?

See,‘tis daylight, breaking pale! Brightly hath the northern star Lit us from yon radiant skies; But, behold, how brighter far Yonder shine my lady’s eyes I I LOVE a maid, a mystic maid, Whose form no eyes but mine can see; She comes in light, she comes in shade, And beautiful in both is she. Her shape in direams I oft behold, And oft she whispers in my ear Such words as when to others told, Awake the sigh, or wring the tear;Then guess, guess, who she, The lady of my love, may be. I find the lustre of her brow, Come o’er me in my darkest ways; And feel as if her voice, even now, Were echoing far off my lays. There is no scene of joy or wo But she doth gild with influence bright; And shed o’er all so rich a glow, As makes even tears seem full of light; Then guess, guess, who she, Tile ladty of my love, may be. ASK NOT IF STILL I LOVE. AsK not if still I love, Too plain these eyes have told thee; Too well their tears must prove How near and dear I hold thee. If, where the brightest shine, To see no form but thine, To feel that earth can show No bliss above thee,If this be love, then know Tha-t thu-s, that thus, I love thee. BRIGHT MOON. BRIGHT moon, that high in heaven art shining, All smiles, as if within thy bower to-night Thy own Endymion lay reclining, And thou wouldst wake him with a kiss of light.By all the bliss thy beam discovers, By all those visions far too bright for day, Which dreaming bards and waking lovers Behold, this night, beneath thy ling’ring rayI pray thee, queen of that bright heaven, Quench not to-night thy love-lamp in the sea, Till Anthe, in this bower, hath given Beneath thy beam, her long-vowed kiss to me. Guide hither, guide her steps benighted, Ere thou, sweet noon, thy bashful crescent hide; Let Love but in this bower be lighted, Then shroud in darkness all the world beside. ‘Tis not in pleasure’s idle hour That thou canst know affection’s power. No, try its strength in grief or pain; Attempt, as now, its bonds to sever, Thou’lt find true love’s a chain That bin:Is {or ever! D:AR? yes, though mine no more, Even this but makes thee dearer; And love, since hope is o’er, BEtt draws thee nearer. Change as thou wilt to me, The same thy chlarm must be; New loves may come to weave Their witclthery o’er thee, Yet still, th,,ugh false, believe That I adore thee, yes, still adore thee. Thiinkst thou that aught but death could end A tie not falsehood’s self can rend O No, when alone, far off I die, No more to see, no more caress tlhee, Even then, my life’s last sigh Shall be to bless thee, yes, still to ble.- thee & LoNG years have passed, old friend, since we First m et i n life’s young day; And friends long loved by thee and me, Since then have dropped away;But enough remain to cheer us on, And sweeten, when thus we’re met, Th e glass we fi ll to the many gone, And the few who’re left us yet. Our locks, old friend, now thinly grow, And some hang white and chill; While some, like flowers’mid Autumn’s snow, Retain youth’s color still. And so, in our hearts, though one by one, Youth’s sunny hopes have set, Thank Heaven, not all their light is gone We’ve some to cheer us yet. Then here’s to thee, old friend, and long May thou and I thus meet, To brighten still with wine and song This short life, ere it fleet. And still as death comes stealing on, Let’s never, old friend, forget, Even while we si~zh o’er blessings gone, How manyo are left us yet UNBIND thee, love, unbind thee, love, From those dark ties unbind thee; Though fairest hand the chain hath wove Too long its links have twined thee. Away from earth!-thy wings were made In yon mid sky to hover, With earth beneath their dove-like shade, And heaven all radiant over. I I UNPUBLISIIED POEMS, ETC. 423 GUESS, GUESS. i DEAR? YES. LONG

YEARS HAVE PASSED. UNBIND THEE, LOVE. 0

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– T M Even as the lightning, that, dividing The clouds of night, saith, “Look on me,” Then flits again, its splendor hiding Even such the glimpse I catch of thee. THEN FIRST FROM LOVE. THEN first from Love, in Nature’s bowers, Did Painting learn her fairy skill, And cull the hues of loveliest flowers, To picture woman lovelier still. For vain was every radiant hue, Till Passion lent a soul to art, And taught the painter, ere he drew, To fix the model in his heart. WHEN Love, who ruled as Admiral o’er His rosy mother’s isles of light, Was cruising off the Paphian shore, A sail at sunset hove in sight. “A chase, a chase! my Cupids all,” Said Love, the little Admiral. Aloft the winged sailors sprung, And, swarming up the mast like bees. The snow-white sails expanding flung, Like broad magnolias to the breeze. “Yo ho, yo ho, my Cupid(s all!” Said Love, the little Admiral.

The chase was o’er-the bark was caughlt, The winged crew her freight explored; And found’twas just as Love had thought, For all was contraband aboard. “A prize! a prize! Imy3 Cupids all!” Said Love, the little Admiral. Thus smooth his toil awhile went on, Till, lo. one touch his art defies; The brow, tie lip, the blushes shone, But who could dare to paint those eyes? ‘Twas all in vain the painter strove; So turning to that boy divine, “Here take,” he said, “the pencil, Love, No hand should paint such eyes, but thine.’” Safe stowed in many a package there, And labelled slyly o’er, as ” Glass,” Were lots of all th’ illegal ware, Love’s Custom-House forbids to pass. ” O’erhaul, o’erhaul, my Cupids all,” Said Love, the little Admiral. HusH, swee’? Lute, thy songs remind me Of past joys, now turned to pain; Of ties that long have ceased to bind me, But whose burning marks remain. In each tone, so me echo falleth On my ear of joys gone by; Ev’ry note some dream recalleth Of bright hopes but born to die.

Yet, sweet Lute, though pain it bring me, Once more let thy numbers thrill; Though death were in the strain they sing me, I must woo its anguish still. Since no time can e’er recover Love’s sweet light when once’tis setBetter to weep such pleasures over, Than smile o’er any left us yet. False curls they found, of every hue, With rosy blushes, ready made; And teeth of ivory, good as new, For veterans in the smiling trade.

“Ho, ho, ho, ho, my Cupids all,” Said Love, the little Admiral. Mock sighs, too-kept in bags for use, Like breezes bought of Lapland seers-O

Lay ready here to be let loose, When wanted, in young spinsters’ ears.

“Ha, ha, ha, ha, my Copids all,” Said Love, the little Admiral. False papers next on board were found, Sham invoices of flames and darts, Professedly for Paphos iound, But meant for Hymnen’s golden marts. “For shame, for shame, my Cupids all!” Said Love, the little Admiral. Nay, still to every fraud awake, Those pirates all Love’s signals knew, And hoisted oft his flag, to make Rich wards and heiresses bring-to.* “A foe, a foe, my Cupids all!” Cried Love, the little Admiral. “This must not be,”

the boy exclaims, ” In vain I rule the Paphian seas, If Love’s and Beauty’s sovereign names Are lent to cover frauds like these. Prepare, prepare, my Cupids all!” Said Love, the little Admiral. DREAMING for ever, vainly dreaming, Life to the l1st pursues its flight; Day hath its visions fairle beaming, But false as those of night. The one illusion, the other real, But both the same brief dreams at last; And when we grasp the bliss ideal, Soon as it shines,‘tis past. Here, then, by this dim lake reposing, Calmly I’ll watch, while light and g,loom Flit o’er its face till night is closing Emblem of life’s short doom! But though, by turns, thus dark and shining, ‘Tis still unlike man’s change fu l day, Whose light returns not, once declining, Whose cloud, once come, will stay. Each Cupid stood with lighted match A broadside struck the smuggling foe, And swept the whole unhallowed batch Of falsehood to the depths below. “Huzza! huzza! my Cupids all!” Said Love, the little Admiral. THOUGH LIGHTLY SOUNDS THE SONG

I SING A SONG OF THE ASLPS. THOUtGH lightly sounds the song I sing to thee, Though like the lark’s its soaring music be, Thou’lt find even here some mournful note that tells How near such April joy to weepinz dwells.

‘Tis’mong the gayest scenes that oft’nest steal Those sadd’ning thoughts we fear, yet love to feel; And music never half so sweet appears, As when her mirth forgets itself in tears. STILL THOU FLIEST. STILL thou fliest, and still I woo thee, Lovely phantom-all in vain; Restless ever, my thoughts pursue thee, Fleeting ever, thou mockst their pain. Such doom, of old, that youth betided, Who wooed, he thought, some angel’s charms, But found a clond that from him glided As thou dost from these outstretched arms. Scarce I’ve said, “How fair thou shinest,” Ere thy light hlathl vanished by; And’tis when thou lookst divinest Thou art still more sure to fly. ro BRING-TO, to checKi tie course of a ship.”F.LcoNXa. Then say not joy th phis Aand ine sonog is gay t It comes from hearts that, like their mouintain-layI Mix joy with pain, awnl oft wl-her i1 re’s },,e- b Most warms the surface, f~ele most sad beneath. The very beam in which tli(- sniow-wreath wears Its gayest smile is that wlhichl wins its tearsAnd passion’s power can rnesver lend the Hlow Which wakens Hiss, without some to,,cl. of dice I i f i I I I ii I THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 124 WHEN LOVE, WHO

RULED. HUSH, SWEET LUTE. DREAMING FOR EVER.

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IRISH M ELLODIE S, BY THOMAS MOORE. ERIN! THE TEAR AND TIHE S/WLE i,, THINE EYES. ERIN, the tear and the smile in thine eyes, Blend like the rainbow that hangs in thy skies! Shining through sorrow’s stream, Saddening through pleasure’s beam, Thy suns with doubtful gleam, Weep while they rise. Erin, thy silent tear never shall cease, Erin, thy languid smile ne’er shall increase, Till, like the rainbow’s light, Th”

various teints unite, A.d form in heaven’s sight One arch of peace!

Go,where glory waits thee, But, while iame elates thee, Oh! still remember me. When the praise thou meetest To thine ear is sweetest, Oh! then remember me, Other arms may press tnee, Dearer friends caress thee, All the joys that bless thee, Sweeter far may be; But when friends are nearest, And when joys are dearest, Oh, then remember me! When, at eve, thou rovest By the star thou lovest, Oh! then remember me. Think, when home returning, Brightt axe’ve seen it burning, Oh! thus remember me. Oft as summer closes, When thine eye reposes On its ling’ring roses, Once so loved by thee, Think of her who wove them, Her who made thee love them, Oh! then remember me. REMEMBER THE GLORIES OF BRIEN THIE BRAVE.* REMEMBER the glories of Brien the brave, Though the days of the hero are o’er; Though lost to Mononia,ft and cold in the grave, He returns to Kinkorat no more. That star of the field, which so often hath poured Its beam on the battle, is set; But enough of its glory remains on each sword, To light us to victory yet. Mononia! when Nature embellished the teint Of thy fields, and thy mountains so fair, Did she ever intend that a tyrant should print The footsteps of slavery there? No! Freedom, whose smile we shall never resign, Go, tell, our invaders, the Danes, That’tis sweeter to bleed for an age at thy shrine, Than to sleep but a moment in chains. Forget not our wounded companions, who stoodli In the day of distress by our side; While the moss of the valley grew red with their blood, They stirred not, but conquered and died. When, around thee dying, Autumn leaves are lying, Oh!

then remember me. And at night, when gazing On the gay hearth blazing, Oh!

still remember me. Then should music, stealing All the soul of feeling, To thy heart appealing, Draw one tear from thee; Then let memorv bring thee Strains I used to sing thee Oh! then remember me. * Brien Borombe, the great monarch of Ireland, who was killed a& the battle of Clontarf, in the beginning of the eleventh century, af ter having defeated the Danes in twenty-five engagements. t Munst(tr. t The palace of Brien. II This alludes to an interesting circumstance related of the Dal gais, the favorite troops of Brien, when they were interrupted in their return from the battle of Clontarf, by Fitzpatrick, prince of Ossorv. The wounded men entreated that they might be allowed I to fight witih the rest: “L,t takes,” they said,’ he s/tck in the gerend and suffer each of us, tb,d to and.sopporteld b one of these stal,s. t(: C, plac.ed in his rank by the side of a sosndmans-” Between seven altd eight hundred woun.ded,.en (adds O’IHalloran), pale, ermtaciated, l and s upported in this mrnanner, appeared mixed vith the foreonost of the troops; never was stlch anether sight exhibited.”.-H;~t,l || of lrelaad. book xii., chap. 1. OH! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid: Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, As the niight-dew that falls on the grass o’er his head. But the nloht-dew that falls, thorug h in sil ence it weeps, Shall briehten with verdure the,rave where he slel)s; And the tear that we shed, though in secret it roll3s &‘all long keep his memory greep iq our souls. I 1 I 1, CO WIIERF – -.,jRY

WAITS THEE. WAR-SONG. OH! BREATI-IE NOT EIIS NAME.

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426 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. That sun which now blesses our arms with his light, Saw them fall upon Ossory’s plain;~h! let him not blush, when he leaves us to-night, To find that they fell there in vain. – No: life is a waste of wearisome hours, Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, Is always the first to be touched by the thorns. But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile May we never meet worse, in our pilgrimage here, Than the tear that enjoyment may gild with a smile, And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear. The thread of our life would be dark, Heaven knows! If it were not with friendship and love intertwined; And I care not how soon I may sink to repose, When these blessings shall cease to be dear to mymind. But they who have loved the foadest, the purest, Too often have wept o’er the dream they believed; And the heart that has slumbered in friendship securest. Is happy indeed if’twas never deceived. But send round the bowl; while a relic of truth Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mineThat the sunshine of love may illumine our youth, And the moonlight of friendship console our decline. WHEN lie who a lores thee ll is left but the name ,)f his fault tnJ hiis s:l)rrwlxvs behind,] Oh! s la wilt thiou wseie, welien they,larken the fame Of a liIfe that tAr tlnee hats sesi gne(d? Yes, weep, attid however ml foes may condemn, Thyi- tears slmll elface their decree; fr,lea-ven can witiless, ta’oligh guilty to them, I hale been but too l-fithiful to thee. v’ itli thee were thie dieamin of ill earliest lovw Every, thought t of Inv reason was thine; [;, ins last humble I-ilayer to the MSpirit above, Thy iia,-Ae shi,all Lee minile.l witts mine. Oh! blest are the hosevs aill far’ierilts who shall live ~Tlle da-s (f thev -:ory to see; But the next dearest blessing, that Heaven can give, Is the pride of thlus dy’ing for tlee. THOUGH THE LAST GLIMPSE OF ERIN WITH SORROW I SEE.

THOUGH the last glimpse of Erin with sorrow I see, Yet wherever thou art shall seem Erin to me; In exile thy bosom s all still be my h ome, And thine eyes make my climate wherever we roam. rILE HtI;tP TitAT ONCE

THROUGH TARA’S IHALLS. Tin: harp that once through Tara’s halls I’l’e svuil of nmusic slhedl, Now han_-s as mute oln Iaia’s walls, As if that soul were le(]. So sleeps the pride! of fonrmer days, So glory’s thrill is o’er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more. No more to chiefs and ladies bright The harp of Tara swells; The chord alone, that breaks at night, Its tale of ruin tells. Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes, The only throb she gives, Is when some heart indignant breaks, To show that still she lives. To the gloom of some desert, or cold rocky shore, Where the eye of the stranger can haunt us no more, I will fly with my Coulin, and think the rough wind Less rude than the foes we leave frowning behind. And I’ll gaze on thy gold hair, as graceful it wreathes, And hang o’er thy soft harp, as wildly it breathes; Nor dread that the cold-hearted Saxon will tear One chord from that harp, or one lock from that hair.* AS A BEAM O’ER THE FACE OF THE WATER MAY

GLOW. As a beam o’er the face of the waters may glow While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile, Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while. One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o’er our joys and our woes, To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring, For which joy has no balm, and affliction no sting Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay, Like a dead, leafless branch in the sumnmer’s bright ray The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain, It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again. FLY not yet,‘tis just the hour When pleasure, like the midnigzht flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom tor sons of night, And maids who love the moon. ‘Twas but to bless these hours of shade That beauty and the moon were made; ‘Tis then their soft attractions glowing Set the tides anfl goblets floving. Oh! stav-Oh stavJoy so seldom weaves a chain Like this to-night, that oh!‘tis pain To bleak its links so soon. THE MEETING OF THE

WATERS.t THE.RE’is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;t: Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yet it was not that Nature had shed o’er the scene Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; ‘Twas iot her soft magic of streamlet or hill, Oh!

no-it was something more exquisite still. Fly not let, the fouint that playned In timtes of old throuigh Ammon’s shade,* Thoughi icy coll by (day it ran, Yet still, like souls of mirth, began To burn when night was near.

And thus, should woman’s heart and looks At noon be cold as winter brooks, Nor kindle till the ni.-lht, returning, Brings their geniatl hour for burning. Oh! star Oh! stay  When did morningr ever break, And find such beamiring eyes awake As those that sparkle here? * “In the twenty-eigthth ),ear of the reign of ITenry VIII. an act was made respecting the habits, and dress in general, of the Irish, whereby all persons were restrained friom being shorn or shaven above the ears, or from wearing Gliboes, or Cousins (long locks), on their heads, or hair on their upper lip, called Crommeal On this occasion a song was written by one of our bards, in which an Irish virgin is made to give the preference to her dear Coulin (or the youth with the flowin,, locks) to all strangers (by which tiheEnglish were meant), or those who wore their halbits. Of this song, the air alone has reached us, and is universally admired”-Walk,.r’s Historical oemoirs of Irish Bards. p. 134. Mr. Walker informs us also, that, about the same period, there were some harsh measures taken against the Irish Minstrels.

t “1’I lie Meeting of the Waters” forms a part of that beautiful scenery whichl lies betweeti RIlattldrin and Arklow, in the county Wf Wicklow, and these lines were suggested by a visit to this r. mnantic spot, in the summer of the year 1807. t The rivers Avon and A vca Oti! think not me shririels are as as light, AL] as fSee from a pangz s they seem to you now; Nor expect that the h ilt berlie i ll smile of to-ni,rht W’ill return w ith to-m-inoirow to b)ighIter my brow. *S,,lis Fens, Sieal tl.c Tenlple of Amimon. I THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 426 IVHF,N IIE N’HO WORES THEE. FLY NOT

YET. Ml THINK NOT Ml’ SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS AS LIGHT.

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-~~~~~~~~~blMLD~ 2 Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, Who mate every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love. Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest In thy bosomn of shade, with the friends I love best, Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. THE LE(;A’CY. W]HEN in dea.thi I sl i-ll calmly recline, 0 beai iny heait to ma iistless dlear; ‘‘11 her it t licecl u rol siles. anrd wine Ofthe bightes t Iiie, while it lingered here. Bid her not she(l onle total orf sorrow To sully It lhecart so Ibrillianit ants light; But balmyiiiN7

(i;)s of the red gr-X ale borrow, Tio bathe the relic from iimorn till night. RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE WORE.* RICH and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore; But oh! her beauty was far beyond Her sparkling gems,> snow-white wand. “Lady! dost thou not fear to stray, So lone and lovely through this bleak way? Are Erin’s sons so good or so cold, As not to be tempted by woman or gold?” ” Sir Knight!

I feel not the least alarm, No son of Erin will offer me harm: For though they love woman and golden store, Sir Knight! they love honor and virtue more!” On she went, and her maiden smile In safety lighted her round the Green Isle; And blest for ever is she who relied Upon Erin’s honor and Erin’s pride. When thle light of my solng is o’er, Then talie illy hlai) to yolls ancient hall; Hang it up at that (i’icntlly loor, W here weary travellers love to call.* T hen, ifsomne bard, who roanes forsaken, Revive its soft note in passiang al ong, Oh! let one thoulit of’ its Imaster waken Your war-mest smile for the child of song Keel) this cup, vehichl is ilow o’erflowing,, To grace )our level, when I’m at rest; Never-ooh! never its balIn bestowing On lips that beauty i hath seldom blest. rut when some warm devote(d lover To her he adores shall bathe its brim, Then, then my spirit around shall hover, And hallow each drop that foams for him. How dear to me the hour when daylight dies, And sunbeams melt along the silent sea; For then sweet dreams of other days arise, And memory breathes her vesper sigh to thee. WE MAY ROAM THROUGH THIS WORLD. AWE may roam through this world, like a child at a feast, Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest; And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, We may order our wings, and be off to the west; But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile, Are the dearest gifts that Heaven supplies, We never need leave our own green isle, For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes.

Then remember, wherever your goblet is crowned, Through this world, whether eastward or westward yoc roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home In Enoland, the garden of Beauty is kept By a dragon of prudery placed within call; But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept, That the garden’s but carelessly watched after all. Oh! they want the wild sweet-briery fence, Which round the flowers of Erin dwells; Which’i warns the touch, while winning the sense, Nol charms us least when it most repels. Then i encember, wherever your goblet is crowned, Thr( u,,,h this world, whether eastward or westward you roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home. An d, as I w atc h the l ine of light, that plays Along the smooth wave tow’rd the burning west, I long to tread that golden path of rays, And think’twould lead to some bright isle of rest. WRITTEN ON RETURNING A BLANK BOOK. TAKE back the virgin;-age, White and unwritten still; Some band, more calm ai-d sage, The leaf must fill. Thoughts come, as pure as light, Pure as even you require: But, oh! each word I write Love turns to fire. Yet let me keep the book: Oft shall mv heart renew, When on its leaves I look, Dear thoughts of you. Like you,‘tis fair and brigh.’; Like you, too brigzht and f,.ir To let wil dl passion write One wrong wish there. Haply, when from those eyes Far, far away I roam, Should calmer thoug’hts arise Tow’rd you and home; Fancy nmay trace some line, Worthy those eyes to meet, Thoughts that not burn, but shine Pure, calm, and sweet. In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail, On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail, But just pilots her ofi; and then bids her good-by While the daughters of’ Erin keep the boy, Ever smiling beside his faithful oar, Through billows of wo, anal beams of joy. The s ame as h e lookled when he left the sb-re. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crowned, Througih this world, whether eastward oI wez.:w,rd yov roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at hor,_2. * Th,l I.allad is founded upon the following anecdote: “The people were inspired with such a spirit of honor, virtue, and religion, by the great example of Brien, and by his excellent ad.m.inistia&tion. that, as a proof of it, we are informed that a young lady of great heau’v. adorned with jewels ani a costly di ress, undertook a journey aloe, irom one end of the kinadorn to the other, with a wand only in her hand, at the t,,p of which was a ring of exceeding great value; and such an impression had the laws aTlt government of this monarch made on the minds of all tli,e people, that io a,tteml,t was madie lp,n her honor, nor was she robbl)ed of her clothes ,r jewels.” lVarner’s History of Ireland, vol. i., book x. I IRISH MELODIE. 421 And as, o’er ocean far, Seamen their records keep, Led by some hidden star Through the cold deep; So may tl,e words I write Tell through ivh,,tt storms I strayYou still the unseen light, Guiding my way. HOW DEAR TO AIE THE HOUR.

TAKE BACK THE VIRGIN PAGE. 1% ., In every ho,i.-e, as one or two 1,;,,ps.

free to all travel,, s, who were the nore caressed, the. Hire they excel’ed i, rnu.ic. IO,H.1t.‘r…

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42 TiEMRO IBAY __ HOW OFT HAS THE BENSHEE CRIED. From the heretic girl of my soul should I fly, To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss I No: perish the hearts, and the laws that try Truth, valor, or love, by a standard like this How oft has the Benshee cried, HoIw oft has death untied Bright links that Glory wove, Sweet bonds entwined by Love! Peace to each manly soul that sleepeth; Rest to each faithful eye that weepeth; Long may the fair and brave Sigh o’er the hero’s grave. SILENT, 0 Moyle, be the roar of thy water, Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose, While, murmuring mournfully, Lir’s lonely daughter Tells to the nighlt-star her tale of woes. When’shall the swan, her death-note singing, Sleep, with wings in darkness furled? When will Heaven, its sweet bell ringing Call my spirit from this stormy world s e’re fallen upt en gl o omy days!* Star after star decays, Every bright name, that shed Light o’er the land, is fled. Dark falls the’ear of him who inourneth Lost joy, or hope that ne’er returneth; But brigttly flows the tear, Wept o’er a hero’s bier. Sadly, O Moyle, to thy winterave weeping, Fate bids me languish long ages away; Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping, Still doth the pure light its dawning delay. When will that day-star, mildly springing, Warm our isle with peace and love? When will Heaven, its sweet bell ring, Call my spirit to the fields above? Quenched are our beacon lights Thou, of the Hundred Fights!t Thou, on whose burning tongue Truth, peace, and freedom hung!t Both mute-but long as valor shineth, Or mercy’s soul at war repineth, So long shall Erin’s pride Tell how they lived and died. LET ERIN REMEMBER THE DAYS OF OLD. LET Erin remember the days of old, Ere her faithless sons betrayed her; When Malachi wore the collar of gold,t Which he won from her proud invader, When her kings, with standard of green unfurled, Led the Red-Branch Knights to danger;t Ere the emerald gem of the western world Was set in the crown of a stranger. OH! we ep fo r the hour, When to Eveleen’s bower The Lord of the Valley with false vows came; The moon hid her light From the heavens that night, And wept behind her clouds o’er the maiden’ shame. On Lough Neagh’s bank, as the fisherman stray3 When the clear cold eve’s declining, He sees the round towers cf other days In the wave beneath him shining; Thus shall memory often, in dreams sublime, Catch a glimpse ofi ay the das that are over; Thus, sighing, look through the waves of time For the long-faded glories they cover.11 The clouds passed soon From the chaste cold moon, And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame; But none will see the day, Wh en t he cloud s s hall pass away, Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen’s fame.

The white snow la,y On the narrow pathway, When the Lord of the Valley crossed over the moor; And many a deep print On the whi te snow’s teint Showed the track of his footstep to Eveleen’s door. BELIEVE ME, IF ALL

THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS. BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fon dly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy-gifts fading away, The next sun’s ray Soon melted away Every trace on the path where the false Lord came; But there’s a light above, Where alone can remove That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen’s fame. * To make this story intelligible in a song would require a much greater unumber of verses than any one is authorized to inflict upoi an audience at once:. the reader must therefore be content to learn, in a note, that Fionnuiala, the daughter of Lir, was, by some supernatural power, transformed into a swan, and condemned to wander, for many hnidred years, over certain lakes and rivers in Ireland, till the coming of Christianity, when the first sound of the mass. bell was to be the signal of her release. I found this fanciful fiction among some manuscript translations from the Irish, which were begun under the direction of that enlightened friend of Ireland, the late Countess of Moira. t “This brought on an encounter between Molaclhi (the monarch of Ireland in the tenth century) and the Danes, in which Malachi defeated two of their champions, whom he encountered successively, hand to hand, taking a collar of gold from the neck of one, and carrying off the sword of the other, as trophies of his victory.”-Warner’s History of Ireland, vol. i., book ix. t “Military orders of knights were very early established in Ireland; long blefore the birth of Chzist we find an hereditary order of Chivalry in Ulster. called Curaidhe na Craiobhe ruadh, or the Knights of the Red Branch, from their chief seat in Emania, adjoiining to the palace of the Ulster kings, called Teagh na Craiobhe rwadh,-or the Academy of the Red Branch; and contiguous to which was a large hospital, founded for the sick knights and soldiers, called Bronbhearg, or the Hlouse of the Sorrowful Soldier.”-O’Hal. loran’s Introduction, tic., part i., chap. 5.

1II It was an old tradition, in the time of Giraldus, that Lough Neagh had been originallv a fountain, by whose sudden overflowing the country was inundated. and a wleole regioli, ike the Atlantis of Plato, over helried.

He says that the fist. froen, ill clear w eather, used to point out to strangers the tall ec:-lesiastical towers under the water. Pisciteres aquie ilius turres ecclesiasticas, quao tmore patrite arctt snt et lltt, necnon et ratundi. sub ands manifeste sterene termpaoe ronspiciusn, et catr,neis tarnset’ntiois, red que (2c5t1 admsirantibus, frequetnter osttnaduat. Topogr. IIib. dist. 2., c. 9 t OME, se nd rou nd the wine, and leave points of belief To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools; This moment’s a flower too fair and brief, To be withered and stained by the dust of the schools. Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue, But, while they are filled from the same bright bowl, The fool, who would quarrel for difference of hue, Deserves not the comfort they shed o’er the soul. Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree? Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, If he kneel not before the same altar with me? * I have endeavored here, without losing that Irish character, which it is my object to preserve throughout this work, to allude .o the sad and ominous fatality, by which England has been deprivd of s,’ many great and good men, at a moment when she ni,o,t realizes all the aids of talent and integrity. t I is alesitnation, which haes been-before applied to Ljord Nelson, is the title givers to a celebrated Irish hero, in a poem by O’Guiive. tie bard of O’Niel, whlich is quoted in the a Philosophical Surv,,v of the South of Ireland,” page 433. “C Con, of the Ilundred Figlts, s’ee>o in tihv grass-grown tomrrb, and upbraid not our defeats .itts thy, intories.”

4Fol.’ ~.o::lanirrun ultimnus.“1 I i i i II THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 428 THE

SONG OF FIONNUALA.* EVELEENIS BOWER. COME, SEND ROUND THE WINE.

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IRISH MELODIES. z_ _ Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still. OH! blame not the bard, if he fly to the bowers, Where Pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at Fame, He was born for much more, and in happier hours His soul might have burned with a holier flame. The string, that now languishes loose o’er the lyre, Might have bent a proud bow to the warrior’s dart;t And the lip, which now breathes but the song of desire, Might have poured the full tide of a patriot’s heart. It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known, To which time will but make thee more dear; No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turned when he rose. But alas for his country!-her pride is gone by, And that spirit is broken, which never would bend; O’er the ruin her children in secret must sigh, For’tis treason to love her, and death to defend.

Unprized are her sons, till they’ve learned to betray; Undistinguished they live, if they shame not their sires, And the torch, that would light them through dignity’s way; Must be caught from the pile, where their country ex pires. SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING. SUIBLIME was the warning that Liberty spoke, And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke Into life and revenge from the conqueror’s chain. Oh, Liberty! let not this spirit have rest, Till it move, like a breeze, o’er the waves of the westGive the light of your look to each sorrowing spot, Nor, oh, Ie- the Shamrock of’Erin forgot While you add to your garland the Olive of Spain! If the fame of our fathers, bequeathed with their rights, Give to country its charm, and to home its delights, If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain, Then, ye men of Iberia, our cause is the same! And oh! may his tomb want a tier and a name, Who would ask for a nobler, a hliolier death, Than to turn his last sigh into victoiy’s breath, For the Shamrock of Erin an,]

Olive of Spain! Ye Blakes and O’Donnels, whose fathers resigned The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find That repose which at home they had sighed for in vain, Join, join in our hope that the flame, which you light, May be felt yet in Erin, as calm, and,Ts bright, And forgive even Albion while blushin, she draws, Like a truant, her sword, in the lon-.slighted cause Of the Shamrock of Erin and OlivNe of Spain! Then blame not the bard, if in pleasure’s soft dream, He should try to forget, what he never can heal: Oh! give but a hope-let a vista but gleam Through the gloom of his country, and mark how he’ll feel! That instant, his heart at her shrine would lay down Every passion it nursed, every bliss it adored; While the myrtle, now idly entwined with his crown, Like the wreath of Harmodius, should cover his swerd.t But though glory be gone, and though hope fade away, Thy name, loved Erin, shall live in his songs; Not e’en in the hour, when his heart js most gay, Will he lose the remembrance of thee and thy wrongs. The stra n ger shall hea r th y lament on hi s plains; The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o’er the deep, Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet thy chains, Shall pause at the son: of their captive, and weep. ILL OMENS. God prosper the cause!-oh, it can not but thrive, While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive, Its devotion to feel, and its rights to maintain; Then, how sainted by sorrow, its martyrs will die! The finger of glory shall point where they lie; While, far from the footstep of coward or slave, T he y oung spirit of Freedom shall shelter their grave Beneath Shamrocks of’Erin and Olives of Spain! WHE,.N daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, And stars in the heavens still lingering shone, Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow, The last time she e’er was to press it alone. For the youth whom she treasured her heart and her soul in, Had promised to li n k the last ti e before noon; And, when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen, The maiden herself will steal after it soon. As she looked in the glass, which a woman ne’er misses, Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two, A butterfly,ll fresh firom the night-flower’s kisses, Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view. Enraged with the insect for hiding her graces, She brushed him-he fell, alas! never to rise. “Ah! such,” said the girl, ” is the pride of our faces, For which the soul’s innocence too often dies.”

LIKE the bright lamp, that shone in Kildare’s holy fane,* And burned through lon, ages of darkness and storm, Is the heart that sorrows have frowned on in vain, Whose spirit outlives them, unfa-ding and warm. Erin, oh Erin, thus bright through the tears Of a long right of kondage, thy spirit appears. The nations have fallen, and thou still art young, Thy sun is but rising, when others are set; And though slavery’s cloud o’er thy morning hath hung, The full noon of freedom shall beam round thee yet.

Erin, oh Erin, though long in the shade, Thy star will shine out when the proudest shall fade. Unchilled by the rain, and unwaked by the wvind, The lily lies sleeping through winter’s cold hour Till Spring’s light touch her fetters unbind, And daylight and liberty bless the young flower.t rhus Erin, oh Erin, thy winter is past, And the hope that lived through it shall blossom at last. While she stole through the garden, where heart’s-ease wao growing, She culled some, aind kissed off its night-fallen dew; And a rose, further on, looked so tempting and glowing, That, spite of her haste, she m us t gather it too: But while o’er the roses too carelessly leaning, Her zone flew in two, and the heart’s-eas.e was lost: “Ah! this means,” said the girl (and she sighed at its meaning), “That love is scarce worth the repose it will cost!” * We may suppose this apology to have been uttered by one of lthose wandering bards. whom Spenser so severely and perhaps truly describes in his “State of Ireland,”

and whose poems, he tells us, “were sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural device, which have good grace and comeliness unto them, the which it is great pity to see abused to the gracing of wickedness and vice, which, with good usage, would serve to adorn and beautify virtue.” f It is conjectured by Wormius, that the name of Ireland is derived from Yr, the Runic for a bow, in the use of which weapon the Irish were once very expert. This derivation is certainly more creditable to is than the following: ” ~o that Ireland, called the land of Ire, from the constant broils therein for four hundred years, was now become the land of concord.”Lloyd’s State Worthie, art. 7he Losrd Grandikon. t See the It rnn, attributed to Alc.cus, E,, yvprov KXa& ro ~l,oc X pr/7c ” I will carry my swvordl, hidden in myrtles, like Ilarmodiu-. tand Aristog,iton,”

&c. 11 sAn cemlbn of the soul. I”The inextinguishable fire of St. Bridget, at Kildare, w,hich Gitaldus mentions: “Apuid Kildariam occurrit ignis Sanctoe Brigidac, luem inextin,guibilemi vo,,ant; non quo,d extinguii non possit, sed quod tarn.olicite moniales et sanctre rnmulieres ignemn, suppeterte materia, fovert et itutriumtt, it a teroDore virginis per tot aanonrur t curricula semper mansit iextinctu.”-Gi,a. Cmb at ( ir SraSil.

Hibern., diit.‘2. c. 34. t Mrs. 11. Ti,he, in her exquisite lines owt the Lily, has applied this image to. still more important object. I I I 429

OH! BLAME NOT THE BARD.* 11 ERIN, OH ERIN.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. BEFORE THE BATTLE. Bv the hope within us springing, Herald of to-morrow’s strife; By that sun, whose light is bringing Chains or freedom, death or life Oh! remember life can be No charm for him, who lives not free I Like the day-star in the wave, Sinks a hero in his grave, Midst the dew-fall of a nation’s tears. Happy is he o’er whose decline The smiles of home may soothing shine, h And light him down the steep of years: But oh, how blest they sink to rest, Who close their eyes on Victory’s breast! At Beauty’s door,f glass, When Wealth and,Wit once stood, They asked her, Whlich might pass?‘O She answered, “He, who could.”

With golten key Wealth thought To pass-but’twoul,l not do; While Wit a diamond brought, Which cut his bright way through. So here’s to her, who long Hath wakled the poet’s sigh, The girl, who gavre to song What gold could never buy. O’er his watch-fire’s fading embers Now the foeman’s cheek turns white, When his heart that field remembers, Where we tamed his tyrant mieht. Never let him bind again A chain, like that we broke from then. Hark! the horn oTcombat calls Ere the golden evening falls, May we pledge that horn in triumph round! Many a heart that now beats high, In slumber cold at night shall lie, Nor waken even at victory’s sound. But oh, how blest that hero’s sleep, O’er whom a wond’ring world shall weep!

The love that seeks a home Where wealth or grandeur shines, Is like the gloomy gnome, That dwells in dark gold mines. But oh! the poet’s love Can boast a brighter sphere; Its native home’s above, Though w\oman keeps it here. Then drink to her, who lon! Hath waked the poet’s sigh, The girl, who gave to song What gold could never buy. NIGHT closed around the conqueror’s way, And lightnings showed the distant hill, Where those who lost that dreadful day, Stood few and faint, but fearless still. The soldier’s hope, the patriot’s zeal, For ever dimmed, for ever crostOh! who shall say what heroes feel, When all but life and honor’s lost? WHILE

GAZING ON’riiE MOON’S LIGHT. The last sad hour of freedom’s dream, And valor’s task, moved slowly by, While mute they watched, till morning’s bearo Should rise and give them light to die. There’s yet a world, where souls are free, Where tyrants taint not nature’s bliss; If death that world’s bright opening be, Oh! who would live a slave in this? THE IRISH

PEASANT TO HIS MISTRESS. WHILEF gazing on the noon’s light, A moment from her smile I turned, To look at orbs, that, more bright, In lone and distant glory burned. But too far Each proud star, For me to feel its warming flame; Much more dear That mild sphere, Which near o ur planet smiling came;-, Thus, Mary, be but thou my own; While brighter eyes unheeded play, I’ll love throse moonlight looks alone, That bless my home and guide my way. Whih nar ur lant silig cme -~THE IRISH PEASANT TO MIS

MISTRESS4 THROUGH grief and through danger thy smile bath ch red |my way, Till hope seemed to bud from each thorn that round m, lay The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love bi aed, Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turned; Yes, slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free, And blessed even the sorrows that wade me more de tr to thee. The day had sunk in dim showers, But midnight now, with lustre meet, lIlnmite(I all the pale flowers, Like hop(e upon a mourner’s cheek. I said (while The moon’s smile Play;e(d o’er a stream, in dirr,,ting bliss), “The moon looks On many brooks The brook can see no moon but this;“t And thus, I thought, our fortunes run, For many a lover looks to thee, While, oh! I feel there is but one, One Mary in the world for me. Thy rival was honored, while thod wert wronged and scorned, Thy crown was of briers, while gold her brows adorned; She wooed me to temples, while thou layst hid in caves, Her friends were all masters, while thine, alas! were slaves, Yet cold in the earth, at thy feet, I would rather be, Than wed what I loved not, or turn one thought fromn thee. They slander thee sorely, who say thy vows are frailHadst thou been a false one, thy cheek had looked less pale. They say, too, so long thou hast worn those lingering chains, That deep in thy heart they have printed their servile stains Oh! foul is the slander-no chain could that soul subdueWhere shineth thy spirit, there liberty shineth too! I ‘ iOf sulch celestial bodies as are visible, the sun excepted, the single nooon, as despicable as it is in comparison to most of the others. is Enuch more benefical than they all put together.”-Whistoen’s Theoty. sac. It thir e la d’An’i,t, among other ingenibeus erralems, we find a starry sk;y witihouit a moon, with thresh wvoids, “.Con mille, voow absens.’; + Tlis i,fna.e was suirested l)y tle ftll,,wing thoiglit, which occiors saoymewnl oere iin Sir Viliarn J o e ss’ s hors: oTe mroonk l 2 r 1oks x,.pon maily nighIt flowers the i,i’h.t-flower sees 1but one moor.” O I* “The Irish Corna was not entirely devoted to martial purposes. ,In the heroic ages, our ancestors quakfed MNfeadli out of them, as the DanishoI hunters do their beverage at this da- y. ” Wlker. P t Meaning, allegorically, the.micieint (‘hurch of Ireland. t ” Where the Spirit ol the Lord is, there is llberty.“1-St. Paul, 1 2 (,or., iii. 17. 1:30 .DRINK TO HER. DRINT to her, who long Hath waked the poet’s sigh, The girl, who gave to song What gold could never buy. Oli! woman’s heart was made For minstrel hands alone; By other fin,,ers plaved, It yields not half the tone. Then here’s to her, who ]on?,, Hath wakel the pcet’s sigh, The girl who galre to song vhat goi,,l cc. – i never buy. AFTER THE BATTLE.

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IRISH MELODIE BS. 421 ..~~~43 “‘Twas fate,” they’ll say, “a wayward fate Your web of discord wove; And while your tyrants joined in hate, You never joined in love. But hearts fell off, that ought to twine, And man profaned what God had given; Till some were heard to curse the shrine, Where others knelt to heaven!” ‘Tis sweet to think, that, where’er we rove, We are sure to find something blissful and dear, And that, when we’re far from the lips we love, We’ve but to make love to the lips we are near.* The heart, like a tendril, accustomed to cling, Let it grow where it will, can not flourish alone, But will lean to the nearest, and loveliest thing, It can twine with itself, and make closely its own. Then oh! what pleasure, where’er we rove, To be sure to find something, still, that is dear, And to know, wlen far from the lips we love, We’ve but to rmake love to the lips we are near. IT IS NOT THE TEAR AT THIS MOMENT SHED.’ IT is not the tear at this imiomnent shed, AVhen the cold turf has just been laid o’er him, That can tell how beloved was the friend that’s fled, Or how deep in ou r hearts we dep lore him. ‘Tis the tea, hlrou,l manye a t iong day wept, ‘Tis life’s whole path o’ershaded; ‘Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept, When ell lighter griefs have fadtde(d. Thus his mnemory, like sonei ho,ly light, Kept alive in ouri hearts, will improve them, For worth shall look fitirer, and truth more bright, When we tliirik howl he lived but to love them. And, as fresher flowers the sod petrftinc Where buried saints are lying, So our hearts shall borrow a sweetening bloom From the imnage he left there in doying! ‘Twere a shame, -when flowers around us rise, To make light of the rest, if the rose isn’t there; And the world’s so rich in resplendent eyes, ‘Twere a pity to limit one’s love to a pair. Love’s wing and the peacock’s are nearly alike, They are both of them bright, but they’re changeable too, And, wherever a new beam of beauty can strike, It will tincture Love’s itume with a different hue. Then oh! what pleasure, where’er we rove, To be sure to find something, still, that is dear, And to know, when far from the lips we love, We’ve but to mnake love to the lil)s we are near. ON MUSIC. THE ORIGIN OF THE HARP. ‘Tis believed that this Harp, which I wake now for thee. Was a Syren of old, who sutng unter the sea; And who often, at eve, through the bright waters roved, To meet, on the green shore, a youth whom she loved. WLiFaN throuagh life unblest we rove, Losing all that made life dear, Should some notes we used to love, In days of boyhood, meet our ear, Oh! how welcome breathes the strain! Wakeiiing thoughts that long have slept; Kindling former smiles again In faded eyes that long have wept. But she loved him in vain, for he left her to weep, And in tears, all the nighit, her gold tresses to steep; Till Heaven looked with pity on true love so warznm, B And changed to this soft Harp the c -ia den’s form. I Still her bosom rose fair-still her cheeks smiled the same, While her sea-beauties gracefully formed the light frame; And her hair, as, let loose, o’er her white arm it fell, Was changed to bright chords utt’ring melody’s spell. Like the gale, th at s ighs along Beds of oriental flowers, Is the grateful breath of song, That once was heard in happipr hours; Filled with balm, the gale sighs on, Though the flowers have sunk in death; So, when pleasure’s dream is gone, Its memory lives in Music’s breath. Hence it came, that this soft ITarp so long hath been known To mingle love’s language with sorrow’s sad tone; Till thou didst divide then, and teach the fond lay To speak love when I’m near tlihee, an(d g ief whlen away. Music, oh how faint, how weak, Language fades before thy spell! Why should Feeling ever speak, When thou canst breathe her soul so well? Friendship’s balmy words may feign, Love’s are even more false thn they; Oh!‘tis only music’s strain Can sweetly sooth and not betray. I SAW THY FORM IN YOU)THFUL PRIME. I SAW thy form in youthfuil prime, Nor thought that pale decay Would steal before the steps of Time, And waste its bl)lom away, Mary! Yet still thy features wore that light, Which fleets not with the breath; And life ne’er looked more truly bright Than in thy smile of death, Mary! WvEEP on, weep on, your hour is past; Your dreams of pride are o’er; The fatal chain is round you cast, And you are men no more. In vain the hero’s heart hath bled; The saze’s tong,ue hath warned in vain; Oh, Freedom! once thy flame hath fled, It never lights again. As streams that r un o’er sol(len mines Yet humblye, calmly el de, Nor seem to know the wealth that shines Within their gentle tidle, Mary! So veiled beneath the simplest guise, Thy radiant ~enius shone, And that, which charmed all other eyes, Seemed worthless in thy own, Moe r! If souls could alw,avs dvell above, Thou ne’er hadst left that sphere; Or could we keep) the souls we love, We ne’er had lost thee here, Mary! Though many a gifted mind we meet, Though fairest forms we see, To live with them is far less sweet, Than to remember thee, Mary!t Weep on-perhaps in after days, They’ll learn to love your name; When many a dieed may wake in praise That long hath slept in blame. And when they tread the ruined Isle, Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, They’ll wond’rinz ask, how hands so vile Could conquer hearts so brave? I believe it is.;srmontel who says, ” Qusa on n’a pas ce que ron e it faut airner re qse /‘on.” There are so many matter-of-fact people, wo tae sitch jr a’esp,r; as thi.ltefence of inonnstancy, to he the arctual an,I en,ine sentiments of ir who writes them. that they comnavel orte. i self-dfen.”

to he as matter-of-fact as themsel,ies, and to re- ilii, them that Dew,o ritns sas not tle worse tl) ysi,la’:i:,‘fir hatiuff liasfull c onten de d thaht snw w st n black ner s r:s-, s. i d, one dLeree the less wvise, for liavitng wtrit a i aclgn a fnatl t, e(o, r iin on folly * Thlese lines were orcasioned, thle iess of a very near,n, dear relative. who had distl latel at:Madeir a – I I ihave here mae a feebi~le effort to i,,it’te that exquisite ill iscripti,-,,m of S rstone. ” lfeu I iuar,tc, m.inus est cum reliquis vet sari,;lua,, nmolriinl>:;o ”’ I I I I I I!I I! i -‘rIS SWEET

TO THINK. WEEP oN, WEEP ON.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. WHAT THE BEE IS TO THE FLOWERET. He.-WHAT the bee is to the flow’ret, When he looks for hoe -t-i-dew, Through the leaves that close embower it, That, my love, I’ll be to you. Love stood near the Novice and listened, And Love is no novice in taking a hint; His laughing blue eyes soon with piety glistened; His rosy wing turned to heaven’s own teint. “Who would have thought,” the urchin cries, “That Love could so well, so gravely.’,g’aise His wandering wings and wounding eyes I” Love now warms thee, waking and sleeping, Young Novice, to him all thy orisons rise. He tinges the heavenly fount with his weeping, He brightens the censer’s flame with his sighs. Love is the Saint enshrined in thy breast, And angels themselves would admit such a guest, If he came to them clothed in Piety’s vest. the.-What the bank, with verdure glowing, Is to waves that wander near, Whisp’ring kisses, while they’re going, That I’ll be to you, my dear. ,he.-But they say, the bee’s a rover, Who will fly, when sweets are gone; And, when once the kiss is over, Faithless brooks will wander on. He.-Nay, if flowers will lose their looks, If sunny ba n ks will wear away, “ris but right, that bees and brooks Should sip and kiss them while they may. THIS LIFE IS ALL CHEQUERED WITH PLEAS URES AND WOES.

THIs life is all chliequered with pleasures and woes, That chase one another like waves of the deepEach brightly or darkly, as onward it flows, Reflecting our eyes, as they sparkle or weep. So closely our whims ol our miseries tread, That the laugh is awaked ere the tear can be dried; And, as fast as the rain-drop of Pity is shed, The goose-plumage of Folly can turn it aside. But pledge me the cup-if existence would cloy, With hearts ever happy, and heads ever wise, Be ours the light Sorrow, half-sister to Joy, And the light, brilliant Folly, that flashes and dies. When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount, Through fields full of light, and with heart full of play, Light rambled the boy, over meadow and mount, And neglected his task for the flowers on the way.* Thus many, like me, who in youth should have tasted The fountain that runs by Philosophy’s shrine, Their time with the flowers on the margin have wasted. And left their light urns all as empty as mine. But pledge me the goblet-while Idleness weaves These flow’rets together, should Wisdom but see One bright drop or two that has fallen on the leaves, From her fountain Divine,‘tis sufficient for me. ‘TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. ‘Tis the last ro e of summer Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, No rose-bud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o’er the bed, Where tby mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from Love’s shining circle The gems drop away. When true hearts lie withered, And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit This bleak world alone? THROUGit Erin’s Isle, To sport awhile, As Love and Valor wandered, With Wit, the sprite, Whose quiver bright A thousand arrows squandered. Where’er they pass, A triple grasst Shoots up, with dewdrops streaming, As softly green As emeralds seen Through purest crystal gleaming. Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock Chosen lea,f; Of Bar(] and Chief, Old Erin’s native Shamrock! AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT. A r the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air, To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there, And tell me our love is remembered, even in the sky. l’iien I sing the wild song’twas once such pleasure to hear! When our voices commingling breathed, like one, on the ear; And, as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, oh my love!‘tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls,” Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. Says Valor, ” See, They spring for me, Those leafy gems of morning!” Says Love, ” No, no, For me they grow, My fragrant path adorning.” But Wit perceives The triple leaves, And cries, “Oh! do not sever A type, that blends Three godlike friends, Love, Valor, Wit, for ever!” LOVE AND THE NOVICE. THERE: we dwell, in holiest bowers, Where angels of light o’er our orisolns bend; Where sighs of devotion and breathings of flowers To heaven in mingled odor ascend. Do not disturb our calm, oh Love! So like is thy form to the cherubs above, It well might deceive such hearts as ours.” * “Proposito florem prietullt Officio.”-PROPERT., lib. i.., eleg. 2 t It is said that St. lPatrick, when preachlin the Trinity to the Pagan Irish, used to illustrate his sul)ject by reference to that species of trefoil called in Irelandl by the name of the Shamrock; and hence. perhaps, the Is]land of Saints aldopted this plant as her na tital em.)!eri. ITop e, rpragin thie ancients, s as sometip mes a repro sea-Ited als a t,,,:t.~ifl czig’ld. st l:di,~g,>r.

tiptoes. andl a trefoil of three-c(lore al rC, -.ss ill ht~r 1’:.11(t. ‘1: Ther,ie are coun,t:.s”s~y Montaigne,‘1 where they believe ae souls of the lap?!} iive i all manner of liberty, in delightful fields: a-cl tl:t it is tIli,,e st,les, repeating the verds vee ttter, whicil eve Cali Echo.” l I 1,) OH THE SHAMROCK.

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IRISH MELODIES..~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~a3~~~~~ Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock I (Chosen leaf Of Bard and Chief, ()klI Eri.,‘s native’,Ihamri-ock! There was a time, falsest of women, When Breffni’s good sword wo{ld have sought That man, through a million of foemen, vWho dared but to wrong thee in thougld! While now-oh degenerate d aughter Of Erin, how t’allen is thy fame! AndI through ages of bondage and slaughter, Our country shall bleed for thy shames S o fire.

rn,! M2lay last the bond (‘e wuovoe thait iimo’rt t etl,er,b ,n n n’er,may fill One drop of gll On Wit’s celesti l featAher. lay Lovs e, as twin ie His flowers divine, Of thorny falsehood weed’eiran; Mfay Vali)r ne’er His standaard rear, Agaitist tlhe cause of Freedom! Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock! Chosen leaf Of Bard and Chief, 01(d Erin’s native Shamrock! O1H HEAD WE SOMIE BRl’GHT LITTLE ISLT,E OF OUR OiWN. TIHE

YOUNG MAY MOON. THF young May moon is beaming, love, The glow-worm’s lamp is gleaming, love, Hi e ow sywft to rov e Through Morna’s grove,* When the (drows3y world is dreaming, love! Then a.valke!-the heavens loolk bright, my dear, ‘Tis never too late for delight, my dear, And the best of all ways To len,tlhen our days, Is to steal a few hours fiom the night, my dear! Ou’ i had we some bright little isle of our own, In a blue summer ocean, far off and alone, Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers, And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers; Where the son loves to pause With so fond a delay, That the night only draws A thin veil o’er the day; Where simply to feel that we breathe, thaIt we live, Is worth the best joy that life elsewhere can give. Now all the world is sleeping, love, But t,e Save, his star-watch keeping, love And I, wliose star, More gh(rio(us far, Is the eye from., that casement peeping, love.

Then awake!-till rise of sun, my dear, Thle Sage’s glass we’ll shun, my dear, Or, in watchirng, the flight Of bodies of liaht, He might happen to take thee for one, my dear. There, witl souls ever ardlent, and pure as the clime, We should love, as they loved in the first golden time; The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air,’ Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer there. AVith affection as free From decline as the bowers, And, with hope, like the bee, Livin_ always on flowers, Our life should resemble a long day of light, And our death come on, holy and calm as the night. THE. SONG OF O’RUARK, I’D mourn the hopes that leave me, If thy smiles hadl left me too; I’d weep wheji friends deceive me, If thou wert, like them, untrue. But while I’ve thee before me. With heart so warm and eyes so bright, No clouds cain linger o’er me, That smile turns them all to light. TilR valley lay smilinz before me, Where lately I left her behind; Yet I tremble], anti sonmeth ine hin o’er me, That saddened the joy of m.y mind. J looked for the lam) which, she told me, Should shine, when her Pilgrim returned; But, thouigh dat’kness began to infold me, No lamip firnom the battlements burned! ‘Ti.s n ot in ate to harm me, While fate leaves thy love to me; ‘Tis not in joy to charm me, Unless joy be shared with thee. One minute’s dream about thee Were worth a long, an endless year Of wNvaking bliss without thee, Sly only love, my only dear!

i’I,w to her ehtan1ber-‘twa1s lonely, ; if the loi el tenant lav deal;l A w, oul it were dIath, anld leath only BI t no, tihe younz fIlse one hal flesd. .4…; thee hung the lute that could soften Mys Herr worst pains into bliss; ,l,ile the han, that hal waked it so often, .‘v t:trobbe(l to (l proud rival’s kiss. And though the hope be gone, love, That long sparltled o’er our way, Oh! we shall journey on, love, More safely, without its ray. Far better lights shall win me Along the path I’ve yet to roam:The mind that burns within me, And pure smiles from thee at home.

Thus when the lamp that lighted The traveller at first goes out, He feels awhile benight ed, And looks round in fear and doubt. But soon, the prospect clearing, By cloudless starlight on he treads, And thinks no lamp so cheering As that light which Heaven sheds. q’a ilese stanz,ra-,are foun de d pon an esvent of most mnelancholy imp,. taece t reln; if, as we are told by our Irish historians, it gave Eng,land t’:e first opportunity of profiting by our divisions and subdv. inlz us. Th)e followN-ing are tihe c/r,cumstaiices, as related by O’liailoran:‘I’he kin’z of l,einster had long conceived a violent affection for OI)e.hori, daughter to the king of Meath, and thoughi she.!,ad been f,)r s(oe timne married to O’Ruiark, prince of Breffni, yet it could not restrain his passion. They carried on a private correspontilence, and she informed him that O’Ruark intended soon to gal on a pil”rimage (an act of piety frequent in those days), and conjured him to em.brace th,,at opportunity of conveying her from a husband sne detested to a l t,ei she adored. Mac Murchad too punctually obeyed the s u -s, a nd lal the lady conv-ey el to his capital of Ferns.”

The onre R,,ierick es,oolsed the cause of O’Roark, whil’e Mac sMlarchiard t’id to Eng~olandl. an,i obtained the aassistance of ytenscv IT. ‘Such,”

r’ls G;i,ald, s (?ambrensis (as I,ndl lim in an.‘X transiations,‘“is the v-ar-iable,nd fickle nature,f,.ven!tl’, b I whom al! mriischief inz thle,~ord (for tile mnost par,t) (iI hal,?e:l allow no,;,$ L,ay appear b,y:Marcuts Ante nis, and by file,h,.:ttpci,m a’ Amos” o I* ” Steals silentlty to Moria’s mrove ” Se, in Mr. Bunting s col olection, ia p,oeinm 1a;lir tt: f ro the Irish, 1v the late Jolis Brown, one of Cev earliest cole X ortpaitis anil friertds, whose ieath ,was a.s si,L al!:;.yi icl.c: aa, l t:, i.rt, n:te as his life had beena ?.iab’o Knin,>:r,. ~.‘c in h,:~t emplar1y. I i I I i ‘I I I i i 1 II I I I II II i i I i i I i I i IRISH MEI,ODIES. 333 Already, the curse is upon her, And strangers her valleys profane; They come to divil]e, to dislin or, And tyrants they long will remain. But onward!the green banner rearin,,, Go, flesh ever3, sword to the hilt; On our side is Virtue and Erin, Qii theirs is the S,-txon and guilt. I’D MOURN THE HOPES. PRTNCLE OF BREFFNI.*

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Though the bard to purer fame may soar, When wil yfouth’s past; Though he win t he wise,.wh o frowned before To smile at last; He’ll never meet A joy so sweet, In all his noon of fame, As when first he sung to woman’s ear, His soul-felt flame, And at every close, she blushed to hear The one loved name. Sm is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers are round her, sighing: But coldly she turns fi-om their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying. She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, Every note which’ he loved awaking;Ah! little they think who delight in her s trains, How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking. He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him.

No-that hallowed f.orm is ne’er forgot Which first love traced; Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot On memory’s waste. ‘Twas odor fled As soon as shed; ‘Twas morning’s winge d d ream: ‘Twas a light, that ne’er can shine again On life’s dull stream: Oh!‘twas light that ne’er can shine agan On life’s dull stream. Oh! malie her a grave where the sunbeams rest, When they promise a glorious morrow; They’ll shine o’er her sleep, like a smile from the West, From her owpaloved island of sorrow. THE PRINCE’S

DAY.’ rHOUGH dark are our sorrows, to-day we’ll forget them, And smile through our tears, like a sunbeam in showers: There never were hearts, if our rulers woad let them, More formed to be grateful and blest than ours.

But just when the chain Has ceased to pain, And hope has enwreathed it round with flowers, There comes a new link Our spirits to sinkOh! the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles, Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay; But, though’twere the last little spark in our souls, We must light it up now, on our Prince’s Day. Lontempt on the minion, who calls you disloyal! Though fierce to your foe, to your friends you are true; And the tribute most high to a head that is royal, Is love from a heart that loves liberty too. While cowards, who blight Your fame, your right, Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array, The Standard of Green in front would be seenOh, my life on your faith! were you summoned this minute, You’d cast every bitter remembrance away, Aid show what the arm of old Erin has in it, When roused by the foe, on her Prince’s Day.

NAY, tell me not, dear, that the goblet drowns One charm of feeling, one fond regret; Believe me, a few of thy angry frowns Are all I’ve sunk in its bright wave yet. Ne’er hath a beam Been lost in the stream That ever was shed from thy form or soru; The spell of those eyes, The balm of thy sighs, Still float on the surface, and hallow my bowl. T~hen fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal One blissful (]ream of the heart from me; Like founts that awaken the pilgrim’s zeal, The bowl but brightens my love for thee. They tell us that Love in his fairy bower Had two blush-roses, of birth divine; He sprinkled the one with a rainbow’s shower, But bathed the other with mantling wine. Soon did th e bud s Thai drank of the floods Distilled by the rainbow, decline and fade; While those which the tide Of’

ruby had died All blushed into beauty, like thee, sweet maid Then fancy not, dearest, that wine can steal One blissful dream of the heart from me; Like founts, that awaken the pilgrim’s zeal, The bowl but brightens my love for thee. Ho loves the Green Isle, and his love is recordedT In hearts, which have suffered too miuch to forget; And hope shall be crowned, and attachment rewarded, And Erin’s gay jubilee shine out yet.

The gem may be broke By many a stroke, But nothing can cloud its native ray; Each fragment will cast A light, to the lastAnd thus, Erin, my country, though broken thou art, There’s a lustre within thee, that ne’er will decay; A spirit, which beams through each suffering part, And now smiles at all pain on the Prince’s Day. BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE.*

BY that Lake, whose gloomy shore Sky-lark never warbles o’er,t Where the cliff hangs high and steep 2Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep. “Here, at least,” he calmly said, “Woman ne’er shall find my bed.” Ah! the good Saint little knew VWhat that wily sex can do. ‘Twas from Kathleen’s eyes he flew Eyes of most unholy blue! She had loved him well and long, Wished him hers, nor thought it wrong. Wheresoe’er the Saint would fly, Still he heard her light foot nigh: East or wesf, where’er he turned, Still her eyes before him burned. On the bold cliff’s bosom cast, Tranquil now he sleeps at last; OH! the days are gone, when Beauty bright My heart’s chain wove; Bhen my dre am of life, from morn t ill night, Was love, still love.

New hope may bloom, And days may come, Of milder, calmer beam, But there’s nothing half so sweet in life As love’s young dream: a, there’s nothing half so sweet in life As love’s young dream. This ballais s fo,Ine~l ii.)on one of the many- stories reft. led I St. tc-in, whose bel l tilhe roetk is to 1le seen at Glendaltugh, most gloom y all ro!,n,tic s,lot i,-, oulnty off’Aricklow. t Thsere ale,iariv o.lle, -(‘?iri(,us lraditi;s’con eirir,i this O.a.k .:h,ich la~ a in n,.ra!dns, Colgan, etc. Tnis son, was written for a fgte in tionar’f the Puince of WLoes’s birthday, given by my friend Major Bryan, at his seat il the county of Kilkenny. i Ii I I i i II 434 SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. NAY, TELL ME NOT, DEAR. I LOVE’S YOUNG

DREAM.

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IRISH MELODIES. LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE. Dreams of heaven, nor thinks that e’er Woman’s smile can haunt him there. But nor earth nor heaven is free Fro m her pow er, if fond she be: Even-now, while calm he sleeps, Kathleen o’er him leans and weeps. LESBIA hath a beaming eye, But no-one knows for whom it beameth; Right and left its arrows fly, But what they aim at no one dreameth. Sweeter’tis to gaze upon My Nora’s lid that seldom rises; Few its looks, but eve ry one, Like unexpected light, surprises!

Oh, my Nora Creina, dear, My gentle, bashful Nora Creina, Beauty lies In many eyes, But Love in y3ours, my Nora Creiaa. Fearless she had tracked his feet To this rocky, wild retreat; And when morning met his view, Her mild glances met it too. Ahl, your Saints have cruel hearts! Sternly from his bed he starts, And, ith rude repulsive shock, Hurls her fiom the beetling rock. Glendalougli, thy gloomy wave Soon was gentle Kathlieen’s grave! Soon thie Saint (yet ah! too late) Felt her love, and mourned her fate. When he said, “Heaven rest her soul!” RounJ the Lake light music stole; And Ter ghost was seen to glide, Smiling o’er the fatal tide.

AVENGING AND BRIGHT. Lesbia wears a robe of gold, But all so close the nymph hath laced it, Not a charm of beauty’s mould Presumes to stay where nature placed it. Oh! my Nora’s gown for me, That floats as wild as mountain breezes, Leaving every beauty free To sink or swell as Heaven pleases. Yes, my Nora Creina, dear, My simple, graceful Nora Creina, Nature’s dress Is loveliness The dress you wear,;ny Nora Creina, ANF-.CGIN’G and bright fall the swift swordI of Erin’ On him who the brave sons of Usna betrayed!For every tlond eye he hath wakened a tear in, A dirop from his heart-wounds shall weep o’er her blade. By the red cloud that hung over Conor’s dark dwelling, t VWhen Ulad’st three champions lay sleeping in go reBy the billows of war, which so often, high swelling, Have wafted these heroes to victory’s shore Lesbia hath a wit refined, But, when its points are gleaming roun: Xm Who can tell if they’re designed To dazzle merely, or to wound us? Pillowed on my Nora’s heart, In safer slumber Love reposesBed of peace! whose roughest part Is but the crumpling of the roses. Oh! my Nora Creina, dear, My mild, my artless Nora Creina I Wit, though bright, Hath no such light, As warms your eyes, my Nora Creina. We swear to revenge them!-no joy shall be tasted, The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed, .r halls shall be mute, and our fields shall lie wasted, Till vengeance is wreaked on the murderer’s head. fs,s monarch! though sweet are our home recollections, Though sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall; I’hough sweet are our friendships, our hopes, our affections, Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all! ONE BUMPER

AT PARTING. ONE bumber at parting!-though many lave circled the board since we met, Tlu fullest, the saddest of any, Remains to be crowned by us yet. The sweetness that pleasure hath in it, Is always so slow to come forth, That seldom, alas! till the minute It dies, do we know half its worth. But come-may our life’s happy measure Be all of such moments made up; They’re born on the bosom of Pleasure, They die’midst the tears of the cup. THE MINSTREL BOY. THE Minstrel Boy to the war is gone, In the ranks of death you’ll find him; His fathter’s sword he has girded on, And his will harp slung behind him. Land of son,!” sail the warrior-bard, “Though all the world betrays thee, Otae sword, at least, thy rilghts shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee!” – The Minstrel fell!-but the foemnan’s chain Couldl not briny his proud soul utinder! The harp lie loved ne’er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder; And said, “No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love anl braveryI! Thy songs were made for the pure and frec, They shall never sound in slavery!” As onward we journey, how pleasant To pause and inhabit awhile Those few sunny spots, like the present, That’mid the dull wilderness smile! But Time, like a pitiless master, Cries “Onward!” and spurs the gay hout Ah, never doth Tim e tr avel faster, Than when his way lies among flowers But come-may our life’s happy measure Be all of such moments made up: They’re born on the bosom of Pleasure, They die’midst the tears of the cup. * The vords of ttis song were suggested bv the very ancient ish st,,-v called ”’

Deiriri. or the Lamentable Fate of the sons of snach,” svhich has been translated literally from the Gaelic, by r (s’Flar’asa (see vol. i. of ”

Transactions of the Gaelic Society l)ublil ), and Iluon which it appears that the “Darthula of Macerson” is founded. Tle treachery of Conior, king of Ulster, im ttil to deathi the three sons of Usna, was the cause of a deso;i war azai wst Ulster, which terminated in the destruction of n.

Thi.-; story,” ays MNr. O’Flanagan, “has been, from time eorial, held in high repute as one of the three tragic stories the h’isth. These are.‘The death of the children of Touran;’ -‘tie death of the children of Lear’

(both regarding Tuatha de Daitns): and tills, I The death of the children of Usnach,’ which is a lin story.’ It will be recollected that, in the second number thee elies. there is a ballad upon the story of the children Lear or LIir “Silent, oh Mloyle!” &c. Whatever may he thought of those sanguine claims to antiquity N:(iTr. O’Flana han and others advance for toe’iterature of Ireod, it wold le a lastin g reproach upon our nationality if the aeg!ic es(ar cies of this gentleman did not meet withi all the lib.t! ctcorae,,et tiles well merit. t’()ih Nasi’ iew tilat cloud that I here see in the skyv! I s ee er Eiai-,.ree a ciiin cloud of blood-tinged red.” Dei,‘ris – 1,g t Ulster. We saw how the sun looked in sinking, The waters beneath him how bright; And now, let our farewell of drinking Resemble that farewell of light. You saw how lie finished, by darting His beam o’er.a deep billow’s brimSo fill up, let’s shine at our paarting, In fill liquid( glory, like him. And oh! may our life.‘s happy measure Of momnent.s lilke this h inale Tip, Twvas born on the bosom of Pleasure: II ties’mid the:cars of the cuP. II I I .4 3,,

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TI’ iT IrRO LIBRARY mAREWELL!-BUT WHENEVER YOU WELCOME THE HOUR.

FAP,lrwELL!-but whenever you welcome the hour, That awaklens the night-song of mirth in your bower, Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, And forgct his own griefs to be happy with you. His griefs may returni, not at hope imay remain Of the fcw that h ae brightened his pathway of pain, Butt hlie ne’er will fo-rget the short vision, that threw Its enchantment around him, while liingerin with you.

And still on thalit eveninr, when t.leasii-re fills up T’o the lhighest top spark,le achi heart anl each cup, I Where’er my path lie-s. be it gloemv or b.‘ilht, My soul, happy friend, shlall be with iyou that night; Shall join 0n your revel,, vour’ si*or,s, anil vour wiles, And return to me, beamin? a-l o’er w li your smiles- Too blest, if it tells me that,‘id the a,- clheer., Some kind voice hal murmure!, “I Iwish he wveire here!”

Let Fate do her worst, there are relies of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she can not destroy; I Which come in the nieht-time of sorro,w and care, And bring hback the features tliht jc-y used to wear, Long, Ion be my heart w-itlh such imemeries fill’(! Like the vase, in wlhich roses hlave once been d(listille(d- Yo11 may br-eak, you my shIatter the vass, if vyon will, 1’it the scent of the roses will liang rouna, it still. I Sweet voice of comfort!‘twas like the stealing Of summer wind through some wreathed shellEach secret winding, each inmost feeling Of all my soul echoed to its spell. ‘Twas whispered balm-‘twas sunshine spok*n T I’d live years of grief and pain To have my long, sleep of sorrow broken By such benign, blessed sounds again. OH! doubt me not-tl,e season Is o’er, when Folly made me rove, And noNw the v%-estal, Reason, Sha1ll watch the fire awaked by Love. Although this heairt was early blown, And fairest handi1s (disturbed the tree, They only shlok som e blosso ms down, Its frui’t has al- I)een ikept for thee Then doubt me not-the season Is o’er, whien Folly madeede rove, And now the vestal, Reason, S,hall watch thec fire,awpLe(I by Love And tl’o.oI}I my late no longer May sin, of Passion’s ardent spell, Yet, trust ii, all the stronger I feel the bliss I do not tell.

‘The bee tlirougih many a garden roves, And hu1ims his la-y of courtship o’er, But when he finds the flower he loves, He se ttles there, anl heutrs no more. Then doubt me not-the season Is o’er, when Folly kept me free, And now the vestal, Reason, Shall guard the flame awi,alked by thee HAS

SORROWV THY YOUN-G DAYS SHADED. H is sorrow thy young dlays shadeld, As clouds o’er the morning fleet? Too fast have thlose young da-ys fadel, That, even in sorrow, were sweet! Does Time with his cold wing w-ither Each feelina that once was dear?Then, child of mnisfortune, come hither, I’ll weep writh thee, tear for tear. You remember Ellen, our hamlet’s pride, How meekly she blessed her humble lot, When the stranger, William, had made her his bride, And love was the light of their lowly cot.

Together they toiled through winds and rains, Till William, at length, in sadness said, “We must seek our fortune on other plains;” Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed. Has love to that soul, so tender, Been like ouor Watenincin mine,* Where spairL les of Rol(len sHalenlor All over the supthee shineBut, if in pursuit we!o deeper, Allured bv the zleam that shone, Ah! false as the dream of the sleeper, Lilke Love, the briaht ore is gone. Has Hope, lik-e the bird ini the story,f That fltted from t ree to tree With the talilman’s wo littehind g10ory Has Hope been tlhat bird to thee? On branch after branch alighting, The 2em did she still display An(], when nearest andl most invitilln~, Then waft the fair gem away? If thus the youn(z hours have fleeted, Whteni sorrow itself looked bright; Tf thus the fair hope hath cheated, That led thee along so li_ht; If thus the coldl w,orl(d now wither Each feelin.z that once was dem-:Come, child of misforttune, come hither, I’ll weep with tlhee, tear for tear. They roamed a long, an(] a weary way, Nor much was the maid(len’s heart at ease, When now, at close of one stormy day, They see a proud castle among the trees.

” To-night,” said the youth, “we’ll shelter there; The wind blows cold, the hour is late:” ,So he blew the horn with a chieftain’s air, And the porter bowedl, as they passed the gate. “Now, welcome, Lady.!” exclaimed the youth “This castle is thine, and these dark woods all!” sShe believed him crazed, but his words were truth, For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall! And dearly the Lord of Rosna lovNes What William, the stranger, wooet and wed, And the lig,ht of bliss, in these lordly groves, Shines pure as it didl in the lowly shed. WHEN FIRSTr I MET THEE. NO, NOT MORE WVELCOME. WHEN first I met thee, warm and young, There shone such truth about thee, And on thy lip such lpromise hung, I did not dare to doubt thee. I saw thee chan,e, yet still relied, Still cliing with holpe the fon(der, And thouhlt, though fialse to atll beside, From me thou couildst not w,anLder. But go, (leceiv-er! go, The heart, wN,hIose hopes could make it Trust one so G lse, so low, De,,ecre.i ~]:.t tlho s).-.uhll st bro,‘ll it No, not more welcome the fairy numbers Of music fall on the sleeper’s ear, When half-awaking from fearfuil slumbers, He thinks the full choir of heaven is nearThan came that voice, when. all forsaken, This heart long had -sleepin lain,t i, Nor thought its colil pulse woulI ever waken To such benign, lesse:] sounds again. ‘tluT ~V’icklow 0G.l,5!ineq, to:v!‘chi a t a,is verq!rds The h hesorves c. fear, bu.t too wel! tile chlinrac er lorr.

v,’?,f t!‘e0n. t’The bit0 h avtitnr ~ot its rri.,, so 4t ted r’,. f itr o, 1′ eeir!l oite alis-t ‘:’.ll i.r lr.s,./Oi1.1. ‘}!o.in:’,,;rcw lear it, n,;,l i,..n jt x, 1,t! 1.1 1 1’., ?}l.).t,‘i,q’:;,? i.‘i.,*;: l’.:,.;’:;e },!r1 +,~~,,k v,i;,,f,;l/:d. St, ~(,:.‘2:;;:)” –

-.e,i,i.,]^,ai;i,:,;t, 3 l;~ T Ti’ },alla!’.vis’:‘r:’,’ -,‘n s,, – n.‘P.tresti ‘:t.):‘V ~(.’!.] tf a (I,”.’ 5,,:! I!’}; {,,, I-.;: “.-, i I I I I 4 C OH! DOUBT ME NOT. YOU REMF,NTBFR ELLEN.* i I

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“Hail Star of my Isle!” said the Spirit, all sparkling With beams, such as break from her own dewy skies  “Through ages of sorrow, deserted and darkling, I’ve watched for some glory like thine to arise. For, though Heroes I’ve numbered, unblest was their lot, And unhallowed they sleep in the crossways of Fame; But oh! there is not One dishonoring blot On the wreath that encircles my Wellington’s name. Yet still the last crown of thy toils is remaining, The grandest, the purest, even thou hast yet known; Though proud was thy task, other nations unchaining, Far prouder to heal the deep wounds of thy own. At the foot of that throne for whose weal thou hast stood$ Go, plead for the ltand that first cradled thy fame, And, b righ t o’er the flood Of her tears and her blood, Let the rainbow of Hope be her Wellington’s name!’ When every tongue thy f ollies named, I f led the unwelcome story; Or found, in even the faults they blamed, Some gleams of future glory. I still was true, when nearer fiiends Conspired to wrong, to slight thee; T’he heart thi,at now thy i.alsehood rends Would then havre bled to right thee. But go, deceiver! go Some day, perhaps, thou’lt waken From pleasure’s dream, to know The grief of hearts forsaken.

Even now, though youth, its bloom has shed No lights of age adorn thee: The few, who loved thee once, have fled, And they, who flatter, scorn thee. Thy midnight cup is pledged to slaves, No genial ties enwreatti it; The sminiling there, like light on graves, Has rank cold hearts beneath it. Go,o-though worlds were thine, I would not now surrender One taintless tear of mine l1or,all thy guilty spl)lendor! THE TIME I’VE LOST

IN WOOING And days imay come, thou false one! yet, Whlen even those ties shall sever; When thou wilt call, with vain regret, On her thou’st lost for ever; OnX her who, in thy fortune’s fall, With smiles had still received thee, And gladly, (lied to prove thee all Her fancy first believed thee. Go go ‘tis vain to curse, ‘Tis weakness to upbraid thee; Hate can not wish thee worse Than guilt and shame have made thee. Her smile when Beauty granted, I hung withi gaze enchanted, Like him the sprite,* Whom maids by night Oft meet in glen that’s haunted. Like him, too, Beautv}I won me, But while her eyes were on me, If once their ray Was turned away, O! winds could not outran me. And are those follies going?

And is my proud heart growing Too cold or wise For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing? No, vain, alas! th’ endeavor From bonds so sweet to sever; Poor Wisdom’s chance Against a glance Is now as weak as ever. COME o’er the sea, Maiden, with me, Mine through sunshine, stormrn, and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where’er it goes Let ftte fiown on, so we love and part not; ‘Tis life where thiou art,‘tis death where thou’rt not. Then come o’er the sea, Maiden, with me, Come wherever the wild wind blows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where’er it goes. Was not the sea Made for the Free, Land for courts and chains alone? Here we are slaves, But, on the waves, Love and Liberty’s all our own. No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, All earth forzot, and all heaven around us Then come o’er the sea, Maiden, with me, Iine through sunshine, storm, and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where’er it goes. I sAw from the beach, when the morning was shining, A bark o’er the waters move gloriously on; I came when the sun o’er that beach was declining, – The baik was still there, but the waters were gone. And such is the fate of our life’s early promise, So passing the spring-tid(le of joy we have known; Each wave, that we danced on at morning, ebbs fiom us, And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone. Ne’er tell me of glories, serenely adorning The close of our day, the calm eve of our night;Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of Morning, Her clouds and her tears are worth Evening’s best light. Oh, who would not welcome that moment’s returning, When passion first waked a new life through his franse, And his soul, like the wood, that grows precious in burning, Gave out all its sweets to love’s exquisite flame? IILF, History’s Muuse the memorial was keeping Of all that the dark hand of Destiny weaves, i,. }te It,r It,?” t’. S G~, ~‘f Win s too h weeping, For1 ht1r w’- n,t ‘.h s:’- >vy f lh, sit b:t;vl thle leavles. t Oi! how V ie tear in lier eveli,s crew bright, Gl.en, a e te!i s I. – of sorr o w n artnl sh ame, .<},,so,- F[{;st ),,-v mite, .'.Vitch a1 I): -cinl ~gf!i'gt as if l?..‘nirne;l fli e DwNh:;!e v-o^lu.,e, l har.el licegtfones i T1h3s: C,;!,f,. ) a ):e:’.n of I ih fairy, i( is t,, be met a,It, Ithe) shivy il ti l l fields a;th l,aves. As Ao,rme as ylo, kre.p your eyes upon lhian ie is fixed. a.(i in r,ll e: eis the rlonlet you look away i(aend,ti iS {,,,.Am jo tits’,jeer s(-,e!t 1,1:cr’. t), be va nisile:;. i I liatd t{,:l_r’+! ~’, t i!;;: E.,v,s tl1,. -OWE Ad.. a. izi,’ l,,vc (] call filed. l,,,prechuaun; 1 }tout. a3 l~i_’.’ “:,,{!,‘i;: =:..l,:t,’!~ si.; Li.,i-,,,l…‘v,M’rgati (:1 a llO~‘o, tle.. 3i a!;’;:....t::,.-: r,! I, i.;,It;;,.,!v;. I~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~~ ; e gf Id’tt5 – - (‘e 3 t’‘‘3’,, 3;l, ) Xi.!, IRISH MELODIES. 437

TH.-E time I’ve lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing The light, that lies In woman’s eyes, Has been my lieart’s undoing. Tliot,igli Wis(loni oft has sought me, I scorned the loi-e she brouaht me, My only boolis IVere worna-,i’,, loolis, And folly’s all they’ve tauht me. COME O’ER THE

SEA. I SAW FROM THE BEACH. -VVHILE HFSTORY’S MUSE.

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4 3I THE MIRROR LIBRARY. WHERE IS THE SLAVE? But oh his joy, when, round The halls of Heaven spying, Among the stars he found A bowl of Bacchus lying! OH, where’s the slave so lowly, Condemned to chains unholy, Who, could he burst His bonds at first. Would p)ine beneath them slowly? What soul, whose wrongs degrade it, Would wait till time decayed it, When thus its wing At once nmay spring To the throne of Him who made it H Farewell, Erin-farewell, all, Who live to weep our fall! %me drops were in that bowl, Remains of last nighlt’s pleasure, With which the Sparks of Soull Mixed their burning treasure. Hence the goblet’s shower HatlI such spells to win us; Hence its mighty power O’er that flame within us. Fill the bumper fair! Every drop we sprinkle O’er the brow of Care Smooths away a wrinkle. Less dear the laurel growing, Alive, untouched andl blowing,m Than that, whose braid Is plucked to shade The brows with victory glowin,.

We tread the land that bore us, Her green flay glitters o’er us, The friends we’ve tried Are by otir side, Aud the foe we hate before us.

Farewell, Erin farewell, all, Who live to weep our fall! ‘TIS GONE, AND

FOR EVER. ‘Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking, Like Heaven’s first dawn o’er the sleep of the deadWhen Man, from the slumber of ages awaking, Looked upward, and blessed the pure ray, ere it fled.

‘Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning, That dark o’er the kingdoms of earth is returning, And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o’er thee. For high was thy hope, when those glories were darting Around thee, through all the gross clouds of the world When Truth, from her fetters indignantly starting, At once, like a Sun-burst, her banner unfurled.* Oh! never shall earth see a moment so splendid! Then, then-had one Hymn of Deliverance bienaed The tongues of all nations-how sweet had ascended The first note of liberty, Erin, from thee! CoME, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer, Though the herd have fled fiom thee, thy home is still here; Here still is the smile, that no cloud can o’ercast, And a hleart and a hand all thy own to the last. Oh! what wa3 love made for, if’tis not the same Through joy and through torment, through glory and shame? I know not, I ask not, if guilt’s in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.

But, shame on those tyrants, who envied the blessing’ And shame on the light race, unworthy its good, Who, at Deatlh’s reeking altar, like furies, caressing The young hope of Freedom, baptized it in blood. Then vanished for ever that fair, sunny vision, Which, spite of the slavish, the cold heart’s derision, Shall long be remembered, pure, bright, and elysian, As first it arose, my lost Erin, on thee! Thout hast called me thy Angel in moments of bliss, And tlhyv Angel I’ll be,‘mnid the horrors of thisThrough the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, And shield thee, and save thee-or perish there too! FILL THE BUMPER FAIR. FILL the bumper fair! Every drop we sprinkle O’er the brow of Care S mooth s away a wrinkle. Wit’s electric flame INe’er so swiftly passes, As when through the frame It shoots from brimming glasses Fill the bumper fair! Every drop we sprinkle O’er the brow of Care Smooths away a wrinkle. N-ges can, they say, Grasp the lightning’s pinions, And bring down its ray From the starred dominions: So we, Sages, sit, Anct,‘mid bumpers bright’ning, From the Heaven of Wit Draw down all its lightning. MY gentle Harp, once more I waken The sweetness of thy slumb’ring strain; In tears our last farewell was taken, And now in tears we meet again. No light of joy hath o’er thee broken, But, like those Harpl)s whose heavenly skil Of slavery, dark as thine, hath spoken, Thou hang’st upon the willows still. And yet, since last thy chord resounded, An hour of peace and triumph came, And many an ardent bosom bounded With hopes-that now are turned to shame. Yet even then, while Peace was singing Her halcyon song o’er land and sea, Though #y and hope to others bringing, She only brought new tears to thee. Then, who can ask for notes of pleasure, My drooping Harp, from chords like thine T Alas! the lark’s gay morning measure As ill would suit the swan’s decline! Or how shall I, who love, who bless thee, Invoke thy breath for Freedom’s strains, When even the wreaths in which I dress thee, Are sadly mixed-half flowers, half chains? But come-if yet thy frame can borrow One breath of joy, oh, breathe for me. And show the world, in chains and sorrqw, Ilow St,eet thy music still can be; Wouldst thou know what first Made our souls inherit This ennobling thirst For wine’s celestial spirit?

It chanced upon that day, When, as bards inform us, Prometheus stole away The living fires that warm us: The careless Youth, when up To Glory’s fount aspiring, Took nor urn nor eup To hide the pilfered fire in. T*’; Tn!e S’,n-‘)rqt” was s he fai,iful name gi’en by the anets risht to the rvval banner COME, REST lN TIIIS BOSOM. I MY GENTLE HARP.

Page 439 view page image iRISH MELODIES. 43q~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ How gayly, even’mid gloom surrounding, Thou yet canst wake at pleasure’s thrillLike Mlemnon’s broken image sounding, ‘Mid desolation tuneful still!* And when, in other climes, we meet Some isle, or vale enchanting, Where all looks flow’ry, wild, and sweet, And naught but love is wanting; We think how great had been our bliss, If Heaven had but assigned us To live and die in scenes like this, With some we’ve left behind us! As trav’lers oft look back at eve, When eastward dar-kly going, To gaze upon that light they leave Still faint behind them glowingE,n when the close of pleasure’s day To gloom hath near consigned us, WVe turn to catch one fading ray Of joy that’s left behind us. DEAR HARP OF MIY COUNTRY. DER Harp of miy Country! in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o’er thee long, t When proudly, mry own Island Harp, I unbound thee, And gave all thy chliorJs to lighl, fireedom, and song! The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness Have wakenedl thy lfondest, thy liveliest thrill; But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness, That even in thy mirth it will steal f,oim thee still. Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy numbers, This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine! Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers, Till touched by some hand less unworthy than mine; If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, Have throbbed at our lay,‘tis thy glory alone; I was b’lt as the wind, passing heedlessly over, Andi all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own. WHEN cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved, Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then; Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed, Weep o’er them in silence, and close it again. And.oh! if’tis pain to remember how far From the pathways of light he was tempted to roam, Be it bliss to remember that thou wert the star . That arose on his darkness, and guided him home. fN the morning of life, when its cares are unknown, And its p)leasures in all their new lustre begin, When we live in a bright-beaming world of our own, And the light that surrounds us is all from within; Oh’tis not, believe me, in that happy time We can love, as in hours of less transport we may;Of our smiles, of our hopes,‘tis the gay sunny prime, But affection is truest when these fade away. When we see the first glory of youth pass us by, Like a leaf on the stream that will never return; When our cup, which had sparkled with pleasure so high, First tastes of the other, the dark-flowing urn; The., the n is the time when affection holds sway With a depth and a tenderness joy never knew; Love, iursed among pleasures, is faithless as they, But the love born of Sorrow, like Sorrow, is true. In climes full of sunshine, though splendid the flowers, Their sighs have no freshness, their odor no worth; ‘Tis the cloud and the mist of our own Isle of Showers, That call the rich spirit of fragrancy forth. So it is not’mid splendor, prosperity, mirth, That the delpthl of Love’s generous spirit appears; To the sunshine of smniles it may first owe its birth, But the soul of its sweetness is drawn out by tears. From thee and thy innocent beauty first came The revealings, that taught him true love to adore, To feel the bright presence, and turn h im with shame From the idols he blindly had knelt to before. O’er the waves of a life, long benighted and wild, Thou earnest, like a soft golden calm o’er the sea; And if happiness purely and glowingly smiled On his evening horizon, the light was from thee. And though, sometimes, the shades of past folly might rem% And though falsehood again would allure him to stray, He but turned to the glory that dwelt in those eyes, And the folly, the falsehood, soon vanished away. As the Priests of the Sun, when their altar grew dim, At the day-beam alone could its lustre repair, So, if virtue a moment grew languid in him, He but flew to that smile, and rekindled it there. REMEMBER THEE. RE,M-EMBER thee? yes, while there’s life in this heart, It shall never fbrget thee, all lorn as thou art; More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers, Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours. Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and free. First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea, I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow, But oh! could I love thee more deeply than now? No, thy chains as they rankle, thy blood as it runs, But make thee more painfully dear to thy sonsWhose hearts, like the young of the desert-bird’s nes, Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast As slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still looked back To that dear Isle’twas leaving. So loath we part from all we love, From all the links that bind us; So turn our hearts as on we rove, To those we’ve left behind us. WHENE’ER I SEE

THOSE SMILING EYES. When, round the bowl, of vanished years We talk, with joyous seemingWith smiles that might as well be tears, So faint, so sad their beaming; While mem’ry brings us back again Each early tie that twined us, Oh, sweet’s the cup that circles’hen To those we’ve left behind m.I WAEnd’R I see those smiling eyes, So full of hope, and joy, and light, As if no cloud could ever rise, To dim a heaven so purely brightI sigh to think how soon that brow In grief may lose its every ray, And that light heart, so joyous now, Almost forget it once was gay. For time will come with all its blights, The ruined hope, the friend unkind, And love, that leaves, where’er it lights, A chilled or burning heart behind:While vouth, that now like snow appears, Ere sullie,l )y the dark’nin, rain, When once’tis touche(l by scrrow’s tears Can never shine so bright again. *

“Dimidio magicam resonant ubi Memnonie tnola:.”-JUVZNAL. t In that rebellious but beautiful song, “Wheo Erin first rose,” there is, if I recollect right, the following line: a The dark chain of Silence was thrown o’er the deep.” The chin of Silence was a sort of practical figure of rhetoric among the ancient Irish. Walker tells us of “a celehbated contention f)r precedence between Finn and Gaul, near l’inn’s palace at Al,I haim, where the attending Bar-ds, anxious, if possible, to produce a cessation of hostilities. shoo)k the clihain of Silence, and flung th.rnse!es aroim the ranks.” See also ti‘ ” ()de to Gaul, ttle Son of Mor,ci.” in Mliss Brooke’s ”’ Reliques 5 rish Poetry.” I IRISH MELODIES.

439 WHEN COLD IN THE EARTH. I’- THE MORNING OF LIFE. AS SLOW OUR SHIP.

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440 THE MIRROR LIBRARY.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ’-” WREATH THE BOWL. WREATH the howl With flowers of soul, The brightest Wi t can find us We’il take a flight ‘[‘o%arld li.ave,, to-ni,hl~t, And leave dufill eartlh behiind us.

Should1. r,.( xe ri l~.id Tihe wVIeaths be hid fhat Jot-. Ill’ enchanter, brings us, _”.o (ian Cger fealr, AWhiile wine is near, AXWe’ll (drown himn if he stilluS UC Then, wIeath the bo,wl Wiith flosswers CAd soul, The brightest tWit calin’.l us. Add re‘1 takue a tiziht Toward hieave-,!1 tc!-niglit, Anti lease dull cartl behind us. To ladies’ eyes around, boy, We can’t refuse, we cant’t refuse, Though bright eyes so abound, boy, ‘Tis hard to choose,‘tis hard to choose. For. thick as stars that lighten Yon airy bowe(rs, von airy bowers, The countless eyes that brighten This earth of oirs, this earth of ours. Rut fill the cep where’er, boy, Our choice i a) i,ll, our choice may fall, W, re’re sare to find Love there, boy,, So drink thenm all! so drink them all! Some lo s 1G( lhcr9 t tA(1e ali so holy, Thte t s eeIn hbut -given, they seem but given, As shinihg bl beae(olms solely, To light to heaven, to light to heaven. lvhile somc-oh!

ne’er believe them Tlitli tempting ray, with tempting ray, Wotull lead us (God forgive ther’a The other way, the other way. But fill the cupfh-xbere’er, boy, 1Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, We’re sure to fini( Love there, boy, So drink them all! so drink them all! ‘Twas nectar fed Of ol1l,‘tis saic, Their Junos, Joves, Apollos; Andl man may brew His nectar too, The rich receil)t’s as follows: Take wine like this, Let lookl, of bliss ArounrdfI it “,ell beC blenIe,]. Theln heinmz Wit’s beam To warm the stream, And there’s your nectar, splendidm So wreath the bowl Wk;ith flinwers of soul, The br ifzhtest Wit can find us, We’ll take a fligh-Iit Towvar(l heaven to-night, And leave dull earth behind us. Say, why did Time, His glass sublime, Fil’ u1) with sands unsightly, Wh’ien wine, he knew, Runs brisker through, An sparklles far more brightly? Oh, lend it uls, And, smiling thus, The glass in two we’ll sever, Brake pleasure glide In double tide, And fill both ends for ever! Then wreath the bowl With flowers of soul, The brightest Wit can find us; WVe ll take a flight Toward heaven to-niglht, And leave dull earth behind us, In some, as in a mirror, Love se500ns portreyed, Love seems portrayed, But shun the flzitt’ring error, ‘Tis but his shadle,‘tis but his shade. Himself has fixed his dwelling In eyes we know, in eyes we know, And lips-but this is telling So here tlhey go! so here they go! Fill up, fill ul)-where’er, boy, Our choice mnay fall, our choice may fall, We’re sure to find Love there, boy, So drink them all! so drink them all! THEY MAY RAIL AT THIS

LIFE. THEY mav rail at this life-firom the hour I began it, I found it a life full of kindness and bliss; And, until they can show me some happier planet, More social and bri.hlit, I’ll content me with this. As long as thle worll ins such lips an(l such eyes, As before me this momneut enraptured I see, They may say what they will of their corbs in the skies, But this earth is the planet for yowl, love, and me. In Mercury’s star, where each mnoment can bring theni New suinshiue andi wit from the fountain on high, Though the nymphs may have livelier poets to sing them,’

They’ve none, even there, more enamored than I. And, as long as this harp can be wakened to love, And that eye its divine inspiration shall be, They may talk as they will of their Edens above, But this earth is the planet for you, love, and me. IF THOU’LT BE MINE. IF, thou’lt be mine, the treasures of air, Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet, Whatever in Fancy’s eye looks fair, Or in Hope’s sweet music sounds most sweit, Shall be ours-if thou wilt be mine, love! Bright flowers shall bloom whlerever we rove, A voice divine shall tallk in each stream; The stars shall look lilke worlds of love, And this earth be all one beautiful dream .In our eyes-if thou wilt be mine, love! In that star of the west, by whose shadowy splendor, At twilight so often we’ve roamed through the dew, There are maidens, perhaps, who have bosoms as tender And look, in their twiliehts, as lovely as you.t But though they were even more bright thlitn the queen Of that isle they inhabit in heaven s blue sea, As I never those fair young celestials have seen, Why-this earth is the planet for you, love, and me. As for those chilly orbs on the verge of creation, Where sunshine and smiles must be equally rare, Did they want a supply of col(i hearts for that station, Heaven knows we have plenty on earth we could spare. Oh! think what a world we shouldl have of it here, If the haters of peace, of affectioi, andl glee, Were to fly up to Saturn’s coinfortess phelire, And leave earth to such spirtits as you, love, aid me! All this andl more the Sp,irit of Love Can breathe o’er them who feel his spells That heaven, which forms his home above, He can make on earth, wherever he dwells, As thou’It own-if thou wilt be mine, love! * Tous ]es hiabitaris de M’ercu ~e sent v:fs. Phl,,aUe d,,s I,n,,le. t La terre pourra ptre pour Vmnii l’Jt,oi!e ill }ii,‘er e la miy.des amours, comme Venus l’est pour nus.P,‘urrliee dr.s!o.‘.s I I I i I i i! I I I I i i i l I I I i I i I i ii i I II I THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 440 ii I I .I i TO LADIES’ EYES. And thoughts, whose source is hidden and hi,7h, . Like streams, that come from heavenward hills, Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie To be bathed by those eternal rills, ]Ever green, if tbou wilt be ne, lo-v,e

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IRISh MELODIES. 441 FORGET NOT THE FIELD. FORGET not the field where they perished, The truest, thil last of the brave, All gone-and thit briahit hope we cherished Gone with them, and quenched in their grave I THE

PARALLEL. YES, sad one of Sion,* if closely resembling, In shame and in sorrow, thy withered-up heartIf drinking deep, deep, of the same “cup of trembling,” Could make us thy children, our parent thou art. Like thee dotli our nation lie conquered and broken, And hfallen from her head is the once royal crown; In her streets, in her halls, Desolation hath spoken, And “while it is day yet, her sun hathli gone down.“t Like thine dothli her exile,‘mid dreams of returning, Die far from the home it were life to behold; Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning, Remember the briglt things that blessed them of old. Ah, well may we call her, like thee, “the Forsaken,“I Her boldest are vanquished, her proudest are slaves; And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken, Have tones’maid their mirth like the wind over graves! Yet hadst thou thy vengeance-yet came there the morrow That shines out, at last, on the longest dark night, When the sceptre that smote thee with slavery and sorrow, Was shivered at once, like a reed, in thy sight. When that cup, which for others the proud Golden Cityli Had brimmed full of bitterness, drenched her own lips; And the world she had tramn)led on hear(], without pity, The howl in her halls, and the cry fiom her ships. When the curse Heaven keeps for the haughty came over Her merchantl rapacious, her rulers unjust, And a ruin, at last, for the earthworm to cover,~ The Lady of KingdomsiT lay low ill the dust. SAIL on, sail on, thou fearless bark Wherever blows the welcome wind, It can not lead to scenes more darlk, More sad than those we leave behind. Each wave that passes seems to say, “Though death beneath our smile may be, Less cold we are, less fialse than they, Whose smniling wrecked thy hopes and thee.” Sail on, sail on-through endless space Through calm-through tempest-stop no more: The stormiest sea’s a resting place To him who leaves such hearts on shore. Or-if some desert land we meet, Where never vet tflse-hearted men Profaned a worl(l, t hat else were sweet Then rest thee, bark, but not till then. DRINK OF

THIS CUP. DRINK of this cup; you’ll find there’s a spell in Its every drop’gainst the ills of mortality. Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. Would you forget the dark world we are in, Just taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of it; But would you rise above earth, till akin To Immortals themselves, you must drain every drop ofit, Send round the cup-for oh, there’s a spell in Its every drop’gainst the ills of mortality: Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. Never was philter formed with such power To charm and bewilder as this we are quafling; Its magic began when, in Autuimn’s rich hour, A harvest of gold in the fields it stood laughing. There having, by Nature’s enchantment, been filled With the balm and the bloom of her kindliest weather, This wonderful juice from its core was distilled To enliven such hearts as are here brought together. Then drink of the cup-you’ll findl there’s a spell in Its every drop’gainst the ills of mortality: Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen! Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. And though, perhaps-but breathe it to no one Like liquor the witch brew sat midnight so awful, This phlilter in secret was first taught to flow on, Yet’ts n’t less potent for being unlawfil. And, ev’n though it taste of the smoke of that flame, Which in silence extracted its virtue forbiddenFill up-there’s a fire in some hearts I could name, Which may work to its charm, though as lawless and hidden. So drink of the cup-for oh there’s a spell in Its every drop’g,ainst the ills of mortality: Talk of the cordial that sparkle(] fo r Helen! Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. The Lady’s prayer Senanus spurned; The windis blew fresh, the bark returned; But legendsI hint, that had the maid Till iorning’s light delayed; A.nd Lsiven the saint one rosy smile, She ne’er had left his lonely isle. * in a metrical llfe of St. Senanulis, which is taken from an old lIkenny MS. adl mat be found am n,ne2 the Acta Sanctorul Hi rnie, we are told of his flight to the island of Scattery, and his esolution not to adm.it any woman of the party; and that he re-sed to receive even a sister saint, St. (,annera, whom an angel Ad taken to the isl,n..d for the express purpose of introducing her him. The following was the ungracious answer of St. Senanus, -eo-ding to his poetical biogJrapler: “ACut rn’rul, quid fse ivinis Commtua’: est cu~it msonachcis? wee te nec ullams a~iltn A ltmitlemu$s in in,sulavm.” Se,e!e Acl/s S t Hi,. ae 61. Ai ),i illg~ to Dr. sI e Swis’i,:t Seanis was no less a. personage ‘t: tile rive r ta ani o n; rlt ( )’;odnor a nd other a/iqaias den ,e nmetamlori.:ose indifinwa.

ly-. * These verses were written after the perusal of a treatise by Mr.

Hamiltonr, professing to prove that the Irish were originally Jews. ut TTer s.ii is zone down while it was vet? {“-Jer xv. X. $e “q’I tra.it cssl no i ore tbe termed Fgls.:atar.” ‘I,oeh. ixii 11 ” HTow liatli the oppressor ceased I the gol,den city ceased!” Isaiah, xiv. 4. S At “vTy Totp is hro,ithit do,wn to the grave.s….. ar.A 1 r,v-rrr.s c o’er t alee.” - e b cai c i x iv. l l. [ “Thiou st,a!t no) mor,-e be called *l)e haul of Ki}~gd’: g.’ 1 ~iab, xl vii. 5. I I i IRISII MELODIES. 441 Oh!

could we from death but recover Those liearts as they bounded before, In the face of high heaven, to fight over That combat for freedom once more; Could the chain for an instant be riven AVIlicli TN-ranny flui-ig round us then, ,No,‘tis not.in Man, nor in Heaven, To let Tyr,tnn3 bind it again!

But -tis past-anil, thot,,gh blazoned in story The iiame of our Victor inay be, Accurse(I is the m,-trcli of that glory Wliicil treads o’er the I.,earts of the free.. Far dearer the grave or the prison, Illunied by one patriot name, Than the trophies of all, who have risen On Lil,erty’s rliins to f,-tnie. SAIL ON, SAIL ON. ST. SENANUS AND THE LADY. ST.

SENANUS.* ” OH! baste aiil leave this sacred isle, Unholy bark, ere morning smile; For on thy deeli, tho-Lih dark it be, A female form I see; And I have sworn this sainted sod Shall ne’er by woman’s feet be trod.”

THE LADY. 11 Oh! Father, send not lience my bark, Through wintry winds and billows dark: I come with humble heart to share Thy morn and evening pra,er: Nor mine the feet, oh! holy Saint, rhe brightness of tliv sod to taint.” 2

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4i RI~ LIBRARltY. OH, YE DEAD I OH, ye Dead! oh, ye Dead!* whom we know by the light you give From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move like mea who live, Why leave you thus your graves, In far-off fields and waves, Where the worm and the sea-bird only know your bed, To haunt this spot where all Those eyes that wept your fall, And the hearts that wailed you, like your own, lie dead? OH FOR THE SWORD)S OF FORMER TIME I OH for the swords of former time! Ohi for tile men who bore them, Cohen armed, for Riglht they stood sublime, Aial t-rant’s ciouchtel before them: ithen fi ee yet, eIe courts begar ANWith hollors to enslave him, The best honors w,vorn by Man WVere those wvhicll virtue gave him. Ohl for the swoi]s, &c., &c. It is true, it is true, we are shadows cold and wan; And the fair and the brave whom we loved on earth are gone. But still thus even in death, So sweet the living breath Of the fields and the flowers in our youth we wandered o’er, That ere, condemned, we g o To freeze’nlid Hecla’s snow, We would taste it awhile, and think we live once more I Oh for the Kings who flourished then! Oh for the pr):np that crowned them, AWhen hearts as ian!s of freeborn men IWeie all the raipl)rts round them: AWhen, safe built oil bosoms true, The throne was but the centre, Rounl which Lo\e a circle drew, Thalt Treasocn dunst not enter. Oh for tlhe- Kings who flourished then! Oh folr the pomp that crowned them, W”chen hearts anll liamis of fr’eeborn men WVere,ill the ranmparts round them! o’DONOHUE’S

MISTRESS. OF all the fair months that round the sun In light-linked dance their circles run, Sweet May, shine thou for me: For still, when thy earliest beams arise, That youth, who beneath the blue lake lies, Sweet May, returns to me. Of all the bright haunts where daylight leaves Its lingering smile on golden eves, Fair Lake, thou’rt dearest to me: For when the last April sun grows dim, Thy Naiads prepare his steedt for him Who dwells, bright Lake, in thee., NE:‘En ask the hour-wh.at is it to us How’Iime deals out hiis treasures? The,-olden mominents lenit us thus Are not his coin, but Pleasutre’s. If couniting thomrn o’er could add to their blisses, I’d number each glorious second: But iomenits of joy are, like Lesbia’s kisses, Too quick anil sweet to be reckoned. Then fill tl e cup-what is it to us How Time his circle measures? The fairy hours we call up this, Obey no wand but Pleiisure-s. Of all the proud st eeds th at eve r bore Young plumed Chiefs on sea or shore, White Steed, most joy to thee; Who still, with the first young glance of spring, From under that glorious lake dost bring My love, my chief, to me. While, white as the sail some bark unfurls, When newly launched, thy long manel curls, Fair Steed, as white and free; And spirits, from all the lake’s deep bowers, Glide o’er the blue wave scattering flowers, Around my love and thee. Young Joy ne’er thought of counting hours, Till Care, one summer’s morning, Set up, amnong his smiling flowers, A dial, by way of warning. But Joy loved better to gaze on the sun, As long as its light was glowing, Than to watch with old Care how the shadow stole on, And how fast that light was going. So fill the cup-what is it to us How Time his circle measures? The fairy hours wte call up thus, ()bey no wand, but Pleasure’s. Of all the sweet deaths that maidens die, Whose lovers beneath the cold wave lie, Most sweet that death will be, Which, under the next May evening’s light, When thou and thy steed are lost to sight, Dear love, I’ll die for thee. THEE, THEE, ONLY

THEE. THE. dawning of morn, the daylight’s sinking, The night’s long hours still find me thinking Of thee, thee, only thee. When friends are met, and goblets crowned, And smiles are near, that once enchanted, Unreached by all that sunshine round, My soul, like some dark spot is haunted By thee, thee, only thee. * Paul Zealand mentions that there is a mountain in some par of Ireland, where tne ghosts of persons wno have died in foreign lands walk about and converse with those they meet, like living people. If asked why they do not return to their homes, they say they are obliged to go to Mount Ilecla, and disappear imme diately. t The particulars of the tradition respecting O’Donohue and his White Horse, may be fimund in Mr.

Weld’s Account of Kiillarney, OI more fully detailed in Derrick’s Letters.

For many years after hi death, the spirit of this hero is supposed to have been seen on the morning of May-day, gliding over the lake ons his favorite white horse, to the sound of sweet unearthly music. and preceded by’ groups of youths and maidens, who flung wreaths of delicate spng flowers inl his path. Among other stories connected witl this Legend of the Lakes, it is said tlat the rewas a young and beautiful girl svhose iriagination was so impressed wit.l the idea of this v isionary chieftain, that she fs ncied n)erself in loe with hi,e asr( at last, in a lit of insanity, on a Mav-nm.orning, threw hlerself into the lake. t TMe onoat en at Killarney call those wives which conie on a wiTnd faxl, cres d.t hli foam, “O’Donchue’s lwhite horses,” THE FORTUNE-TELLER. DOWN in the valley come meet me to-night, Andl I’ll tell you your fortune truly As ever was torl, by the new moon’s light, To a young ma,idleni, shining as newly.

But, for the worl(l, let no one be nigzlh, Lest hapl the stars shoull deceive me; Such secrets between you and me and the sky Should nev er go farther, believe me. If at that hour the heavens be not dim, My scitence shall call up before you A male apparitio n-the ima hge of him W’nose (‘tFstzV’~i’. to adore you. And It(,! that phantom you’ll be kind, ,So iond!v awound you he’ll hover, ~,’*’’. hlarv..my dear, any difference fim W. %a-,x;.nE and a true living lover. i, wna;-. tr feet, in thelpae pal moonr ligt, HOf’!,ael,. with at warmth of devotione k, ot which such an innocent sprite N:5; 4,‘a“clv tbelteve had a notion. i I 442 NE’ER ASK

THE HOUR. in’hai -,in,,l event.,, mav -,Irise, ,ks;n – ,;-.,)k T’ve not seen them, Must onIN be.-, o the,tzirs -tnfl your eyes Tr) -Rettle. ere between them.

Page 443 view page image iRISH MELODIES. Whatever in fame’s high path could waken My spirit once, is now forsaken For thee, thee, only thee. Like shores, by whichi some headlong bark Tr the ocean hurries, resting never, Lifeol sc enes go by me, bright or dark, I know not, heed not, hastening ever To thee, thee, only thee. “Oh thou, who lovest tlI,, shaidow,” cried A voice, low whispering by his side, “Now turn an(] see,”-here the youth’s delight Sealed the rosy lips of the Mountain Sprite. ” Of all the Sp)irits of lan(d and sea,” Then rapt he murimure(l, “there’s none like thee, “And oft, oh oft, may ilh foot thus light In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain Sprite I” I have not a joy but of thy bringing,. And pa n itself seems sweet when springing 1’rom thee, thee, only thee. Like spells that naught on earth can break, Till lips, that know the charmn, have spoken, This heart, howe’er the world may wake Its grief, its scorn, can but be broken By thee, thee, only thee. Sweot Innisftlltr, lone r iill dwell 11) In iliys r it t so(nni y smile, Whtic’ o’er tl,t., on that eiveonin,, fell, WeIlnll fir-st I Saw tlhy it’iiy isle. How sweet the answer Echo makes To music at night, When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, And far away, o’er lawns and lakes, Goes answering light. ‘Twas light, i ee X, too blest for one, WLo had to tA l n to pa, ths of ca reThro,,ilh cr’ow,,!c(d havliis a-aiin to lrun, And leave thee brig,,t atl silent there; Yet Love hath echoes truer far, And far more sweet, Than e’er beneath tile moonlight’s star, Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar, The songs repeat. No more unto tBiu shores to come, But, on the wrld’s rude ocean tost, Dream of thee sometimes, as a home Of sunshine he had seen and lost. ‘Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere, And only thenThe sigh that’s breathed for one to hear, Is by that one, that only dear, Breathed back again! Far better in thy weeping hours To part from tlhee, as I (lo now, When mist is o’er thy blooming bowers, Like sorrow’s veil on beauty’s brow. For, though unrivalled still thy grace, Thou dost not look, as then, too blest, But thus in shadow, seem’st a place Where erring man might hope to restMight hope t o res t, an d fin d in thee A gloom like Eden’s, on the day He left its shade, when everv tree, Like thine, hung weeping o’er his way. Weeping or smiling, lovely isle! And all the lovelier for thy tearsFor though but rare thy sunny smile, ‘Tis heaven’s own glance when it aplears. OH banquet not in those shining bowers, Where Youth resorts, but come to me: For mine’s a garden of faded flowers, More fit for sorrow, for age, and thee.

And there we shall have our feast of tears, And many a cup in silence pour; Our guests, the shades of former years, Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more. There, while the myrtle’s withering boughs Their lifeless leaves around us shed, We’ll brim the bowl to broken vows, To friends long lost, the changed, the dead. Or, while some blighted laurel waves Its branches o’er the dreary spot, We’ll drink to those neglected graves, Where valor sleeps, unnamed, forgot. QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND. QUICK!

we have but a second, Fill round the cup, while you may; For Time, the churl, hath beckoned, And we must away, away! Grasp the pleasure that’s flying, For oh, not Orpheus’ strain Could keep sweet hours from dying, Or charm them to life again. Then, quickl! we have but a second, Fill round the cup, while you may; For Time, the churl, hath beckoned, And we must away, away! IN yonder valley there dwelt, alone, A youth, whose moments had calmly flown, Till spells came o’er him, and, day and night, He was haunted and watched by a Mountain Sprite. As once, by moonlight, he wandered o’er The golden sands of that island shore, A foot-print sparkled before his sight’Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain Sprite! Beside a fountain, one sunny day, As bending over the stream he lay, Where peeped down o’er him two eyes of light, A nd he saw in that mirror the Mountain Sprite. He turned, but, lo, like a startled bird, That spirit fled -and the youth but heard Sweet music, such as mmnks the flight Of somne bird of song, from the Mountain Sprite. See the glass, how it flushes, Like some young Hebe’s lip, And half meets thine, and blushes That thou shouldst delay to sip. Shame, oh shame unto thee, If ever thou seest that day, When a cup or lip shall woo thee, And turn untouched away! Then, quick! we have but a second, Fill rouin(l, fill round, while you ma! For Time, the churl, hath beckoned, And we mi st away, away! One night, still haunted by that bright look, The boy, bewildered, his pencil took, And,, guided only by memory’s light, Drew ae once-seen form of the Mountain Sprite. I 4,4’,,, SVEET ININISFAT,LEN. SWF,ET Tnnisf,illen, f,ii-e tliee Nl,-iy calrii iii(i s,,iii,,Iiiiie lon, be thine! How tlicit ai’t It,t t(]I To feel lio\N, 4bii- sliall long be inine. ECHO. OH BANQUET NOT. Like feelin,- hearts, whose joys are few, But, when iiuieed they come, divineThe brightest light the sun e’er threw Is lifeless to one gleam of thine I THE

MOUNTAIN SPRITE.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. FAIREST! PUT ON AWHILE. The sword may pierce the beaver, Stone walls in time may sever, ‘Tis mind alone, W,orth steel and stone, That keeps men fi’ee for ever. Oh that sight entrancing, lWhen the morning’s beam is glancing, O’er file s arr ayed With helm and blade, And in Freedorai’s cause advancing! FAIREST! put on awhile These pinions of light I bring thee) And o’er thine own Green Isle In fancy let me wing thee. Never did Ariel’s plume, At golden sunset hover O’er scenes so full of bloom, As I shall waft thee over. Fields, where the Cpriig delays, And fearlssly meets i the ardor Of the aswarmn Summrf,-er’: gaze, AVith only her tears to guard her. Rocks, thlrough myivrtle boughs In grace majestic fiowning; Like solve b wd warrlor’s brow,s Tllat Loed hath just been crowning. AND DOTHII NOT A MEETING LIKE THIS. AND doth not a meeting like this make amends, ‘For all the long years I’ve been wandering awayTo see thus around me my youth’s early friends, As smiling and kind as in that happy day? T hough haply o’er some of your brows, as o’er nine, The snow-fall of time may be stealing-what then t Like Alps in the sunset, thus lighlted by wine, We’ll wear the gay tinge of youth’s roses again.

What softened remembrances come o’er the heart, In gazing on those we’ve been lost to so long! The sorrows, the joys, of which once they were part, Still round them, likle visions of yesterday, throng, As letters some hand hath invisible traced, When held to the flame will steal out on the sight, So miany a feeling, that long seemed effaced, The warmth of a moment like this brings to light. And thus, as in memory’s bark we shall glide, To visit the scenes of our boyhood anew, Though oft we may see, looking down on the tide, The wreck of full many a hope shining through; Ytt still, as in fancy we point to the flowers, That once made a garden of all the gay shore, IEeceived for a moment, we’ll thinkl them still ours, And breathe the fresh air of life’s morning once moe.” So brief our existence, a glimpse, at the most, Is all we can have of the few we hold dear; And oft even joy is unheeded and lost, For want of some heart, that could echo it, near. Ah, well may we hope, when this short life is gone, To meet in some world of more permanent bliss, ‘For a smile, or a grasp of the hand, hastening on, Is all we enjoy of each other in this.t lsgets, so fresl yN fitir, That never hath bird come niigh theIn But from hii course throughl air He hath been wvon down by th In; * Types, sweet inaid of thee, Whose leok, W~hose blush iniviting, Never did L ove yet see From Heaven, without alighting. Lakes, where the pearl lies hiid,t And caves, where the gem is sleeping, Bright as the tears thy lid Lets fall in lonely weeping. Glens,l where Ocean comes, To’scale the wild wind’s rancor, And Harbors, worthiest homes Where Freedom’s fleet can anchor. Then, if, while scenes so grand, So beautiful, shine before thee, Pride for thy own dear land Should haply be stealing o’er thee, Oh, let grief come first, O’er pride itself victoriousThinking howv man hath curst What Heaven had made so glorious!

But, come, the more rare such delights to the heart, The more we should welcome and bless them the more; They’re ours, when we meet-they are lost when we part, Like birds that bring summer, and fly when’tis o’er. Thus circling the cup), hand in hand, ere we drink, Let Sympathy pledge us, through pleasure, through pain. Then, fast as a feeling but touches one link, Her magic shall send it direct through the chain. Oni, the sight entrancing, When moi-rnina’s beamn is glancing O’er files arrat-ed With he lm to d blade, And plmnes, in the zay vwind dancing! When hearts are “ll hiIh beating, And the ttumlet’s voice repeating That son~, whose breath May lead to death, But never to retreating. Oh the sioht entrancing, When morninz’s beam is glancing O’er files arraeyel, With helm and blade, And plumes, in the gay wind dancing. ‘TWAS ONE OF THOSE DREAMS.t ‘TWAS one of those dreams, that by music are brought, Like a bright summer haze, o’er the poet’s warm thoughtWhen, lost in the future, his soul wanders on, And all of this life, but its sweetness, is gone. The wild notes he heard o’er the water were those He had taught to sing Erin’s dark bondage and woes, And the breath of the bugle now waftedi them o’er From Dinis’ green isle, to Gleni’s wooded shore. He listened-while, high o’er the eagle’s rude nest, The lingering sounds on their way loved to rest; And the echoes sung back from their full mountain choLtr, As if loth to let song so enchanting expire. Yet,‘tis not helm or feather. For ask yon despot, whether His I)lumted bands Cotuld bring such hands And hearts as ours tozether. Leave pomps to those who need’emGive man but heart and freedom, And proud he braves The gaudiest slaves That crawl where monarchs lead’em. * “Jonrs charmans, quand jo songe a vos heureux inistans, Je pense remonter le fleuve de nies ans; Et mon c(Dur, enchante sur sa rive fleurie, Respire encore l’ail puir (dui matin de la vie.” 1a Tht a me tam houglit has been happily expressed by my friend Mr. tiWashliitigon IrvTing, in h.s B,,c.br’,ei fa/. fo’. i., p. 213 The sincere pleasre whichl I fe,tl in calli iithis gecitleman my friend, is much enhanced by the refletdion that he is toon good an Aner,cari to have admitted me so readily to such a distinction, if he had not known that my,feelings toward the great and free cllntry tht gave him birtll. h,ave been ]log sucl as eery real lover of’,,< liberty anld lharpincss of the h~::nan race mrsit eno,t'tan. $

NVritten (stying a visit to Lord Kenltnare, a, Kli!arne~y. in describing the Skeligs (islands of the Barony of Forth), Dr. [eating says, " There is a certain attractive virtue in the s o il, which draws d,,atn all the bn'ds that attempt to fly over it, and obig,~s th~em to limpeht ulp.r the rock." t tNiin-r a arilisd *!-iter of the eiatl racentury r,eitionts the abundaI ce of pearls in Iaelandi. Their plil rces, he says, hung them bet,ind their ears: a,,d this bile find con,fi-rmed by a present made A.

C.!9q4. t,y Gll,ert,. Bis} op of I,imerick, to A,sel,, Archbishop of Ca nterbury, of a con,siderable qua ntity (,f Irish pearls."-O'Ha l.t Glenga~iff. I i 11 I i I i i i . I 0 4,i-l i i i I i I i i i i I i i OH, THE SIGHT E.,NTRNCING. i

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IRISH MELODIES. Who, that ever approached him, when free from the crowd, In a home full (,f love, he delighted to tread ‘Mong the trees which a nation had given, and which bowed, As if each brought a new civic crown for his head It seemed as if every sweet note, that died here, Was again brought to life in some airier sphere, Some heaven in those hills, wher e th e s oul of the strain That had ceased upon earth was awalking, again!

Oh forgive, if, while listening to music, whose breath Seemed to circle his name with a charm against death, He s hould feel a proud Spirit within him procelaim, “Even so shalt thou live in the echoes of Fame: Is there one, who hath thus, through his o rbit of life But at distance observed himn-through glory, through blame, In the calm of retreat, in the grandeur of strife, Whether shining or clouded,. still high and the same Even so, though thy memory should now die away, Twill be caught up again in some happier day, And the hearts and the voices of Erin prolong, Through the answering Future, thy name and thy song.’” Oh no, not a heart, that e’er knew him, but mourns Deep, deep o’er the grave, where such glory is shrinedO’er a monument Fame will preserve,‘niong the urns Of the wisest, the bravest, lt,e best of mankind! AS VANQUISHED ERIN. As vanquished Erin wept beside The Bovne’s ill-fated river, She saw where Discord, in the tide, Had dropped his loaded quiver. “Lie hid,” she cried, “ye venomed darts, Where mortal eye may shun you; Lie hid-the stain of manly hearts, That bled for me, is on you.” BY the Feal’s wave benighte d, No star in the skies, To thy door by Love lighted, I first sawts those eyes. S)me voice whispered o’er me, As the threshold I crost, iThere was ruin before me, If I loved, I was lost. But rain her wish, her weeping vain As Time too well hbth taught herEach year the Fitend returns again, And div es into that water; And brings, trium,phlant, from beneath His shafts of desolation, And sends them, -wing,ed with worse than death, Through all her ma-dening nation. Alas for her who sits ant mourns. Even now, beside tthat river-Y Unwearied still the Fienl returns, And stored is still his quiver. “When will this end, ye Powers of G(ood?” She weeping asks for ever; But only hears, fiom out that flood, The Demon answer, “Never!” You, who call it dishonor To bow to this flame,If you’ve eyes, look but on her, And blush while you blame. Hath the pearl less whiteness Because of its birth? Hath the violet less brightness For growing near earth? No-Man for his glory To ancestry flies; But Woman’s bright story Is told in her eves.

While the Monarch but traces Through mortals his line, Beauty, born of the Gr,aces, Ranks next to I)ivine! SHALL THE HARP, THEN, BE SILENT. SHALL the Harp, then, be silent, when he who first gave To our country a name, is withdrawn from all eyes? Shall a Minstrel of Erin stand mute by the grave, W’here the first-where the last of her Patriots lies? No-faint though the death-song may fall from his lips, Though his Harp, like his soul, may with shadows be crost, Yet, yet shall it sound,‘mrid a nation’s eclipse, And proclaim to the world what a star hath been lost; Tc* THOUGH humble the banquet to which I invite thee, Thou’lt find there the best a poor bard can command Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee, ! And Love serve the feast with his own willing hand. Washat a’

union of all the affections acid powers By which life is exalted, embellishrid, refined, Was embraced in that spirit-whose cenitre was ours, Uqiile its mighty cir-cumiifereiiec eircled mankind. And though Fortune may seem to lhave ttirne(l from the dwelling Of him thou reg,ardest her favorin:7 ray, Thou wilt find there a gift, all her treastur-es exceiiing,, Which, proudly he feels, h,ath ennobled] his way. !Tis that freedom of mindI, wich no vuflgar dominion Can tuirni from the path a pui-e conscience approves; Which, with hope in the heart, and no chain on the pinion, Holds upward its course to the light which it loves. Oh, who that loves Erin, or who that can see, Through the waste of her annals, that epoch s-blimeLike a pyramid raised in the desert vwhere he And his glory stand out to the eyes of all time; That one lucid interval, snatched firom the gloom And the madness of ages, when filled with his soul, A Nation o’erleaped the d(ark bounds of her doom, Antl tor oAte sacrecl instant, touched Liberty’s goal? Who, that ever hath heardi him hath drank at the source Of that won(lerful eloquence, all Erin’s own, In whose high-thoughted daring, the fire, and the force, And the yet untamed spring of her spirit are shown? An eloquence rich, wheresoever its wave Wandereid free ant triumphant, with thoughts that shone through, As clear as the brook’s “stone of lustre,” and gave, With tlhe flash of,he geBn, its solidity too. * “Thomas, the heir of the Desmond family, had accidentaily been so engaged in the chase, that he was bonighted near Tralee, and obliged to t.ale shelter at the Aibey of eal. in the house of one of lis dep endtarit, cllel Mac C,orine. (‘a,l,‘sie, a bea:tiut dau&ghter of lis h, ot. i, n.t’l’~ i v,si:i’c,)!:e c;:: a i olent pas’gsle ai.:s whre;vhtti ol lth dt,!.h:f(,n r.o a,trit,. l h tl er. In, ( t;v t.: inferior i’*a f{):c:tlip>.l;’ l.i ’,;l,’.vc:‘s’,!’,: t ;-l’l,. be:’ T’  his fa:,rilv.” -i,-...,,L,,’, j. I I’li}esc!i:,cs we re witten on tlie death of our g,,reat patriot, Grattc’a. it tl vear 1720. It, is oiilv the t!;,: tvo verses that art1 eithe-X *r’ – nd or fitted to be sung. I I 1 1 1 i 11 i iI i I iI i i i i i i , ,4 , i ) DESMOND’S SONG.’ Love canie, and brcii!

Ijt sorrow Too soon in his train; Yet so sweet, that tomorrow ‘Twere welcome again. Though misery’s full i-neasure My portion should b,?, I would drq.in it with pleasure, Ifpoured out by thee. ‘I’FTOUGH ITUATBLE

THF, B.NNQUET. ‘Tis this makes the pride of his humble retreat. And, with this, though of all other treasures bereaved, The breeze of his garden to him is more sweet Than the costliest incense that Pomp e’er received.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Tlien, come-if a board so untempting hath power To win thee from grandeur, its best shall be thine; And there’s one, long the light of the bard’s happy bower, Who, smiling, will blend her bright welcome with mine. eaming of music, he slumbered the while, [ill faint from his lips a soft melody broke, d Venus, enchanted, looked on with a smile, While Love to his own sweet singing awoke. Then sing-sing-Music was given, To brighten the gay and kindle the loving; Souls here, like planets in heaven, By harmony’s laws alone are kept moving. SHE SUNG OF LOVE. THEY know not my heart, who believe there can be One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee; Who think, while I see thee in beauty’s young hour, As pure as the moirnin,g’s first dewv on the flower, I could harm what I love-as the sun’s wanton ray But smiles on the dewdrop to waste it away.

No-beaming with light as those young features are, There’s a light round thy heart which is lovelier far; It is not that cheek-‘tis the soul dawning clear Through its innocent blush makles tlhy beauty so dear; As the sky we look up to, tlhotigh glorious and fair, I loolted up to the more, because Heaven lies there! SHEn sung of Love, while o’er her lyre The rosy rays of evening f ell, As if to feed, with their soft fire, The soul within that trembling shell. The same rich light hung o’er her cheek, And played around those lips that sung And spoke, as flowers would sing and speak, If Love could lend their leaves a tongue. But soon the West no longer burned, Each rosy ray from heaven withdrew; And, when to gaze again I turned, The minstrel’s form seemed fading too. As if her light and heaven’s were one, The glory all had left that frame; And from her glimmering lips the tone, As from a parting spirit, came.* Who ever loved, but had the thought That he and all he loved must part? Filled with this fear, I flew and caught The fading image to my heartAnd cried, ” Oh Love!

is this thy doom? Oh light of youth’s resplendent day! Must ye then lose your golden bloom, And thus, like sunshine, die away?” I WISH I WAS BY

THAT DIM L,AKE. I WISH I was by that dim Lake,* Where sinful souls their farewell take Of this vain world, and half-way lie 1ii death’s cold shadow, ere they die. There, there, far from thee, Deceitful world, my home should be; Where, come whiat might of gloom and pain, False hope should ne’er deceive again. The lifeless sky, the mournful sound Of unseen waters falling round; The dry leaves, quiv’ring o’er my head, Like man, unquiet even when dead! These, ay, these shall wean My soul from life’s deluding scene, And turn each thought, o’ercharged with gloom, Like willows, downward toward the tomb. SING, SWEET HARP. SING, sweet Harp, oh sing to me Some song of ancient days, Whose sounds, in this sa d memory, Long-buried dreams shall raise:Some lay that tells of vanished fame, Whose light once round us shone; Of noble pride, now turned to shame, And hopes for ever gone.Sing, sad Harp, thus sing to me; Alike our doom is cast, Both lost to all but memory, We live but in the past. How mournfully the midnight air Among thy chords doth sigh, As if it sought some echo there Of voices long gone by;,f Chieftains, now forgot, who seemed The foremost then in fame; Of Bards who, once immortal deemed, Now sleep without a name.In vain, sad Hari,, the midnight air Among thy chords doth sigh; In vain it seeks an echo there Of voices long gone by. Couldst thou but call those spirits round, Who once, in bower and hall, Sat listening to thy mazic sound, Now muite and inould’ring all;But, no; they would but wake to weep Their children’s slavery; Then leave them in their dreamless sleep, The dend, at least, are free!Hush, hush, sad H,arp, that dreary tane. That knell of Pree(aom’s day; Or, listening to its deathlike moan, Let me, too, die away. As they, who to their couch at night Would win repose, first quench the light, So must the hopes, that keep this breast Awake, be quenched, ere it can rest. Col,l, cold, this heart must grow, Unrmoved by either joy or weo, Like freezing founts, where all that’s thrown Within their current turn: to stone. SING-SING-MUSIC WAS GIVEN. SI,G-sing-Mlusic was given, To brighten the gay, anal kindle the loving; Souls here, like planets in heaven, By harmony’s laws alone are kept moving. Beauti may boast of her eyes and her cheeks, But Love from the lips his tile archery wings; And she, who but feathers the dart when she speaks, At once sen Is it home to the heart when she sings. Then s wn.sin-Music was given, I’o br izhten the zay, and kindle the loving; Soul, here, like planets in heaven, Bi lharmony’s 1iws alone are kept moving. ‘,V:.-n fLoe ieclked by his mother, 1T,fA slnepinz as calm as slumber could make him, .; “Itls h.ish, ” said Venus, ” no other Sweet voice but his own is worthy to wake him.5′

– Thse ver,es are meant to allude to that ancient haunt of su- Then leave them in their dreamless sleep, Me,.nt,i. cai9ed atr-ick’s Purgator-y. ” In tie nidst of these ! mry reegions o,f Donegall (says Dr. Camphell), lay a lake, which The dead, at least, are free v s t, o e he mstic t heatre of this fahled and intermediate Hush hush, sal Ilor), that dreary ttne, ,.ate.!Ir tielke wvn ere several islands: but one of tihem was dig- That knell of Preeom’s day fi]ed w ith that called the IMoith of Purgatory, which, during the la ages, attracted the notice of all Chlistendo(m, and was the Or, listenig to its deathlike moan, -esort of penitents and pitglirns from almost every country in Eu-Let me, too, die away. ‘ope.”

‘;va,” a, the sme w riter tells, oie of the most dismal * The thought here was stuggested by some beautiful lines in Kil nil dreary spots in the Nrq-.ihie tilrouoh deep Rogers’s Poem of Human Lf, e,eginnng.Wields and ruzxetarv mounlltainls. f;-izltfut wll1l imr!rcnlingr rocks, and| C’ dro rrrI i rocks, and “Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows ;he ~lf flowv Tnlilrl~lils:~f tile wvfste’.‘n wxindis in dI~rk cisterns, people I”Nw ntl rinreifsdyn gh hgrw tliv ma ii, axther. Ii a,la erc r c e, is, fra less atll.” ;:,Ce assO ciatiii, woolrt to a?r:,r>y:iate t{ Sath glom lscenos.” I would quote the entire passage, did I not fear to put my OwseI A; ^ri rs,,cn tire brccresiastica1 aand LJA’{:.rac Yistory of Ireland(. humble ia.itationr of it out of coun’,ne:ance. I I 1 4,116 THEY

K-INOW NOT MY HEART.

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RDIES. 447 SONG OF THE BATTLE EVE. This, this the doom must be Of all who’ve loved, and lived to see The few bright things they thought would stay For ever near them, die away. TO-MORROW, comrade, we On the battle-plain must be, There to conquer, or both lie low! The morning star is upA But there’s wine still in the cup, And we’ll take another quaff, ere we go, boy, go; We’ll take another quaff, ere we go. ‘Tis true, in manliest eyes A passing tear will rise, When we think of the friends we leave lone; But what can wailing do? See, our goblet’s weeping too! With its tears we’ll chase away our own, boy, our own; With its tears we’ll chase away our own. Though fairer forms around us throngi, Their smiles to others all belong, And want that charm which dwells alone Round those the fond heart calls its own. Where, where the sunny brow? The long-lknown Voice-where are they now I Thus ask I still, nor ask in vain, The silence answers all too plain. But daylight’s stealing on;The last that o’er us shone Saw our children around us play; The next-ah! where shall we And those rosy urchins be? But-no matter-grasp thy sword and away, boy, away; No matter grasp thy sword and away! Let those, who brook the chain Of Saxon or of Dane, Ignobly by their firesides stay; One sigh to home be given, One heartfelt prayer to heaven, Then, for Erin and her cause, boy, hurra! hurra I hurra I Then, for Erin and her cause, hurra! Andl, lo, where afar o’er ocean shines A sparkle of radiant green, As though in that deep lay emerald mines, Whose light through the wave was seen. “1 [Tis Innisfailt-‘tis lnnisfail!” Rings o’er the echoing se,a; While, bending to heaven, the warriors hail That home of the brave and free. THE WANDERING

BARD. WIIAT life like that of the bard can beThe wandering bard, who reams as free As the mountain lark that o’er him sings, And, like that lark, a music brings Within him, where’er he comes or goesk fount that for ever flows! ‘he world’s to him like some play-ground, ffhere fairies dance their moonlight round;If dimmed the turf where late they Irod, The elves but seek some greener sod; So, when less bright his scene of glee, To another away flies he! Oh, what would have been young Beauty’s doom, Without a bard to fix her bloom? They tell us, in the moon’s bright round, Things lost in this dark world are found; So charms, on earth long passed and gone, In the poet’s lay live on.Would ye have smiles that ne’er grow dim? You’ve only to give them all to him, Who, with but a touch of Faney’s wand, Can lend them life, this life beyond, And fix them h igh, in Poesy’s skyYoung stars that never die! STRIKE the gay harp! see fthe moon is on high, Aid, as true to her belam as tlhe ti(!es of the ocean, Young hearts, when they feel the soft lizht of her eye, Obey the mute call, and heave into rm-( tion. Then, sound notes-the ayvest. tlhe lightest, That ever took wing, when healven lo(,-)ked brightest! Again! A,zain! Oh! could such heart-stir.;nz m,usic he heard In that City of Statues descreibed hby romancers, So wakening its spell, even stone wveild lee stirred, And( statues themnselves all start into dancers! Then, welcome the bard where’er h( tLomii For, though he hath countless airy homes, To which his wing excursive roves, Yet still, from time to time, he loves To light upon earth and find such cheer As brightens our banquet here. No matter how far, how fleet he flies, You’ve only to light up kindl – young eyes, Such signal-fires as here are givenAnd down he’ll drop from Faney’s heaven, The minute such call to love or mirth Proclaims he’s wanting on earth! Why then delay, with such souindis in our ears, And the flower of B3eatity’s own -arlen before usWhile stars overhead leave the song of their spheres, And listening to ours, hang wondering o’er us? Again, that strain!-to hear it thus soiindin~, Might set even Death’s cold pullses boundinpg Aczain!

A Oh, what delight when she youthful and ball I;Each with eye like a slunbeam andi foot like a leather, Thus dance, like the Hours to the music of May, And mingle sweet song and sunshin. together! u “:in to,-eis rememberei tl,, remartt,‘e prl,icti-n of the prini* l-ttal Ale-!., i evho foretold thet t,iln oqtE,r Iv,f Oaielas should ohb. Whtiin’he d, ssess ion of a WVeslen lslard wliclh wvas Ireland), aid t I Dl,ti’A i,tfll:nit.rKafid.. tei n csh: o’sland of DOestin, Oae of Lhr ancient Lames of Ireland. TIMF,-THE NINTH CFNTURY. Ob, what is F,,iney’s mi ,ic worth, If all her art can not call forth One bliss like those-we felt of old From lir-s now niute, and eyes now cold? No, no-her spell is vainAs soon could she brinz back again Those eyes themselves from out the grave, As wake again one bliss they gai-e SONG OIF INNISFAIL. THiEy came from a land beyond the Sen., And now o’er the western main Set sail, in their good ships, gallantly, From the siinp.,- land of Spain. Oh, where’.3 tic Isle -we’N-e seen in dreams, Our destined home or grave?”* Thus sun,- they, as, by the morning’s beams, They swept the Atlantic wave. Then tui-ned they unto the eastern wave, Where now their D,-ii.-Go(I’s eye A look of such stinny omen gave As lighted tip sea and sliv. Nor frow-n was seen tliroii!z h sky or sea, Nor tear o’er leaf or so(], When first on their Isle of Destiny Our great forefathers trod. THE NIGHT DANCB,. ALONE

IN CROWDS TO WANDER ON. ALO’.%-E in crow.Is to winter o-,i, And t(?c- that all,he i.,.zone Which r an:] ( ves belon c Si,e.1 we roved

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‘I’HE MIRROR LIBRARY. I’VE A SECRPET TO TELL THEE. I’ve a secret to tell thee, but hush! not here Olh! no)t wh.ere the worldi its vigils keeps; I’ll seek, to whisper it ill thine ear, Some shoie whtere the Spirit of’lence sleeps; T’here stimmet’s wave t,nm-urm’rin,g dies, Nor fty can hear the Ifulitain’s ush; Where, if but a note hier niiht-bird sixths, The rose saith, chidingly, “Hiisl, suweet, hush I” LAY HIS SWORD BY HIS SIDE.

LAY his sword by his side,* it hath served him too wt1 Not to rest near his pillow below; To the last momnent true, from his hand ere it fell, Its point was still turned to a flying foe. Fellow-laborers in life, let them slumber in death, ‘ide by side as becomes tilhe repos ing brave- a Tha.t swor(d which lie loved still unbroke in its sheath And himself vn,sn-bdued in his grave. There, amid the deep silence of that hour, W’heo. stars can be heard in ocean dip, Thyself shall, ulioer some losy bower, Sit mute, awith thy finger ln thy lip: Lithe himi, th.e boy),* w wo.born among The flowers tlhat on the Nil:-.stream blush, Sits ever ihus-his on~? son?, To earth and heaven, ” Hush, all, hush!” Yet patuse for, in fancy, a still voice I hear As if b,-eathed( from his brave heart’s remains;]Faint echo of that which, in Slavei-y’s ear, Once sounded the war-woid, “Burst your chains!” And it cries, from the grave where the hero lies deep, “Thoug,hli the day of your Clieftain for ever hath set, 0 leave nlot ltis sword thus ingltoricus to sleep It hath victory’s life in it yet! Should some alien, un-ortlyi such weapon to wield, Dare to touch thee, my ( wdn gallant sword, Then rest in tlis sl.eath, like a talisman sealed, Or return to the grave of tlhv chainless lord. But, if grasped by a hand that liathli learned the proud us Of a faslchion, like thee, Tn the baittle-plainThen, at Liberty’s summons, like lightnin, let loose, Leal) fortlh from thy dark sheath again!” ]’HEEF. are sounds of mirthli in the night-air ringing, And 1lamps fi,i,‘m every c,asenwclt shown; While voices blithe within are singing, That seem to say “Come,” in every tone. Ah! once how light, in Life’s young season, My he,art lhad leaped at that sweet lay; Nor paused to askl of inaybeard Reason Shoih]tI I the syren call obey. OH, COULD WE

DO WVITH THIS WORLD OF OURS. And, see-the larmps still livelier glitter, The syren lips more fondly sound; No, seek, ye nymphs, some victim fitter To sink in your rosy bondage bound. Shall a bard, whom not the world in arms Could beud to tyranny’s rude control, Thus quail, at sight of woman’s charms, And yield to a smile his freeborn soul? Oi-r, could we lo wit h this world of ours As thou dost with thy garden bowers,. Reject the weeds and keep the flowers, What a heaven on earth xwe’d make it! So bright a dwelling should be our own, So warranted fi’ce from sighl or frown, That an,-gels soon woul(d be coming down, By the week or month to take it. Like those g,ay flies that wing through air, And in themselves a luistre bear, A stock of light, still ready there, Whenever they wish to uise it; So, in this world I’d make for thee, Our hearts should all like fire-flies be, And the flash of wit or poesy Break forth whenever we choose it. Thus sung the sage, while, slyly stealing, The nymphs their fetters around him cast, And-their laughing eyes, the while, concealing Led Freedom’s Bard- their slave at last. For the Poet’s heart, still p.one to loving, Was like that rock of thie Druid race,te, Which the gentlest touch at once set moving, But all earth’s power couldn’t cast from its base. While every joy that glads our sphere Hath still some shadow hovering near, In this new.wor-ld of oiirs, my dear, Such shadows still all be omitted:Unless they’re like that graceful one, Which, when thou’rt dancing in the sun, Still near thee, leaves a chlar-m upon Each spot wlhere it hath flitted! ‘)H!

ARRANMORE, LOVED ARRANMORE. OH! Arran mnore, loved Arraninore, How oft I dream of tlhee, And of those d(ays when, by thyi shore, I wandered younn and firee. Full many a path I’ve tried, since then, Through pleasure’s flowery maze, But ne’er could find the bliss again I felt in those sweet days. FROM THIS HOUR THE PLEDGE IS GIVE. FROaT this hour the pledtge is given, From this hour mv ciil is thine: Come what will, from earth or heaven, Weal or wo, thy fate be mine. When the proud and great stood by thee, None dared thy iihts to spurn; And if now they’re false anl fly thee, Shall I, too, basly r ttir? No;-whate’er the fires that tia thee, In the same this heart shall burn. How blithe upon tbyn breezy cliffs At sunnv morn I’ve stood, With heabwt as beound(lint i as the skiffs Tiat d,a-nce’ along thv flco(o; Or, ohen the western Ovffre nrew bright With (]ay,lizht’s partinz wing, Have sought that Eden in its light Which dreaming poets sing-;-t that Eden where th’ immortal brave Dwell in a land sereneWhose bowels beyond the shining wave. At sunset, oft are seer,..Ah dream too full of saddening truth! Those mansions o’er the main Are like the hopes I built in youth As sunny and as vhin! Thoutg,h the sea, where thou embarkest, Offers now a friendly shore, L,iht may come where all looks darkest, Hope hliath life, when life seems o’er. And, of those lpast ates gdreaming When trlory decked thy brow, Oft I fondly thin., thougflh seeming ,So fallen aw-l clcoidej now, Thou’It asa’riin breakli f;,rth, all beaming None so bliiht, s,o’lIlest as thoui. ‘Thec. o f Silence, thus pi!tlre,l I,,le Eeyptians. The Ro,! ones f the Dritls, s,)me of which no force is aitI: to di:;?odie fron tinter.:tat. irjs. T i fThi rsh::b.an!:s if A rrantrooe are still p)ersua4od thait, in a clcatr iiy. tl,ed can (see fo liis ea t sT BRrvsail, or thie En yianted l‘a,!;. the Paradise of tbo loran trs’,’, al0 (‘a,ceraing wh~ciL t,‘y Relate a numbc’r,f romar-tic stories.”- {ti:ff. -:rf Ant~sav T,n!.p,,?’,z, o,f l c/a,;:,7. I w T. t,-s: of I’e ta Tsie:; i r!s!: t. he manner of th! , tcvthit.is.!,:ic’ the fe,5.-r*.: s I, f i ir hI s,aes along wvth It tIle I. I 448 TFIERP, ARP, SOLT,N-P-S OF MIRTH. I I i ii i i I i i I

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MLODIES-SACRED SONGS. 449 Say, is it that slavery sunk so deep in thy heart, That still the dark brand is there, though chainless thou art; And Freedom’s sweet fruit, for which thy spirit long burned, Now, reaching at last thy lip, to ashes hath turned? Up Liberty’s steep by Truth and Eloquence led, With eyes on her temple fixed, how proud was thy tread I Ah, better thou ne’er hadst lived that summit to gain, Or died in the porch, than thus dishonor the fane. THE wine-cup is circling in Almhin’s hall,* And its Chief, mid hisrs heroes reclining, Looks up, with a sith, to the trophied wall, Where his swor-d hangs idly shining. WNhen, hark!

that shout From the ale without;‘Arm sye quick! the Dane the Dane is nigh!” Every Chiefstarts up From his foaming cup, And ” Ic battle, to battle!” is the Finian’s cry. The minstrels have seized their harps of gold, And tley sing such thrilling numbers’Tis like the voice of the Brave, of old, Breaking forth from their place of slumbers! Spear to buckler rang, As the minstrels sang, And the Sun-burstt o’er them floated wide; While remembering the yoke Which their fathers broke, “On for liberty, for liberty!” the Finians cried. Like clouds of the night the Northmen came, O’er the valley of Almhin lowering; While onward moved, in the light of its fame, That banner of Erin, towering. With the mingling shock Rung cliff and rock, While, rank on rank, the invaders die: And the shout, that last O’er the dying passed, Was “Victory! victory!”-the Finian’s cry. SILENCE IS IN OUR FESTAL HALLS.* SILENCE is in our festal halls Sweet Son of Song! thy course is o’er; In vain on thee sad Erin calls, Her minstrel’s voice responds no more; All silent as th’ Eolian shell Sleeps at the close of some bright day, When the sweet breeze, that waked its swell At sunny morn, hath died away. Yet, at our feasts, thy spirit long, Awaked by music’s spell shall rise; For, nanme so linked wit: deathless song Partakes its charm and never dies: And even within the holy fane, When music wafts the soul to heaven, One thought to him, whose earliest strain Was echoed there, shall long be given. But, where is now the cheerful day, The social night, when, by thy side, He, who now weaves this parting lay, His skilless voice with thine allied; And sung those songs whose every tone, When bard and minstrel long have past, Shall still, in sweetness all their own, Embal med by fame, undying last. Yes, Erin, thine alone the fame Or, if thy bard have shared the crowns From thee the borrowed glory came, And at thy feet is now laid down. Enough, if Freedom still inspire His latest song, and still there be, As evening closes round his lyre, One ray upon its chords from thee. * It is hardly necessary, perhaps, to inform the reader that thes lines are meant as a tribute of sincere friendship to the memory o! an old and valued colleague in this work, Sir John Stevenson. TH di eam of those days when first I sung thee is o’er, thy triumph hath stained the charm thy sorrows then wore; And even of the light which Hope once shed o’er thy chains, A.A not a gleam to grace thy freedom remains. * The Palace of Fin Mac-Cuilmhal (the Fingal of Macpherson), in ceinster. It was built on the top of the hill, which has retained from thence the name of the Hill of Allen, in the county of Kildare. The Finians, or Fenni, were the celebrated National Militia of Ireland, which this chief commanded. The introduction of the Danes in the above song is an anachronism common to most of the Finian and Ossianic legends. t The name given to the banner of the Irish. SACRED

SONGS. THOU ART, OH GOD. ‘ The day is thine, the night also is thine: thou hast prepared the light and the sun. Thou hast set all thie borders of the earth: thou hast made nmrner and winter.”-Psalm lxxiv. 16, 17. THou art, O

GOD, the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see; Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from Thee. Where’er we turn, thy glories shine, And al. things fair and bright are Thine! When Day, with farewell beam, delays Among the opening clouds of Even, And we can almost think we gaze Through golden vistas into Heaven Those hues that make the Sun’s decline So soft, so radiant, LORD! are Thine. When Night, with wing-s of starry gloom, O’ershadows all the earth and skies, Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plunice Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes THIS WORLD IS A A LL A FLEETI NG SHOW THis world is all a fleeting show, For man’s illusion given; The smiles of Joy, the tears of Wo, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow There’s nothing true, but Heavenl And false the light on Glory’s plume, As fading hues of Even; And Love, and Hope, and Beauty’s bloom, Are blossoms gathered for the tomb There’s nothing bright, but Heaven I 1 11 i I I I I I i I I I : I I THE NVINE-CUP IS CIRCLING. THE

DREAM OF THOSE DAYS. That sacred gloom, those fires divine, So grand, so countless, LORD! are Thine. When youthful Sprin- around us breathes, Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh; And every flower the Summer wreathes Is born beneath that kindling eye. Wherelet we turn, thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are Thine!

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450 THE Poor wanderers of a storm y lay! From wave to wave we’re driven, And Fa.ncy’s flash, and Reason’s ray, erves but to light the troubled way There’s nothing calm, but Heaven I THE BIRD LET LOOSE. My choir shall be the moonlight waves, When murmuring homeward to their caves, Or when the stillness of the sea, Even more than music, breathes of Theel I’ll seek, by day, some glade unknown, All light and silence, like thy throne; And the pale stars shall be, at night, The only eyes that watch my rite. Thy heaven, on which’tis bliss to look, Shall be my pure and shining book, Wh er e I shall read, in words of flame, The glories of thy wondrous name.

I’ll read thy anger in the rack That clouds awhile the day-beam’s track; Thy mercy in the azure hue Of sunny brightness, breaking through. There’s nothing bright, above, below, Froum flowers that bloom to stars that glow, But in its light my soul can see Some feature of thy Deity. THE bird, let loose in eastern skies,* When hastening fondly home, Ne’er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies Where idle warblers roam. But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way. So grant me, GOD, from every care And stain of passion free, Aloft, through Virtue’s purer air, To hold my course to Thee! No sin to cloud, no lure to stay My soul, as home she springs;Thy Sunshine on her joyful way, Thy Freedom in her wings! There’s nothing dark, below, above, But in its gloom I trace thy Love, And meekly wait that moment, when Thy touch shall turn all bright again! WHO IS THE

MAID? FALLEN IS THY THRONE. FALLEN is thy Throne, oh Israel! Silence is o’er thy plains; Thy dwellings all lie desolate, Thy children weep in chains. Where are the dews that fed thee On Etham’s barren shore? That fire from Heaven which led thee, Now lights thy path no more. LORD! thou didst love Jerusalem Once she was all thy own; Her love thy fairest heritage,s Her power thy glory’s throne.I Till evil came, and blighted Thy long-loved olive-tree;-II And Salem’s shrines were lighted For other gods than Thee. Then sunk the star of Solyma Then passed her glory’s day, Like heath that, in the wilderness,~ The wild wind whirls away. Silent and waste her bowers, Where once the mighty trod, And sunk those guilty towers, While Baal reigned as God. “Go”sail the LORD” Ye Conquerors!

Steep in her blood your swords, And raze to earth her battlements,In For they are not the LORD’S. Till Zion’s mournful daughter O’ er kindred bones shall tread, And Hinnom’s vale of slaughterl* Shall hide but half her dead!” ST. JEROME’S LOVE.* WHo is the Maid my spirit seeks, Through cold reproof and slander’s blight! Has she Love’s ro ses on her cheeks? Is hers an eye of this world’s light? No-wan and sunk with midnight prayer Are the pale looks of her I love; Or if, at times, a light be there, Its beam is kindled from above. I chose not her, my heart’s elect, From those who seek their Maker’s shrine In gemns and garlands proudly decked, As if themselves were things divine. No-Heaven but faintly warms the breast Th at beats beneath a broidered veil; And she who comes in glittering vest To mourn her frailty, still is frail.f Not so the faded form I prize And love, because its bloom is gone; The glory in those sainted eyes Is all the grace her brow puts on. And ne’er was Beauty’s dawn so bright, So touching as that form’s decay, Which, like the altar’s trembling light, In holy lustre wastes away. OH, THOU! WHO DRYEST THE MOURNER’S TEAR. “IIe ihealetlli thle broken in heart, and bindeth up their wous Is  Psalm cxlvii. 3. THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT SHRINE. OH, Thou! who dry’st the mourner’s tear, How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, We could not fly to Thee! The friends, who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown; And he who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone. But thou wilt heal that broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part, Breathes sweetness out of wo. THE turf shall be my fragrant shrine; My temple, Lord! that Arch of thine; My censer’s breath the mountain airs, And silent thoughts my only prayers.ff The carrier-pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated pitch, I order to surmount every obstacle between her and the place to which she is destined. t “I have left mine heritage; I have given the dearly beloved of my soul into the hands of her enemies.”-Jeremih, xii. 7. t “Do not disgrace the throne of thy glory.”-Jeremiah, xiv. 21. I “The Lord called thy name a green olive-tree; fair, and of goodly fruit,”

&c.-Jeremiah, xi. 16. $ “For hlie shall be like the heath in the desert.”Jeremiah, lvii. 6. ~ “Take sway her battlements; for they are not the Lord’s.“Je,emiah, v. 10. ** “Therefore, behold, the days come, saith the Lord, that it shall no more be called Tophet, nor the Valley of the Son of Hin noma, but the Valley of Slaughter: for they shiall bury in Tophliet till there be no place.”-Jerem,ah. vii. 32. 1 tt Pii orant tacit.

I , 1 MIRROR LIBRARY. ‘ These lines were suggested by a passage in one of St. Jeromb’ letters. replyii.g to some ca]utnni-us remarks that had been circu lated respecting his intimacy with the rnatron Paula: 11 Nurnq-ti-‘.

me vestes sericw, nitente,-, gen),,w, picta facies, aut auri rapu’

ambitio? Null. f.it alia Rom,-c rnatronar,,Yn, qlia) meatti poss’ ed-marc rneitttri, i.i,i I.geris at,lue’e’uran, fetil pene ccata. t O Epist. d Ti..

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SARE SOGS ___4 When joy no longer sooths or cheers, And even the hope that threw A moment’s sparkle o’er our tears, Is dimmed and vanished too, Oh, who would bear life’s stormy doom, Did not thy Wing of Love Come brightly wafting through the gloom Our Peace-branch from above Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright WAith more than rapture’s ray; .As darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by da}y! Leave me to sigh o’er hours that flew More idly than the summer’s wind, And, while they passed, a fragrance threw, But left no trace of sweets behind.The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves Is cold, is faint to those that swell The heart, where pure repentance grieves O’er hours of pleasure, loved too well. Leave me to sigh. WVEEP NOT FOR THOSE. W’EEP not for those whom the veil of the tomb, In life’s happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, Ere sin threw a blight o’er the spirit’s young bloom, Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies. Death chilled the fair fountain, ere sorrow had stained it; ‘“rwas frozen in all the pure light of its course, Anti but sleeps till the sunshine of Heaven has unchained it, To water that Eden where first was its source. Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, In life’s happy morning, lath hid from our eyes Ere siu threw a blight o’er the spirit’s young bloom, Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies. Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale,* Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now, Ere life’s early lustre had time to grow pale, And the garland of Love was yet fresh on her brow. Oh, then was her moment, dear spirit, for flying From this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknownAnd the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in dying, Were echoed in heaven by lips like her own. Weep not for her-in her spring-time she flew To that land where the wings of the soul are unfurled; And now, like a star beyond evening’s cold dew, Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world., SOUND THE LOUD

TIMBREL. COME not, oh LORD, ei n Co read robe of splendor Thou wor’st on the Mount, in the day of thine ire: Come veiled in those shadows, deep, awful, but tender, Which Mercy flings over thy features of fire! When, bringing every balmy sweet Her day of luxury stored, She o’er her Savior’s hallowed feet, T he precious odors poured; And wiped them with that golden hair, Where once the diamond shone; Though now those gems of grief were there Which shine for GOD alone! “Ard Miriam the Prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances..”-Exod. xv. 20. SOUND the loud Timbrel o’er Egy,pt’s dark sea! JEIHOVAH has triumphed-his people are free. Sing for the pride of the tyrant is broken, His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and braveHow vain was their boast, for the Lord hath but spoken, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. Sound the loud Timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea; JEHOVAH has triumphed-his people are free. Praise to the conqueror, praise to the Lord! His word was our arrow, his breath was our sword.Who shall return to tell Egypt the story Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride For the Lord hath looked out from his pillar of glory,f And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide.

Sound the loud Timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea; JEIIOVAH has triumphed-his people are free! AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS As down in the sunless retreats of the Ocean, Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So, deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee, My GOD! silent, to thee Pure, warm, silent, to thee. As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, The needle points faithfully o’er the dim sea, So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, The hopa of my spirit turns trembling to Thee, My GOD!

trembling, to thee True, fond, trembling, to thee. * This second verse, which I wrote long alter the first, alludes to the fate of a very lovely and amiable girl, the daughter of the late Colonel Bainbrigge, who was married in Ashbourne church, October 31, 1815, and died of a fever in a few weeks after; the sound of her marriage-bells seemed scarcely out of our ears when we heard of her death. During her last delirium she suting several hymns, in a voice even clearer and sweeter than usual, and among them were some from the present collection (particularly, “There’s nothing bright but lieasen”), which this very interesting girl had often heard me sing during the summer. t ” And it camnie to pass, that, in the morning watch, the Lord looked unto th,e hlios of the Egyptians, through the pillar of fire and of the cloud, and’roubled the host of the Egyptians.”’-Exod. r,v. 24. * “And it came between the camp of the Egyptian s and the camp of Israel; and it was a clould and darkness to them, bitt it gav,e light by night to these.”Exod. xi. 20. t{ “Her s;ns, which are Tnanv, are forgiven: for she lov# e-2ct I  Luke. vii 17 II i I I i i I i SACRED SONGS. 4-i I The fruitless showers of worldly wo Fall dark to earth and never ri-3e; While tears that from repentance flow, In bright exhalement reach the skies. Go, let me weep. COME NOT, OH LORD.

.LORD, tliou remeinb’rest the night, wlwn tby Nation* Stood fronting her Foe by the red-rolling stream; O’er Egypt tliy pillar slied dark desolation, While Isracl basked all the night in its beam. So, when the dread clouds of anger enfold thee, From us, in thy mercy, the dark side remove; While shrouded in terrors the guilty behold thee, Oh, turn upon us the niild light of thy Love! WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY’S TEAR& WF,RF, not the sinful Mary’s tears An offering worthy Heaven, When, o’er the faults of former ye She wept-and was forgiven? MTRIAM’S SONG. Werp, not those sweets, so humbly shed That hair-those weeping eyesAnd the sunk heart, that inly bled Heaven’s noblest sacrifice? Thou, that hast slept in error’s sleep, Oh, wouldst thou wake in Heaven, Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep, 11 Love much,“t and be forgiven! GO, LET ME WEEP. Go, let we weep-there’s bliss in tears, When he who sheds them inly feels ,,ome lin’ering stain of early years Effaced by every drop I”;Qt steals. ANGEL

OF CHARITY. AicGF,L Of Charity, who, from above, Comest to dwell a pilgrim here, Thy voice is music, thy smile is love, And Pity’ soul is in thy tear.

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45~~~ THE MIRROR LIBRARY.~~~~~~~~~~- When on the shrine of God were laid First-fruits of all most good and fair, That ever bloomed in Eden’s shade, Thine was the holiest offering there. – Hope and her sister, Faith, were given But as our guides to yonder sky; Soon as they reach the verge of heaven, There, lost in perfect bliss, they die.* But, long as Love, Almighty Love, Shall on his throne of thrones abide, Theou, Charity, shall dwell above, Smiling for ever by His si(le! BUT WHO SHALL SEE. Before yo n Su n arose, Stars clustered through the skyBut oh, how dim! how pale were those, To His one burning eye! So Trut h l ent many a ray, To bless the Pagan’s nightBut, LORD, how weak, how cold were they To Thy One glorious Light! BUT who shall see the glorious day When, throned on Zion’s brow, The LoRD shall rend that veil away Which hides the nations now It When earth no more beneath the fear Of his rebuke shall lie;t When pain shall cease, and every tear Be wiped from ev’ry eye. ll OH fair! oh purest! be thou the dove That flies alone to some sunny grove, And lives unseen, and bathes her wing, All vestal white, in the limpid spring. There, if the hov’ring lhawk be near, That limnilpid spring, in its mirror clear, Reflects him, ere he reach his prey, And warns the timorous bird away. Be thou this love; Fairest, purest, be thou this dove. Then, Judah. thou no more shalt mourn Beneath the heathen’s chain; Thy days of splendor shall return, And all be new again.~ the Fount of Life shall then be quaffed In peace, by all who couhe;t And every wind that blows shall waft .Some long-lost exile home. The sacred pages of Gol)‘s own book Shall be the spring, the eternal brook, In whose holy mirror, night and day, Thou’lt study Heaven’s reflected ray;And should the foes of virtue dare, With glooms wing to seek thee there, Thou wilt see how dark their shadows lie Between Heaven and thee, and trembling fly I Be thou that dove; Fairest, purest, be thou that dove. ALMIGHTY GOD! when round thy shrine The palm-tree’s heavenly branch we twine,F* (Emblem of Life’s eternal ray, And Love that “fadeth not away,”) AWe bless the flowers, expanded all,t We bless the leaves that never fall, And trembling say-,” In Eden thus The Tree of Life may flower for us!” When round thy Cherubs-smiling calm, Without their flames+: we read the palm, Oh GOD! we feel the emblem trueThy Mercy is eternal too. Those Cherubs, with their smiling eyes, That crown of palm which never dies, Are but the types of thee aboveEternal Life, and Peace, and Love! LORD, WHO SHALL BEAR THAT DAY? LORD, who shall bear that day, so dread, so splendid, When we shall see thy Angel, hov’ring o’er This sinful world, with hand to heaven extended, And hear him swear by thee that Time’s no more?t When Earth shall feel thy fast-consuming rayWho, Mighty GOD, oh who shall bear that day? When through the world thy awful call hath’sounded “Wake, all ye Dead, to judgment wake, ye Dead I”: And from the clouds, by seraph eyes surrounded, The Savior shall put forth his radiant head;1 While Earth and Heaven before him pass away-~ Who, Mighty GOD, oh who shall bear that day? When, with a glance, th’ Eternal Judge shall sever Earth’s evil spirits from the pure and bright, And say to those, “Depart from me for ever!” To these, “Come, dwell with me in endless light!”~ When each and all in silence take their wayWho, Mighty GOD! oh who shall bear that day? * “Then Faith shall fail, and holy Hope shall die, One lost ilr certainty, and “ne In joy.”-pPrior. “And he will destroy in this mountain, the face of th e cove ring .st over all people, and the veil that is spread over all nations.“Isaah. xxv.,. t ” True hi ele ha he rebuke of his people shall he take away from of all the esarth.” Isaiah, xxv. 8. ta e And God sharl wip e away all tears fr om their eyes;..... nei ther sh al l ther e e any more pain.”-Rev. xxi. 4. te “And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new.” Rev. xxi. 5. IF ” And whosoever will, let him take the w ater of life freely.k”Rev. xxii. 17. **” The Scriptures havi ng declared tha t the Temple of Jerusalem i was a type of the M essiah, it is natu ral to con clude that the Palms, which m a de so conspicuous a figure in th at structure, represented hat Lifr,s and Immortalty wh ich were brought to light by the Gospel.” Observations on the Palm, as a Sacred Emblem, by W. Tighe. tt “And he carved all the walls of the house round about with Carved figures of cherubims, and palm-trees, and open flow ers.”  I Kings, vi. 29. 1 t “IWhen the passover of the tabernacles was revealed to the, g,reat lawgiver in the mount, then the cherublic images vhich ap- i ,,oaredl in that structure were no Iongzer surroundled b~y tlames; for tle tabernacle was a type of the dispensation of nmercy, b~y which Jehovah c(mnlrmed his ~racious covenant t, reteem,,:ankil. “-, Obmr..~ation0 on the Palm. n t I In St. Augustine’s treatise upon the advantages of a solitaly life, addressed to his sister, there is the following fanciful passage, from which. the reader will perceive. the thought of this song was taken: ” Te, soror, nunquam, -olo esse secuiram, sed timers semperque, tiam fragilitatemn habere suspectam, ad instar pavlde columbra frequientare rivos aquarum et quasi in speculo accipitris cernere supervolantis effigicmi ot cavere. Rivi aquarum sententias sunt scripturarurn, qua% de lip,npdissimo sapientie fonte profluentes,” &c., &c.-De Vit. Erermit. ad Sore,rea. + ” And the angel which I saw stand upon the sea and upon the earth, lifted up his hand to heaven, and sware by Him that liveth for ever and ever,.... that there should be time no lon g er.‘“Rev. x. 5, 6. t “Awake. ye dead, and come to judgment.” 1 1″ They shall see the Son of Man coming in the clouds of heaven-and all the angels with him.”-lfatt. xriv. 30, and xxv. 31. 1 ” From whose face the earth and the heaven fled away.“Rev. xx. 1 1. IF “And before Him shan be gathered all nations, and He shall separate them one from another….. “Then shall the Kin, say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of niy Fatiher, inherit the kingdom prepared for you, &c. ” Then shall he s.ay also iuito, them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed. &c. ” And these shall go away into everlasting punishment; but the righteous into life eternal.“x3f,,tt ixx. 32, ~. s.q. I i TIIE MIRROR LIBRARY. 452 So bright the Gospel broke Upon the souls of men; So fresh the dreaming world awoke In Truth’s full radiance then. OH FAI.P.! OH PUREST! SAINT AUGUSTINE TO

IIIS SIST]gR.” ALMIGHTY GOD! CHORUS OF PRIESTS. BEHOLD THE SUN. BF,HOLD the Sun, how bright From yonder East he springs, As if the soul of lifp- and light Were breathing from his wings.

Page 453 view page image t~~~~~~SCE SOG. Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying, Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure, Here speaks the Comforter, in GOD’s name saying ” Earth has no sorrow that Heaven can not cure.” Go, ask the infidel, what boon he br ings us, What charm for aching hearts he can reveal, Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings us ” Earth has no sorrow that GOD can not heal.” On, teach me to love Thee, to feel what thou art, Till, filled with the one sacred image, my heart Shall all other passions disown; Like some pure temple, that shines apart, Reserved for thy worship alone. In joy and in sorrow, through praise and throagh blame, lThus still let Die, living and dying the same, In thy service bloom and decayLike some lone altar, whose votive flame Il holinesss wasteth away. Thouoh born in this desert, and doomed by my birth To pain and affliction, to darkness and dearth, On thee let my spirit relyLike some rude dial, that, fixed on earth, Still looks for its light from the sky. AWAKE, ARISE, THY LIGHT IS

COME. AwAKE, arise, thy light is come;, The nations, that before outshone thee, Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb The glory of the LoRD is on thee!

Arise-the Gentiles to thy ray, From every nook of earth shall cluster; And kings and princes haste to pay Their homage to thy rising lustre.t Lift up thine eyes around, and see, O’er foreign fields, o’er farthest waters, Thy exiled sons return to thee, To thee return thy homesick daughters.: WEEP, CHILDREN OF ISRAEL. WEEP, weep for him, the Man of GOD-* In yonder vale he sunk to rest; But none of earth can point the sodt That flowers above his sacred breast. Weep, children of Israel, weep.! His doctrine fell like Heaven’s rain,: His words refreshed like Heaven’s dewOh, ne’er shall Israel see again A Chief, to GOD and her so true. Weep, children of Israel, weep! Remember ye his parting gaze, His farewell song by Jordan’s tide, When, full of glory and of days, He saw the promised land-and died.

T Weep, children of Israel, weep! And c amels rich, from Midian’s tents, Shall lay their treasures down before thee I And Saba bring her gold and scents, To fill thy air antI sparkle o’er thee.11 See, who are these, that, like a cloud,~ Are gathering fromt all earth’s dominions, Like doves, long absent, when allowed Homeward to shoot their trembling pinions. Surely the isles shall wvait for me,‘g The ships of Tarshish round will hover, To bring thy sons across the sea, And waft their gold and silver over. And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace * The fir, the pine, the palm victorious, Shall beautify our Holy Place, And make the ground I tread on glorious. No more shall Discord haunt thy ways,ff Nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation; But thou shalt call thy portals, Praise, And thou shalt name thy walls, Salvation. Yet died he not as men who sink, Before our eyes, to soulless clay; But, changed to spirit, like a wink Of summer lightning, passed away.~ Weep, children of Israel, weep.! LIKE MORNING, WHEN HER EARLY BREEZE. LrKE morning, when her early breeze Breaks up the surface of the seas, That, in those furrows, dark with night, Her hand may sow the seeds of lightThy Grace can send its breathings o’er The Spirit, dark and lost before, And, fresh’ning all its depths, prepare For Truth divine to enter there. The sun no more shall make thee bright,lt Nor moon shall lend her lustre to thee; But GOD, himself, shall be thy Light, And flash eternal glory through thee. Thy sun shall never more go down; A ray, from Heaven itself descended, Shall light thy everlasting crown Thy days of mourning all are ended.[I! My own, elect, and righteous Land! The Branch, for ever green and vernal, Which I have planted with this hand Live thou shalt in Life Eternal.~~ * “Arise, shliine! for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.”-Isa iah Ix. t “And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of tliLy ising.”-lb. t ” Lift up thine eyes round about, and see; all they gather themselves together, they corn, to thee: thy sons shall come from afar, and thy daughters shall be nursed at thy side.”-lb. 11 “The multitud e of camels shall cover thee; the dromedaries of Midian and Ephah; all they from Sheba shall come; they shall bring gold and incense.”-Ib. “Who are these that fly as a cloud, and as the doves to their windows?”-Ib. Si “Surely the isles shall wait for me, and the ships of Tarshish first, to bring thy sons from far, their silver and their gold witk them.” lb. *”

“The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee: the fir-tree, t,b pine-tree, and the box together, to beautify the place of my sari tuary; and I will make the place of my feet glorious.”-Ib. tt “Violence shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders; but thou shalt call thy walls Salvation, and thy gates praise.” Ib. tt‘“Thy sun shall ie no more thy light by day; neither for brightness shall thie.o(on give light unto thee; but the Lord shall be unto [lice al everlastirg light,, and thy God [tly glory.”Ib. { { *’ Thy sillu shall,) more go down;.... for the Lord shal. )e tine sl’crlusti:g light, ai,d the days of tihy ritousning shall be endi’ed.’’ -lb. tffr,lt y t‘‘l’l;y e>le as.

sthlil be a’l rizhte,ll.q they shall inhierit the land for over,.t, -illlci of mtny plating lihoe ork of r’iy ilmnds.”’-It. T ill David touched his sacred lyre, In silence lay th’ unbreathing wire; But when he swept its chords along, Even Angels stooped lo hear that song. So sleeps the soui, till thou, oh LORD, Shalt deign to touch its lifeless chordTill, waked by thee, its breath shall rise In music, worthy of the skies! :omr., ye disconsolate, where’er you languish, Come, at GOD’s altar fervently kneel; re bring your wounded h earts, here tell your anguishEarth has no sorrow that Heaven can not heal. *,,And the children of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of 3ab.”-Deut. xxxiv. 8. t “And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab;.... but man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day.”Ibid, ver. 6. “My doctrine shall drop as the rain; my speech shall distil as e deD.” -lloses’,onz. Dent. xxxii. 2. t ” I lease caulsedi thee to see it witl thine eyes, but thou shalt ,t ~o,,vr’r tb thithe ri.” bug.

xIx-xi. 4. t’.’. h was zoi;l,z lo er ace Eleazer and Joshua, and was !)l.,iiscnu~X Sa-,i’ w idol t;i e’,:t r c.l,,!,]t,,i over him o1 thle sudden. to’ is,:,t!,,’:‘i- i,, ct:i:‘le i. altogh he wrote in the -,!v:it,..;s;,o d t i:.. L A. *:-hi’ w-s d o n-e out of fear, l est they ;,::iii v,-:,xt:c life.t.t,:iiat. 1-e:cau..,’ of~ )i9. eXtIal’aodinla) virtu~e, hie , (‘J,.l.J.<:e:t.,u.%,.)ok i\., Ch;.)i). Vlll I SACRED

SONGS. 453 OH, TEACH ME TO LOVE TIIEE. COME, YE DISCONSOLATE.

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454 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Sages! who, even in exploring Nature through all her bright ways, Went, like the Seraphs adoring, And veiled your eyes in the blazeMartyrs! who left for our reaping Truths you had sown in your bloodSinners! whom long years of weeping Chastened from evil to good TIlERE IS A BLEAK DESERT. THERE IS a bleak Desert, where daylight grows weary Of wasting its smile on a region so (Ireary What may that desert be?

‘Tis Life, cheerless Life, where the few joys that come Are.lost like that daylight, for’tis not their home. Tihere is a lone Pilgrim, before whose faint eyes The water fe pants for but sparkles and flies Who may that Pilgrim be? ‘Tis Man, hapless Man, through this life tempted on By fair shining hopes, that in shining are gone. There is a bright Fountain, through that Desert stealing To pure lips alone its refreshment revealing VWhat may that Fountain be? ‘Tis Truth, holy Truth, that, like springs under ground, By the gifted of Heaven alone can be found.* There is a fair Spirit, whose wand hathli the spell To point where those waters in secrecy dwell Who may that Spirit be? ‘Tis Faith, humble Faith, who hath learned that, where’er Her wand( bends to worship, the Truth must be there!

Maidens! who, like the young Crescent, Turning away your pale brows From earth, and the light of the Present, Looked to your Heavenly Spouse Say, through what region enchanted, Walk ye, in Heaven’s sweet air? Say, to what spirits’tis granted, Bright souls, to dwell with yon there? HOW

LIGHTLY MOUNTS THE MUSE’S WING How lightly mounts the Muse’s wing, Whose theme is in the skies Like morning larks, that sweeter sing The nearer Heaven they rise. Though Love his magic lyre may tune, Yet ah, the flowers he round it wreathes Were plucked beneath pale Passion’s moon, Whose madness in their odor breathes. How purer far t he sac red l ute, Round which Devotion ties Sweet flowers that turn to heavenly fruit, And palm that never dies. SINCE FIRST THY WORD. SiNcE first Thy Word awaked my heart, Like new life drwning o’er me, Where’er I turn mnine eyes, Thou art, All light and love before me. Naught else I feel, or hear or see-A All bends of earth I severThee, 0 GOD, and only Thee I live for, now and ever. Though War’s high-sounding harp may be Most welcome to the hero’s ears. Alas, his chords of victory Are wet, all o’er, with human tears. How far more sweet their numbers run, Who hymn, like Saints above, No victor, but th’ Eternal One, No trophies but of Love! IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HEREAFTEK. Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, When the Spirit leaves this sphere, Love, with deathless wing, shall.waft her To those she long hath mourned for here I Like him whose fetters dropped away When lighIt shone o’er his prison,t My spirit, touched by Mercy’s ray, Hath from her chains arisen. And shall a soul Thou bidst be free, Return to bondage?-Never! Thee, 0 GOD, and only Thee I live for, now and ever.

HARK!‘tis the breeze of twilight calling Earth’s weary children to repose; V.rhile, round the couch of Nature falling, Gently the night’s soft curtains close. Soon o’er a world, in sleep reclining, Numberless stars, through yonder dark, Shall look, like eyes of Cherubs shining From out the veils that hid the Ark. Guard us, oh Thou, who never sleepest, Thou who, in silence throned above, Throughout all time, unwearied, keepest Thy watch of Glory, Power, and Love, Grant that, beneath thine eye, securely, Our souls, awhile from life withdrawn, May, in their darkness, stilly, purely, Like ” sealed fountains,” rest till dawn. Hearts, from which’twas death to se ve r Eyes, this world can ne’er restore, There, as wa rm, as bri gh t as ever, Shall mee t us and b e lost no more. When wearily we wander, asking Of earth and heaven, where are they, Beneath whose smile we once lay basking, Blest, and thinking bliss would stay Hope still lifts her radiant finger, Pointing to th’ eternal Home, Upon whose portal yet they linger, Looking back for us to come. Alas, alas-doth Hope deceive us?

Shall friendship-love-shall all those ties That bind a moment, and then leave us, Be found again where nothing dies? Oh, if no other boon were given, To keep our hearts from wrong and stain, Who would not try to win a Heaven Where all we love shall live again? WHERE IS YOUR DWELLING, YE

SAINTED? WHERE is your dwelling, ye Sainted? Through what Elysium more bright Than fancy or hope ever painted, Walk ye in glory and light? Who the same kingdom inherits? Breathes there a soul th at may dare Look to that world of Spirits, Or hope to dwell with you there? WAR AGAINST

BABYLON. “WAR against Babylon!” shout we around, Be our banners thro erugh ea rth unfurled; Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the sound-t “War against Babylon!” shout through the world I * In singing, the following line had better be adopted.- ar a ns ayon! sou rou e w ” Can but by the gifted of ITeaveni be found.” *‘Shout against her round about.”-J,r. 1.15.

t “And, behold, the angel of the Lord came upon him, and a A+ ” Set ye up a standard in t’ie laud, blow the trumpet among the light shined in the prison,....and his chais fell of from his n ations, prepare the nations against her, call togetier against ha ands.”-Acts. xii. 7 the kir s.” &.

c.-J,. i. 27 I i I i i i I I I i i I I I . II THE MIRROR LIBRKRY. 4b4

HARK! ITIS THE BREEZE.

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-~~~~SCE SOG-OTS 5 From that time,* when the moon upon Aja]oni’s vale, Looking motionless down, t saw the kings of the earth, In the presence of GoD’s mighty Champion, grow pale Oh, never had Judah an hour of such mirth! Go forth to the Mount-bring the olive-branch home, And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come! Bring myrtle and palm- bring the boughs of ach tree That’s worthy to wave o’er the tents of the Free.t From that day, when the footsteps of Israel shone, With a light not their own, through the Jordan’s deep tide, Whose waters shrunk back as the Ark glided on [

Oh, never had Judah an hour of such pride! Go forth to the Mount-bring the olive-branch home, And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come! Oh thou, that dwellest on many waters,* Thy day of pride is ended now; And the dark curse of Israel’s daughters Breaks, like a thunder-cloud, over thy brow! War, war, war against Babylon! Make bright the arrows, and gather the shields,t Set the standard of God on high; Swarm we, like locusts, o’er all her fields, “Zion” our watchward, and “Vengeance” our cry! Wo! wo!-the time of thy visitation+’ Is comie, proud Land, thy doom is castAnd the black surge of desolation Sweeps o’er thy guilty head, at last! War, war, war against Babylon! GO FORTH TO THE MOUNT. Go forth to the Mount-bring the olive-branch hom~.,, And rejoice, for the day of our Freedom is come! – “Oh thou that dwellest upon many waters,.... thine end is cgme.”-Jer. li. 13. t “Make bright the arrows; gather the shields,....

set up the standard upon the walls of Babylon “-Jer. li. 11, 12. “%Vo unto them for their day is come, the time of their risitation’”-Jer. 1. 27. [

“1 And that they should publish and proclaim in all their cities, and in Jertsalemr, saying, Go forth unto the mount, and fetch olivebranch’es,”

&c., &c.-Neh. viii. 15. * “For since the days of Jeshliua the son of Nun unto that day, hal,d not the children of Israel done so: and there was very great gladness.”-Neh. viii. 17. t ” Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajal on.”-Josh. x. 12. X “Fetch olive-branclhes, and pine-branches, and myrtle-branches. and palm-branclies, and branches of thick trees, to make booths.” -Neh. viii.

15. 11 ” And the priests that bare the ark of the covenant of the Lord stood firmn on dry ground in the midst of Jordan, and al the Israelites passed over on dry ground.”-Jo*. iii. 17. NOTES. Bag” is a perfect “nest of spicery;” where the Cayenne is not spared. The polit ici an ther e sharpens the poet’s pen. In this too, our bard resembles the bee-he has its hones and its sting. “Lala Rookh” is not what people wanted to see wheth. er Mr. Moore could do; namely, whether he could write a long epic poem. It is tour short tales. The interest, however, is often high-wrought and tragic, but the execution still turns to the effeminate and voluptuous side. Fortitude of mind is the first requisite of a tragic or epic writer.

Happiness of nature and feb y of genius are the pre-eti. nent characteristics of the bard of Erin. If he is not per. fectly contented with what he is, all the world beside is. He had no temptation to risk anything in adding to the love and admiration of his age, and more than one country. Ir the two following criticisms on Moore be not colossal, it is front no lack in the straddle-one having been written on the other side of the Atlantic, and one on this. Together they make a free-and-easy commentary, which will let the reader down softly from the high flight of the poetry foregone: Moore’s -Muse is another Ariel-as light, as tricksy, as indefatigable, and as humane a spirit. His fancy is for ever on the wing, flutters in the gale, glitters in the sun. Everything lives, mnoves, and sparkles in his poetry, while over all Love waves his purple light.

His thoughts are as restless, as many, and as bright, as the insects that people the sun’s beam. ” So work the honeybees,” extracting liqulil sweets from opening buds; so the butterfly expands its wings to the idle air- so the thistle’s silver down is wafted over summer seas. An airy voyager oln life’s stream his mind inhales the fragrance of a thousand shores, and drinks of endless pleasures under halcyon skies. Wherever his footsteps tend over the enamelled ground of fairy fiction “Therefore to be possessed with double pomp To guard a title that was rich before, To gild refinted gold, to paint the lily, To throw a perfume on the violet, To smootb the ice, or add another hue Unto the railbohw, or with taper light To seek the beautenous eye of heaven to garnish, Is wasteful and ridicu lou s excess.”

The same might be said of Mr. Moore’s seeking to bind an epic crowno or the shadow of one, round his othe r l aurels. Thoma s Moore has becom e mora l and almost chaste Let us follow him thro gh the hsrofe e histor y of his various wri. tings; we shall find him mor e superficial th an pro found, more tender than pathe tic, more graceful t han energetic;addressing the heart rather than the mind; but still on all occasions an amiable poet, s ometime s a great poet, and almost always imbued with imagination, wi t, an d taste. Diderot affirms, tha t i n order to write well on the subject of females, it would be requisite to dip the pen in the die s of the rain bow, and dry the paper with powd er borrowed from the wings of the butterfly. It might be imagined, that Thomas Moor e ha d employed this re cipe, in order to compose his oriental imagery, a nd depict hi s Peris, or not less brilliant mortal fairies; there is so prodigious a luxury of metaphors and ornaments lavished on his verses, that they may be styled a selection of poetical arabesques. The Grand Nrazir of the Mogul Princess might have added to the above-inoticed critique, that the elements of Thomas Moore’s poetry consist in the ingenious distribution of divers butterfly wings, angel plumes, beams of light, pearls, precious stones, perfumes, etc. ARl these fictitious appendages do not always adorn perfect beauties; but, as paste and false diamonds produce enchanting metamorphoses at the opera, with the aid of singing and music, the poet operates an illusion by the magic of his pictures and the melody of his verses. He has carried this melody far ther than any English poet since Chaucer: Thomas Moore’* poetry is almost Italian. This melody was already con spicuouis in his first pieces, addressed to Julia, Rose, Jessy Bessy, Mary, and to thirty others, whom the discreet;i Little designates by three asterisks. “Arou,nd him, the bees in play flu,tter ndcluster, Aid g,,.udy h)tt.erflies frolic around.”

The fault of Mr. Moore is an exuberance of involuntary power. His facility of production lessens the effect of, and hangs as a dead weight tupon, what he produces. His levity at last oppresses. The infinite delight he takes in such an infinite number of things, produces indifference in minds less susceptible ofpleasure than his own. He exhausts attention by being inexhaustible. His variety cloys; his rapidity dazzles and distracts the sight. The graceful ease with which he lends himself to every stubject, the genial spirit with which he indulges it every sentiment, prevents him from giving their full force to the masses of things, from connecting them into a whole. He wants intensity, strength, and grandeur. His mi n d does not brood over the great and permanent; it glan ce s over the surfaces, the first inassions of things, insteat of grappling with the deep-rooted prejudices of the m ind, its in veterate habits, and that ” perwais stuff that w ei ghs upon the hear t.” H is pen, as it is rapid and fanciful, wants momentum and passion. It requires the same principle to make us thoroughly like po. etry, that makes us like ourselves so well, the feeling of continued identity. The impressions of Mr. Moore’s po. etry are detached, desultory, and physical. Its gorgeous colors brighten and fade like the rainbow’s. Its sweetness evaporates like the effluvia exhaled from beds of flowers! His gay laughing style, which relates to the immediate fleasures of love or wine, is better than his sentimental and romantic vein. His ” Irish Melodies” are not free from affectation and a certain sickliness of pretension. His serious descriptions are apt to run into flowery tenderness. His pathos sometimes imelts into a mawkish sensibility, or crystallizes into, alli.he prettiness of allegorical language, and glittering harm,!ess of external imagery. But he has wit at will, and of tlye fi-st quality. His i Twopenny Post I I I I I I i I 11 II SACRED SONGS-NOTES. 453

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. And Moore is mistaken! He draws his inspiration, it is true, with the stem of a glass between his thumb and finger. but the wine is the least stimulus to his brain. He talks, and is listened to admiringly, and that is his Castaly. He sits next to Lady Fanny at dinner.

who thinks him “an adorable little Love,” and hlie employs the first two courses in making her in love with herself- that is, blowing everything she says up to the red heat of poetry. Moore can do this; for the most stupid things on earth are, after all, the beginnings of ideas, and every fool is susceptible of the flattery of seeing the waords go straight from his lips to the “highest heaven of ilv-entioii.” And Lady Fanny is not a fool, but a qui.ck and appreciative woman, and to almost everything she says. the poet’s trump is a germe of poetry. “Ah says I aly ialny with a sigh “this will be a memorable dinne r not to you, but to nme for you see pretty women ev-cry (l:ty, but I seldom see Tom Moore!” The poet looks into Ladly Fanny’s eyes, and makecs no immediate answer. Presently she asks with a delicious look of sim. plicity, *’ re you as agrecable to everybody, Mr. Moore?” “b There is but one Lady Fanny,” replies the poet; *” or, tG se.C!(/our ouw17 beautiful simile,’ The moon sees many brooks, but the b)rook sees but one moon!I” (M.Aem. jot that down.) And so is treasured up one idea for the morrow, and when the marclhiouess rises and the ladies follow her to the draw ing-room, Moore finds himself sandwiched between a cou ple of ws,hig lords, and opposite a past or future premier  an audience of cultivation, talent, schlolarship, and appre ciation; -and as the fresh pitcher of claret is passed round, all regards ra.diate to the Anacreon of the world, and with that suction of expectation-let alone’I’om Moore-even our ” Secretary of the Navy and National Songster”

would ” turn out his lining”-such as it is. And Moore is de lightful, andl wnith his ” As you say, my lord!” he gives birth to a constellation of bright things, no one of which is dismissed with the claret. Every one at the table, ex cept Moore, is subject to the hour-to its enthusiasm, its enjoyment-bhut the hour is to Moore a precious slave. So is the wine. It worlis for him! It brings him money from Longman! It plays his trumpet in the reviews! It is his filter among the ladies! Well may he sing its praises! Of all the poets, Moore is probably the only one who is thus master of his unie. The glorious abandon with which we fancy him, a brimming glass in his hand, singing ” eFlynot vet!’ exists only i the fancy. He keeps a cool headand coins his conv iviality; and to revert to my former figure, they wh o wish to know what Moore’s electricity amounts to without the conviv ial fri ction, may r ead his ” History of Ireland.”

Not a sparkle in it, fr om the landing of th e Phenicians to the battle of Vinegar Hill! Hle wrote that as other people write-wit h n othing left from the day be fore but the habit of la bor; and th e t ravel of a collapsed balloon on a man’s back, is not more unlike the same thing, inflated and soaring,thhan Tom Moore, historian, and Tom Moore, bard!

Somewhere in the small hours the poet walks home, and sitting down soberly in his little library, he puts on paper the half score of scintillations that collision, in one shape or another, h as st ruck into the tinder of his fancy. if r ead from this paper, the world wouldh pr obably think lit tle of their prospect of ever b eco ming poetry. But the mys. teriou at s p art is done-th e life i s br eathed into the chrysalis -and the clothing of these naked fancies with winged words, Mr. Moore knows very well can be done in verw uni nspired moods by patient indust r y. Mos t people have very little idea of what that s r indu stry is-ho deeply languiage is ransacke d, how often t urned over, how untiron gly r ejected and recalled with some neiv combination, how rest olutely sacrificed when only tolerable enoiughi to pass, how left untouched day after day in the hope of a fresh impulse after repose. The vexation of a Chinese puzzle is sight, probably, to that which Moore has expended on some of his most natural and flowing single lverses. The exquisite nicety of his ear, though it eventually gives his poetry its honeyed fluidity, gin-es him no quicker choice of words, nor does more, in any way, than pass inexorable judgment on what his industry brings forward. Those who think a song dashled off like ant invitation to dinner, w ould be edified by the progressive phases of a “c Moore’s Melodyr.” Taken with all its re-writings, emlendations, &c., l doubt whether, in his most indus.trious seclusion, Moore.aver~ges a couplet a day. Yet this persevering, resolute, uro. onqulerablc patience of labor, is the secret of his fame Take the best thing he ever wrrote, and translate its sen~imcnlt and simiitud,‘s into plain prose, and do the samc thing by a song of any second-rate imitaltor of Mzoore, one abstract should read as well as the other. Yet Moore’s song is immortal, and the other ephemeral as a paragraph in (i news~paper, and the difference consists in the patient clulboraltion of lainguage and harmony, and in that only. Andl evren thuls short, seems the space between the ephe);,’,,? tatnod tkle imamortal. But it is wider than they t?.ink;, oh1 glorious Tom Moore! W ith his charming social verses, and his amiable manecrs, Mr. Maoore succeeded, n ot only in winning the e ar of the ladies, but also of some influential noblemen. He was appointed to a situation in the Vice-Admiralty Court at Bermudas, and he embarked for that island, which Shakw p ere makes the birth-plac e of his syl phAriel. During his leisure moment s M r. Moor e did not negl ect the muses, and the beauties of tle Azo res; a nd on his return to England published a collection of odes, epistles, and fugitive poems, in which he celebrates the enich~antmenits of a climate wellcalculated to seduce,by its various featares, the poet’s imagination. Of these pieces, some are rich with brilliant descriptions. while others reproduce the tender emotions with-which AMr. Moore deligh,its to iisl/)re hIimnselt: Ele had, however, found the ladies of thie 13er.mituda,ts more fond than beautiful he treats their husbands still less tavorably, telling, us that the ancient philosopher, who held that after this life, the men are changed into muitiles, and the women into turtles, might have seen this metamorphosis nearly accorrmplished at B3ermudas. There can be little doubt that the primitive songs, or lyrical compositions )f the rhapsodists, were the sponitaneous produiction. of a poetical musician, who struck oil the words and the air in the same heat. Subsequently, songs have generally preceded the music. But such is thie triumph of music, which is the true tuiversal language, over poetry, which only apl,ertains to one laiigtiagf-, that the tulle still survives, when the words are lost. Tie Virgilian Shepherd was thence induced to exclaim, ” I remember the air, but I have forgo’ten the words.” Irelandl possessed an original and popular music, which supplied numerous allus io ns t o its mtanners customs, and history, and which, still more teain the Sc o tch music, de served that a Inso rens should render it popular, and conse crate it, as it swere, by a n alliance w ith the national poetry. Miss Owensoo bad h already adapted words to some of the se airs of oltd brin: buTt to Thomas Moore belongs the merit of ass emgbling almost all of them in on e historical record. The luxur y of the costumes, and of’ the periphrasis in Lalla Rook.ni, ten d t o persuade us that we are reading an orient a l poem; it rmight be almo st called,. according to a well-known expression, more Arabic than Arabia. But in the Irish Melodies, it Mar. Moore i s almo st always a remarka ble lyrical poet, he is seldom an Irishman, while Burns always remains a Scotchman in his Caledonianr melodies. We have s aid enough to explain the reason; Mr. Moore h as c ompo sed exclusively for the pianos of pr etty women. Burns has preserved his somewhat savage independenc e in hi s songs; Moore resembles a caged nightingale, who devotes his dulcet -voice to an imitation of the airscot of the bird-orgrean. There are, however, some honorable exceptions to the general tone of the melodies of the Irish Anacreon: ve Rich and Rare,” is a fragrmen.t rendered exquisite by its affecting simplicity; it describes the vnoyage of a young virgsin, clothed in rich vestures, who, on the faith of the virtues of Brien and his people, travels through the entire kingdom, without fear of outrage 1( 0 the sight-entrancing,” is the almost sublime expression of a warrior’s enthusiasm at the sight of arms.

Divested of their rhythm and their music, these melodies would perhaps justify what Moore himself has modestly said of them in the style of Fadladeen-they resemble insects in amber, which are es. teemed on account of the precious substance which embalm them. [And now let us add an admiring -ketch of the poet and his ways, written in that country whic’h he himself describes as “A world so briglit. bu,t born to grace Its own half-organized, half-mnded race,” but which is destined, notwithstanding, to be the second ho me of his immortality:]  Well-how does Moore write a song? In the twilight of a September evening he strolls through the park to dine with the marquis. As he draws on his white gloves, he sees the evening star looking at him steadily through the long vista of the avenue, and he conctrues its punctual dispensation of light into a reproach for having, himself a star, passed a day of poetic idleness. ” Damme,”

soliloquizes the little fat planet, ” this will &ever do! Here have I hammered the whale morning at a worthless idea, that, with the mere prospect of dinner allows as trumpery as a I penny fairing.’ Labor wasted!

end at my time of life too! Faith!-it’s a dining at home these two days with nobody to drink with me! It’s eye.water I want! Don’t trouble yourself to sit up for me, brother Hesper! I shall see clearer when I come back! ‘ Ba(l are the rhymes That scorn old wine,’ a my friend Barry sinigs. Poetry? hum!-Claret? P:ithee, call it claret!” I i. i I I 11 i I I I I I I i I I I i I! i i .1 I i I I 156 ” N,,n,ros nen,i,.i, si erb, tencreni.” I ii 11 I I

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THE SACRED POEMS MRS. HE MANS. THE ISRAELITE’S LAMENT. THE Sun comes forth;-each mountain height Glows with a tinge of rosy light, And flowers that slumbered through the night, Their dewy leaves unfold; A flood of splendor bursts on high, An d ocean’s breast reflects a sky Of crimson and of gold. Eni Babylonia sobre os rios, quando. BESIDE the streams of Babylon, in tears Of vain desire, we sat; remembering thee, O hallowed Sion and the vanis hed years, When Israel’s chosen sons were blest and free: Our harps, neglected and untuned, we hung Mute on the willows of the stranger’s land; When songs, like those that in thy fanes we sung, Our foes demanded from their captive band. Oh! thou art glorious, orb of day!

Exulting nations hail thy ray, Creation swells a choral lay, To welcome thy return; From thee all Nature draws her hues, Thy beams the insect’s wings suffuse, And in the diamond burn. How shall our voices, on a foreign shore, (We answered those whose chains the exile wore,) The songs of God, our sacred songs, renew? If I forget, midst grief and wasting toil, Thee, 0 Jerusalem! my native soil! May my right hand forget its cunning too! Yet must thou fade;-when earth and heaven By fire and tempest shall be riven, Thou, from thy sphere ofradiance driven, Oh Sun! must fall at last; Another heaven, another earth, Far other glory shall have birth, When all we see is past. ON ASCENDING A HILL LEADING TO A CONVENT. No baxes temeroso, o peregrino. PausE not with lingering foot, O pilgrim, here; Pierce the deep shadows of the mountain-side; Firm be thy step, thy heart unknown to fear, To brighter worlds this thorny path will guide Soon shall thy feet approach the caln abode, So near the mansions of suprenie delight; Pause not-but tread this consecrated road, ‘Tis the dark basis of the heavenly height. Behold, to cheer thee on the toilsome way, How many a foluntain glitters down the hill! Pure gales, inviting, softly round thee play, Bright sunshine guides-and wilt thou linger still 2 Oh! enter there, where, freed from human strife, Hope is reality, and time is life. But t’lie slip was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves li tce wind wants contrary.”Alatthew, xiv. 24. FEAR was within the tossing bark, When stormy winds grew loud; And waves came rolling high and dark, And the tall mnast was bowed. And men stood breathless in their dread, And baffled in their skill‘ But One was there, who rose and said To the wild sea, ” Be still!” And the wind ceased-it ceased!-that word Passed through the gloomy sky; The troubled billows knew their Lord, And sank beneath his eye. Now far in glade and dell, Flower-cup, and bud, and bell, Have shut around the sleeping wrodlark’s nest The bee’s long murmuring toils are done, And B, the o’erw earied one, O’erwearied and o’erwrought, Bless thee, 0 God, 0

Father of the oppressed With my last waking thought, In the still night!

And slumber settled on the deep, And silence on the blast, As when the righteous falls asleep, When death’s fierce throes are past. Thou that didst rule the angry hour, And tame the tempest’s moodOh! send thy spirit forth in power, O’er our dark souls to brood! Thou.that didst bow the billow’s pride, Thv manrtates to fulfilSpeak, speak, to passion’s raginl tide, Speak andl say-,, Peace. be still!” Yes, ere I sing to r est, By the fire’s (lying light, Thou Lord of Earth and’ Heaven! I bless tli(.e, wo hast givenUnto lilf’s faintin~ Irayelle-s, the nights The soft, still, hioly night! I i OF THE SUN. But He, who gave the word of might, ” Let there be light”-and there wa., light, Who bade thee chase the gloom of night, And beam, the world to bless;For ever bright, for ever pure, Alone unchanging shall endure, The Sun of righteousness! CHRIST STILLING THE

TEMPEST EVENING SONG OF THE WEARY. FATHE-R of Heaven and Earth! I bless thee for the niglit, The soft, still night! The holy pause ofcare and i-nirth, Of sound and light!

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SACRED POEMvS OF MRS. IJEMANS. PARAPHRASE OF PSALM CXLVIII, Praise ye the Lord. Praise ye tile Lord from the heavens, praise hin in the heights.

PRAISE ye the Lord! on every height Songs to his glory raise! Ye angel-hosts, ye stars of light, Join in imiiiortalspraise! Youth and the opening r ose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee-but thou art not of those That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind’s breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death. We know when moons shall wane, When summer-birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn’s hue shall tinge the golden grain But who shall teach us when to look for thee? Is it when spring’s first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Is it when roses in our paths grow pale?They have oae season-all are ours to die! Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air, Thou art around us in our peaceful home, And the world calls us forth-and thou art there Oh!

heaven of heavens! let praise far-swelling From all your orbs be sent!

Join in the strain, ye waters, dwelling Above the firmament! For his the word which gave you birth, And majesty and might; Praise to the Hig~hest fiom the earth, And let the deeps unite! Oh! fire and vapor, hail and snow, Ye servants of his will; Oh! stormedy windls, that only blow His mandates to fulfil; Mountains and rocks, to heaven that rise Fair cedars of the wood; Creatures of life, that wing the skies, Or track the plains for food; Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind’s breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh! Death. Judges of nations; kings, whose hand W ave s the proud sceptre high; Oh! youths and virgins of the land, Oh! age and infancy; Praise ye His name, to whom alone All homage should be given; Whose glory from the eternal throne Spreads wide o’er earth and heaven! OH! lovely voices of the sky Which hymned the Savior’s birth, Are ye not singing still on high, .’-Ye that sang, “Peace on earth?” To us yet speak the strains Wherewith, in time gone by, Ye blessed the Syrian swains, Oh! voices of the sky! THE HOUR OF PRAYER. CHILD, amidst the flowers at play, While the red light fades away; Mother, with thine earnest eye Ever following silently; Father, by the breeze of eve Called thy ha rvest-work to leave; Pray!ere yet the dark hours be, Lift the heart and bend the knee! Oh! clear and shining light, whose beams That hour Heaven’s glory shed, Around the palms, and o’er the streams, And on the shepherd’s head. Be near, through life and death, As in that holiest night Of hope, and joy, and faith Oh! clear and shining light! Oh! star wh,‘h led to Him, whose love Brought down man’s ransom fieeWhere art thou?‘midst the host above, May we still gaze on thee? In Heaven thou art not set, Thy rays earth may not dim, Send them to guide us yet, Oh! star which led to Him! Traveller, in the stranger’s land Far from thine own household band; Mourner, haunted by the tone Of a voice from this world gone; Captive, in whose narrow cell Sunislshine hath not leave to dwell; Sailoi-. on the darkening seaLift the heart and bend the aknee! Warrior, that from battle won Breathest now at set of sun! Woman o’er the lowly slain Weeping on his burial plain: Ye that triumph, ye that sigh, Kindred by one holy tie, Heaven’s first star alik e ye seeLift the heart and bend the knee! THE WORDS WRITTEN FOR A MELODY BY FELTOI NIGHT sinks on the wave, Hollow gusts are sighing, Sea-birds to their cave Through the gloom are flying. Oh! should storms come sweeping Thou, in heaven unsleeping, O’er thy children vigil keeping, Hear, hear, and save! THE HOUR OF DEATH.

LEAvzs have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind’s breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh!

Death. Day is for mortal c are, FEve f or glad meet’ngs round the j o yous h earth, Night for the Ireams of sleep, the voice ofprayer-F But all for thee, thou Mightiest of the earth. Stars look o’er the sead, Few, and sad, and shrouded! Faith our light must be, When all else is clouded. Thou, whose voice came thrilling, Wind and billow stilling, Speak once more! our prayer fulfilling – Power dwells with thee! Tie banquet hath its bour, Its feverish hlour of mnirth, an] song, and wine; There ce irns i day for griefs o’erwhelming power, A time for softer tears-but all are thine. I 158 HYMN FOR CHRISTMAS. NIGHT HYMN AT SEA.

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SACRED POEMS OF MRIS. ITE,ANS. HYMN OF TtHE f I)l NI-‘Ai\ CIII:S’l’.ISTN.

HE knelt-the Savior knelt and prayed, When but his Father’s eye Looked through the lonely garden’s shade, On that dread agony! The Lord of all, above, beneath, Was bowed with sorrow unto death. Wh’lanks bbu th, Goa fer ee( it I”,I ofl-t!: nq ” 9W Itt l’s l;ook of th,‘Sc,.,tos FOR the strenigtlh of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our lilthler-s’ Go(]! Thou hast miade thy children mighilty, By the touch of the nmountain sod. Thou hast fixed our arl; of refuge Where the sl)oile r’s foot nie’er tro(d; For the strength (,f tht- hll’s wve bless thee, Our God, oull f ititeles’ G)d!

She sun set in a fearful hour, The skies might well grow dim, When this mortality had power So to o’ershadow hinm. That He who gave man’s breath might know The very depths of human wo. We are watchers elf a i)eacon Whose lights ijimust never d(ie; We are guardians tf aOn althar Midst the silence of the stky; The rocks yiteld iounits o,f c,urage Struck foith as 1)y thy rodFor the str-ength of thil hills we bless thee, 0 God, owlr fthtlers’ Godl! He knew them all-the doubt, the strife, The faint, perplexing dread, The mists that hang o’er parting life, All darkened round his head! And the Deliverer knelt to prayYet passed it not, that cup, away. It passed not-though the stormy wave Had sunk beneath his tread; It passed not-though to him the grave Had yielded up its dead. But there was sent him from on high A gift of strength, for man to die.* For the darlk, resoudin~ heavens, Where thy still smtnall voice is heard, For the strong pines of the forests, That by thy breath are stirred; For the storns on wihose fliee pinion!s Thy spirit walls abro,a(lFor the strengthl of thie hills we bless thee, O God, our fiatlhers’ God! And was his mortal hour beset With anguish and dismay? -How may we meet our conflict yet, In the dark, narrow way? How, but through Him, that path who trod? lSave, or we perish, Son of God! The royal eagle d.arteth On’lhis quarry fi’or the heights, And the stag that knows no master, Seeks there his wild delights; But we for thy communion Have sought the mountain sodFor the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our God, our fathers’ God! A fit abode, wherein appear enshrined Our hopes of immortality.-Byron. SPEW low!-the place is holy to the breath Of awful harmonies, of whispered prayer; Tread lightly!-for the sanctity of death Broods with a voiceless influence on the air: Stern, yet serene!-a reconciling spell, Each troubled billow of the soul to quell. Leave me to linger silently awhile! -Not for the light that pours its fervid streams Of rainbow glory down.through arch and aisle, Kindling old banners into haughty gleams, Flushing proud shrines, or by some warrior’s tomb Dying away in clouds of gorgeous gloom: Not for rich music, though in triumph pealing, Mighty as forest sounds when winds are high; Nor yet for torch, and cross, and stole, revealing Through incense-mists their sainted pageantry:Though o’er the sp irit eac h hath charm and power Yet not for these I ask one lingering hour. MOTHER’S

LITANY BY THE SICK-BED OF A CHILD. But by strong sympathies, whose silver cord Links me to mortal weal, my soul is bound; Thought. of the human hearts, that here have poured Their anguish forth, are with me and around;I look back on the pangs, the burning tears, Known to these altars of a thousand years. bend up a murmur from the dust, Remorse! That here hast bowed with ashes on thy head; And thou still battling with the tempest’s force Thou, whose bright spirit through all time hath bledSpeak, wounded Love! if penance here, or prayer, Hath laid one haunting shadow of despair? No voice, no breath!-of conflicts past, no trace -Does not this hush give answer to my quest t Surely the dread religion of the place By every grief hath made its might confest! Oh! that within my heart I could but keep Holy to lIcaven, a spot thus pure, and still, and deep I “And there a ppeared an angel unto him from heaven, strength .iing him.”-Lake, xxii. 43. I CHRIST’S AGC)NY IN THE GARDEN. THE MINSRER. The banner of the chieftain Far, far below us waves; The war-horse of the spearman Can not reach our lofty caves; Thy dark clouds wrap the threshold Offreedom’s last abode; For the strength of the Iiills we bless thee, Our God, otii- (,od!

For the shadow I)i cseiiec Round our canip of i-celi outspread; For the stern defiles of battle, Bearing record of our dead; For the siiow-9, and for the torrents, . For the free heart’s burial sod, For the strength of the hills we bless thee, Our UrQ, our fathers’ God I ,9AVIOR that of woman born, Mother-sorrow didst not scorn, Tliou with whose last an-uish strove One dear thought of earthly love; Hear and aid! Low he lies, my precious child, With his spirit wandering wild From its gladsome tisks and play, And its bright thoughts far away: Savior, aid Pain sits heavy on his bro’f Elen though 31uniber qeal”-ow; Round his lip is quivering strifef In his hand unquiet life; Aid, oh! aid! Savior! loose the burning chain From his fevered heart and brain, Give, oh! -give his voting sou I back Into its own cloudless tracli! Hear. and aid I

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SACRED POEMS OF MRItS. IIEMANS. True faith, long suffering love. Couie to me, come! And as the seas beneath your miaster’s tread Fell into crystal smoothness round him spread Like the clear pavement of his heavenly home; So in your presence, let the soul’s great deep Sink to the gentleness of infant sleep. Yet, oh! make him thine, all thine, Savior! whether Death’s or mine! Yet, oh! pour on human love, ‘4rength, trust, patience, from above.! Hear and aid! A PRAYER OF AFFECTION. BLESSINGS, 0 Father, shower!

Father of mercies! round his precious head! On his lone wallis and on his thoughtful hour, And the pure visions of his midnight bed, Blessings be shed! THE SONG OF MIRIAM. A song for Israel’s God! Spear, crest, and helm, Lay by the billows of the old Red sea, When Miriam’s voice o’er that sepulchral realm Sent on the blast a hymn of jubilee; With her lit eye, and long hair floating free, Queen-like she stood, and glorious was the strain, F,‘en as instinct with the tempestuous glee Of the dark waters tossing o’er the slain. A song for God’s own victory! 0, thy lays, Bright Poesy! were holy in their b;.rth:How hath it died, thy seraph note (t’

praise, In the bewildering melodies of earth! Return from troubling bitter founts-return, Back to the life-springs of thy native urn! Father! I pray Thee not For earthly treasure to that most beloved, Fame, fortune, power;-oh! be his spirit proved By these, or by their absence, at thy will! But let thy peace be wedded to his lot, Guarding his inner life from touch of ill, WVith its dove-pinion still! Let such a sense of Thee, T’rhy watching presence, thy sustaining love, His bosom guest inalienably be, That waheresoeL’er he move, A heavenly light serene Upon his heart and inein May sit undiminmed! a gladness rest his own, Unspeakable, and to the world unknown! Such as fromn childhood’s morning land of dreams, Remeinbered faintly, gleams, Faintly remembered, an l too swiftly flown!

The plume-like swaying of the auburn corn, By soft winds to a dreamy motion fanned, Still brings me back mine image-Oh! forlorn, Yet not forsaken, Ruth! I see thee stand Lone,‘midst the gladness of the harvest bandL one as a wood-bird on the ocean’s foam, Fallen in its weariness. Thy fathe r-land Smiles far away! ye t to th e sense of home, That finest, purest, which can recognise Home in affection’s glance for ever true Beats thy ce5lm heart; and if thy gentle eyes Gleam tremulous through tears,‘tis not to rue Those words, immortal in their deep love’s tone ” Thy people and thy God shall be mine own!” So let him walk with Thee, Made by Thy spirit free; And when thiou callest him fromn his mortal place To his last hour be still that sweelness given, Tha,t joyful trust! and brightly let him part, With lamp clear burning, and unliagering heart, Mature to ineet in heaven His Savyor’s face! THE VIGIL OF RIZPAH. “And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiali, took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until water dropped upon them out of heaven; and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on themn, by day, nor the beasts of the field by night.”-2 San. xxi. 10. WHO watches on the mountain with the dead, Alone before the awfulness of night? A seer awaiting the deep spirit’s might? A warrior guarding some dark pass of dread? No, a lorn woman! On her drooping head, Once proudly graceful, heavy beats the rain: She recks not-living for the unburied slain, Only to scare the vultures from their bed. So, night by night, her vigil hath she kept With the pale stars, andl with the dews hath wept; Oh! surely some bright Presence from above On those wild rocks the lonely one must aid!

IE’en so; a strengthener through all storm and shade, The unconquerable Angel, mightiest Love.! Your tents are desolate: your st ately steps, Of all their choral danc es, have not left One trace beside the fountains; your full cup Of gladness and,f trembing~, each alike Is broken: yet amidst undlving things, Tile mind still keeps your loveliness, and still All the fresh gl,,ries ofthe early world Hang round you in the spirit’s pictured halls Never to chance! ks the tired voyager on stormy seas Invokes the coming of bright birds from shore, To waft him tidings with the gentler breeze, Of dim sweet woods that hear no billows roar; So from the depths of days, when earth yet wore Her solemn beauty and primeval dew, I call you gracious Forms! Oh! come, restore Awhile that holy freshness, and renew l,ife’s morning dreams. Come with the voice, the lyre, Daughters of Judah! with the timbrel rise! Ye of the dark prophet;.i eastern eyes, Imperial in their visionary fire; Oh! steep my soul in that old glorious time, When God’s own whisper shook the cedars of your clime!

“And she answered, I dwell among thine own people.”-2 King Iv. 13. ccI dwell among mine own.” Oh! happy thou!{ Not for the su-ny cel’sters of the vine, Nor for the olives on the mountain’s brow; Nor the flocks wondering by the flowery line Of streams, that make the green land where they shine Laugh to the light of waters-not for these, Nor the soft shadow of ancestral trees, Whose kindly whisper floats o’er thee and thineOh! not for these I call thee richly blest, But for the meekness of thy woman’s breast, Where that sweet depth of still contentment lies; And for thy holy household love, which clings Unto all ancient and familiar things, Weaving from each some link for homne’s dear chan. ties. INVOCATION CONTINUED. And come, ye faithful! round Messiah seen, With a soft harmony of tears and light Streaming through all your spiritual mien, As in calm clouds of pearly stillness bright, hliowers weave with sunshine, and transpierce their slight Ethereail cradle. From your heart subdued AIo h.,ihti dreamas of power had winged their flight, artl eti’ z ace for martyr fortitude, 44io Thou that saidst, 11 Awale, -trise!” E’en when deatli had quenched the eyes, In this hour of gi-iet’s deep sigliing, When o’erwearied hope is dying! Hear and aid! RUTH. FE.MALE CHkRkCTERS OF SCRIPTURE. INVOCATroN.

THE RIEPLY OF THE SHUNAMMITE WOMAN.

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SACRED POEMS OF MiS. IJNIANS. TiE} ANNUNCIATION. Lowliest of women, and most glorified { In thy still beauty sitting calm and lone, A brightness round thee grew-and by thy side Kindling the air, a form ethereal shone, Solemn, yet breathing gladness. From her throne A queen had risen with more imperial eye, A stately prophetess of victory From her proud lyre nad struck a tempest’s tone, For such high tidings as to thee were brought, Chosen of Heaven! that hour:-but thou, O thou{! E’en as a flower with gracious rains o’erfraught Thy virgin head beneath its crown didst bow, And tak e t o thy meek breast the all holy word, And own thyself the handmaid of the Lord. “Verily I say u uto you, wit.e.-es,ever this gospel shlall be preat ed in the whole world, tihere shall also this, that this woman i: i: done, be told for a meorlial of li’r.”-Mattherw xxvi. 13. See E John xii. 3. Thou hast thy record in the monarch’s hall; And on the waters of the far mith sea; And where the mighty mountain-shadows fall, The Alpine hamlet keeps al thought of thee: Where’er, beneath some Orient al t ree, The Christian traveller rests-where’er the’child Looks upward from the English miiotlher’s knee, With earnest eyes in wondering reverence mild, There art thou known-where’er the Book of Light Bears hope and healing, there, beyornld all blight, Is borne thy memory, and all praise above; Oh! say what deed so lifted thy sweet name, Mary! to that l)ure silent place of fame? One lowly offering of exceeding love! Yet as a sun-burst flushing mountain snow, Fell the celestial touch of fire ere long O the pale stillness of thy thoughtful brow, Anli thy calm spirit lightened into song. Unconsciously perchance, yet free and strong Filowed the majestic joy of tuneful words, Which living hearts the choirs of Heaven among MiLgIt well have linked with their divinest chords, Full many a strain, borne far on glory’s blast, Shall leave, where once its haughty music passed, No mnore to memnory than a reed’s faint sight; While thine, 0 childlike virgin! through all time Shall send its fervent breath o’er every clime, Being of God, and therefore not to die. Like those pale stars of tempest hours, whose gleam Waves calm and constant on the rocking mast, Such by the cross doth your bright lingering seem, Daughters of Zion!

faithful to the last! Ye, through the darklness o’er the wide earth cast By the death-cloud within the Savio,-‘s eye, E’en till away the heavenly spirit pa.ssed, Stood in the shadow of his agony. O blessed faith! a guiding lamp, that hour, Was lit for woman’s heart; to her, whose dower Is all of love and suffering from her birth; Still hath your act a voice-through fear, through s! Bidding her b in d each tendril of her life, To that which her deep soul hath proved of hot worth. There was a mournfulness in angel eyes, That saw thee, Womaan! bright in this world’s train, Moving to pleasure’s airy melodies, Thyself the idol of the enchanted strain. But from thy beauty’s garland, brief and vain, When one by one the rose-leaves had been torn, When thy heart’s core had quivered to the pain Through every life-nerve sent by arrowy scorn; When thou didst kneel to pour sweet odors forth On the Redeemer’s feet with many a sigh, .Andl showering tear-drop, of yet richer worth Than all those costly balms of Araby; then was their joy, a song ofjoy in Heaven, For thee, the child won back, the penitent forgiver. I Weeper! to thee how bright a morn was given After thy long, long vigil of despair, When that high voice which burial rocks had riven. Thrille d with immortal tones the silent air’

Never did clarion’s royal blast declare Such tale of victory to a breathless crowd, As the deep sweetness of one word could bear, Into thy heart of hearts, O woman! bowed By strong affection’s anguish!-one low word ” Mary!”-and all the triumph wrung from death Was thus revealed! and thou, that so hadst erred, So wept and been forgiven, in trembl ing oith Didst cast thee down before the all-conquering Son,’ Awed by the mighlty gift thy tears and love had won! Oh! blest beyond all daughters of the earth! What were the Orient’s thrones to that low seat Where thy hushed spirit drew celestial birth? Mary! meek listener at the Savior’s feet? No feverish cares to that divine retreat rhy woman’s heart of silent worship brought, But a fresh childhood, heavenly truth to meet, With love, and wonder, and submissive thought. (lh! for the holy quiet of thy breast, Midst the world’s eager tones and footsteps flying! rhou whose calm soul was like a well-spring lying So deep and still in its transparent rest, Thttt e’en when noontide burns upon the hills, Some one bright solemn star all its lone mirror fills, MARY MAGDALENE BEARING TIDINGS OF THE

RESURRECTION Then was a task of glory all thine own, Nobler than e’er the still sma ll vo ice assig ned To lips in awful music making known The stormy splendors of some prophet’s mind. ” Christ is arisen!” by thee to wake mankind, First from the sepulchre those words were broullt’ Thou wert to send the mighty rushing wind First on its way, with those high tidings fraught”c Christ has arisen!” Thou, thou, the sin enthralled Earth’s outcast, Heaven’s own ransomed one, wert cal., In human hearts to give that rapture birth; Oh! raised from shame to brightness!-there doth lie The tenderest mean ing of His ministry, Whose undespairing love still owned the spirit’s worth ! HE SISTERS OF BETHANY AFTER THE DEATH OF

LAZARUS. 3ne grief, one faith, O sisters of the dead! Was in your bosoms-thou, whose steps, made fleet By keen hope fluttering in the heart which bled, Bore thee as wings, the Lord-of Life to greet; And thou, that duteous in thy still retreat Didst wait his summons then with reverent love Fall weeping at the blest Deliverer’s feet, Whom e’en to heavenly tears thy wo could move, And which to Him, the All-Seeing and All-Just, Was loveliest, that quick zeal, or lowly trust? Ohi! question not, and let no law be given T’o th.ose unveilings of its deepest shrine, By the wrong spirit made in outward sign: Free service fron the heart is all in all to Heaven. I 461 TII.E IVIEMORIAL OF MARY. THE SONG OF THE VIRGIN. TIIE WOMEN

OF JERUS.,iLl,.M AT Tli.F, CROSS. THE PENITENT ANOINTING CI-IRIST’S FEET.

MARY MAGDALENE AT THE SEPULCIIRE. MARY AT THE FEET OF CHRIST. HYMNS, DEVOTIONAL AND MEMORTAI. THE SACRED HARP. How shall the harp of poesy regain, That (,Id victorious tone of prophet-years, A spell divine o’er iiilt’s perturbing fearq, And all tlie he,ei-in, sha(,ows of!he brain?

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SACRLD POEMS OF M’S, [‘.\fANS. I)ark evil wings toolk fllzlit before the strain, And showers of h,oly quiet, with its tfall, iSank on the soul:-(Oh! who nmay now recall The mighty music’s consecrated reign tSoilit of God! whose glory once o’erhung A throne, the Ark’s dread cherubim between, So let thy presence brood, though now unseen, O’er those two powers by whom the harp is strungFeeling and Thought!-till the rekindled chords Give the long-buried tone back to immortal words I Happy were they, the mothers, in whose sight Ye grew, fair children! hallowed from that hour By your Lord’s blessing! surely thence a shower Of heavenly beauty, a transmitted light, Hung on your brows and eyelids, meekly bright, Through all the after years, which saw ye move Lowly, yet still majestic in the might, The conscious glory of the Savior’s leve! And honored be all childhood, for the sake Of that high love! let reverential care Watch to behold the mortal spirit wake, And shield its first bloom from unholy air; Owning, in each young suppliant glance, the sign Of claims upon a heritage divine. What household thoughts around thee, as their shrine Cling reverently! of anxious looks beguiled, My mother’s eyes, upon thy page divine, Each day were bent:-her accents, gravely mild, Breathed out thy lore: whilst I, a dreamy child, Wandered on breeze-like fancies oft away, To sone lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild, Somne fresh-discovered nook for woodland play, Somne secret nest:-yet would the solemn Word At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard, Fall on my wakened spirit, there to be A seed not lost;-for which, in darker years, 0

Book ot Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears, Heart blessings on the holy dead and thee! ” He went up to a mountain apart to pray.” A child’midst ancient mounta ins I have stood, Where the wild falcons make their lordly nest On hiLh. The spir it of the solitude Fel l solemnly upon my infant b reast, Though taIa bt e that I prayed not; but deep thought s h ave pressed Into my being since it breathed that air, Nor could I now one moment live the guest Of such dread scenes, without the springs of prayer O’erflowing all my soul. No minsters rise Like them in pure communion with the skies, Vast, silent, open unto night and day; So might the overburdened Son of man have felt, When, turning where inviolate stillness dwelt, He sought high mountains, there apart to pray. Under a palmn-tree, by the green old Nile, Lulled on his mother’s breast, the fair child lies, With dlove-like breathings, and a tender smile, Brooding above the slumber of his eyes. While, through the stillness of the burning skies, Lo! the dread work of Egypt’s buried kings Temple and pyramid beyond him rise, Regal and still as everlasting things!Vrain pomps! from Him, with that pure flowery cheek, So.ft shadowed by his mother’s drooping head, A new-born spirit, mighty, and yet meek, O’er the whole world like vernal air shall spread! An(] bid all earthly grandeurs cast the crown Before the suffering and the lowly, down. ” Consider the lilies of the fields.”

Flowers! when the Savior’s calm benignant eye Fell on your ge ntle beauty-whe n from y ou That heavenly lesson from all hearts he drew.

Eternal, universal as the skyThen, in the bosom of your purity, A voice He set, as ill a temple-shrine, That life’s quick travellers ne’er might pass you by Unwarned of that sweet oracle divine. And though too oft its low, celestial sound, By the harsh notes of work-day care is drowned. And the loud steps of vain unlistening Haste, Yet, the great ocean hath no tone of power Mightier to reach the soul, in thought’s hushed hour, Than yours, ye Lilies! chosen thus and graced! PICTURE OF THE INFANT CHRIST WITH FLOWERS.

All the bright hues from eastern garlands glowing, Round the young Child luxuriantly are spread; Gifts, fairer far than Magian kings, bestowing, In adoration, o’er his cradle shed. ‘Roses, deep-filled with rich midsummer’s red, Circle his hands; but in his grave sweet eye, Thought seems e’en now to wake and prophecy Of ruder coronals for that meek head. And thus it was! a diadem of thorn Earthl gave to Him who mantled her with flowers, To Him who poured forth blessings in soft showers, i’er all her paths, a cup of bitter scorn! kncl we repine, for whom that cup He took ‘er blooms that mocked our hope, o’er idols that for sook! “1 And behold the birds of the air.” Ye too, the free and fearless birds of air, Were charged that hour, on missionary wing, The same bright lesson o’er the seas to bear, Heaven-guided wanderers with the wings of spring Sing on, before the storm and after, sing! And call us to your echoing woods away From worldly cares; and bid our spirits bring Faith to imbibe deep wisdom from your lay. So may those blessed vernal strains renew C hild hood, a c hild hood y et more pure and true E’en than the first, within the awakened mind; While sweetly, joyously, they tell of life, That knows no doubts, no questionings, no strife, But hangs upon its God, unconsciouslv resigned. I X..t that image on a mirthful day Of youth, and sinking w,th – stilled surprise, The pride of life before thoc holy eyes, In my quick heart died thoughtfully away, A.bashed to mute confessions of a sway, Awful, though meek; and now, that from the strings, Of my soul’s lyre, the tempest’s mighty wings, Save struck forth tones which then awakened lay; ‘qow, that around the deep life of my mind, _tections, deathless as itself, have twined, Oft does the pale bright vision still float by; iut more divinely sweet, and speaking now )f One whose pity, throned on that sa,d brow, Sounded all depths of li..ve, grief, death, humanity! ” And he that was dead sat up an d began t o speak.” He that wtas dead rose up and spoke-He spoke I Was it of that majestic world unknown? Those words, which first the bier’s dread silence broke, Came they with revelation in each tone? i . 4 f ) – - ---- – . -. L --- – - – - TI-IP’. CIIILI-,RP.N N jESUz-

ULFST. TO A FAMILY BIBLE. MOUNTAIN SANCTUARIES. REPOSE OF A HOLY FAMILY.

rrorn an old Italian Picture. THE LILIES OF THE PLELD. THE BIRDS OF THE

AIR. ON A RFMFMBERED PICTURE OF CHRRST. Art Ecce Homo, by Leonardo da Vinci. THE RARSING 01F THE Wrl)OW’S 801q.

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463 N NORTH WALES. Were the far cities of the nations gone, The srleminn halls of consciousness or sleep, For iuan uncurtained by that spirit lone, Back from their portal summoned o’er the deep? Be hushed, muy soul I the veil of darkness lay Still drawn:-thy Lord called back the voice departed, To spread his truth, to comfort his weak-hearted, Not to reveal the mysteries of its way. Oh! take that lesson iome in silent faith, Put on submissive strength to meet, not question death I Blessings be round it still! th at gl e aming fane, Low in its mountain glen! old mossy trees Mellow the sunshine through the unteinted pane, And oft, borne in upon some fitful breeze, The deep sound of the ever-pealing seas, Filling the h]ollows with its anthem-tone, There meets the voice of psalms!-yet not alone. For memories lulling to the heart as these, I bless thee,‘midst thy rocks, gray house of prayer! But for their sakles who unto thee repair From the hill-cabins and the ocean-shore. Oh! may the fisher and the mountaineer, Worls to sustain earth’s toiling children bear, Within thy lowly walls for evermore! The palm-the vine-the cedar-each hath power To bid fair Oriental shapes glance by, And each quick glistening of the laurel bower Watts Grecian images o’er fancy’s eye. But thou, pale olive!-in thy branches lie Far deeper spells than prophet-grove of old Might e’er enshrine:-I could not hear thee sigh To the wind’s faintest whisper, nor behold One shiver bf thy leaves’ dim silvery green, Without high thoughts and solemn, os’ that scene When, in the garden, the Redeemer prayed Vhen pale stars looked uipon his fainting head, And angels, ministering in silent dread, Tretmibled, perchance, within thy trembling shade. Louise Schepler was tl]e faitlful servant a l f’iend of the., Oberlin. T’he last letter addr(essd by lirn to lhis chilrel f;r – perusal after his decease. acffcti o,r,it.ly comLrmeniorates he wearied zeal in visiling ard i,.structii. the (‘llIdrerl of the u.,, tain hlamlets, throughl all seasons, (Ald in all circumstane, difficulty at:l dai,ger. A fearless journeyer o’er the mountain snow Wert thou, Louise! the sun’s decaying light, Oft, with its latest melancholy giow, Reddened thy steep wild way; the starry night Oft mnet thee, crossing some lone eagle’s height, Piercing some dark ravine: and many a dell Knew, through its ancient rock-recesses, well, Thy gentle presence, which lath made them bright Oft in mid-storin; oh! not with beauty’s eye, Nor the proud glance of genius keenly burning; No! pilgrim of unwearying charity! Thy spell was love-the mountain deserts turning To blessed realms, where stream and rock rejoice, When the glad human soul lifts a thanksgiving voice THE DARKNESS

OF THE CRUCIFIXION. On Jtudah’s Flills a weight of darkness hung, Felt shudlderingly at noon:-the land had driven A Guest divine back to the gates of Heaven, A life, whence all pure founts of healing sprung, All grace, all truth:-and, when to anguish wrung, From the sharp cross the enlightening spirit fled, O’er the forsaken earth a pall ol’ dread By the great shadow of that death was flung. O Savior! 0 Atoner! thou that fain Wouldst make thy temple in each human breast, l,eave not such darkness in my soul to reign, Ne’er may thy presence from its depths depart, Chased thence by guilt turn not thou away, The bright and morning star, my guide to perfect day l For thou, a holy shepherdess and kind, Through the pine forests by the upland rills, Didst roam to seek the children of the hills, A wild neglected flock! to seek, and fin(, And meekly win! there feed(ling each young mind With balns of heavenly eloquence: not thine, Daughter of Christ! but his, whose love divine, Its own clear spirit in thy breast hail shrine(d, A burning light! Oh! beautifil, in truth, Upon the mountains are the feet of those Who bear his tidings! From thy morn of youth, For this were all thy journeyings, and the close Of that long path, Heaven’s own bright sabbath-rest, Must wait thee, wanderer! on thy Savior’s breast. ” God is a spirit.” Spirit! whose life-sustaining presence fills Air, ocean, central depths, by man untried Thou for thy worshippers hast sanctified All place, all time! The silence of the hills Breathes veneration: founts and choral rills Of thee are murmuring:-to its inmost glade The living forest with thy whisper thrills, And there is holiness on every shade. Yet must the thoughtful soul of man invest With dearer consecration those pure fanes, Which, severed from all sound of earth’s unrest, Hear naught but suppliant or adoring strains R ise heavenward. Ne’er may rock or cave possess Their claim on human hearts to solemn tenderness. CREATURE of air and lIg’ht! Emblem of that which will not fade or die! Wilt ut e th ou no t speed thy flight To chase the south wind through the glowing sky? What lures thee thus to stay, With silence and decay, Fixed on the wreck of cold mortality? OLD CHURCH IN AN ENGLISH

PARK. Crowning a flowery slope, it stood alone In gracious sanctity. A bright rill wound, Caressingly, about the holy ground; And warbled, with a never-dying tone, Amidst the tombs. A hue of ages gone Seemed, from that ivied porch, that solemn gleam Of tower and cross, pale quivering on the stream, O’er all the ancestral woodlands to be thrown, And something yet more deep. The air was fraught With noble memories, whisper, lg many a thought Of Englandl’s faithers; loftily serene, They that had toiled, watched, struggled to secure, Within such fabrics, worship free and pure, Reigned there, the o’ershadowing spirits of the scene. The thoughts, once chambered there, Here gathered up their treasures, and are gone; Will the dust tell thee where That which hath burst the prison-house is flown?

Rise, nursling of the day! If thou wouldst trace its wayEarth has no voice to make the secret known. i i SACRED POEMS OF ITRS. IIEMANS. THE OLIVE

TREE. LOUISE SCIIEPLFR. TO THE SAAj’,F.. PLACES OF WORSHIP. LINES TO A BUTTERFLY RESTING ON A SCULL Who seeks the vanished bird, Near the deserted nest and broken shell? Far thence, by us unheard, He sings, rejoicing in the woods to dwell; Thou ofthe sunshine born, Take the brizht wings of morn! Thy hope springs heavenward from yon ruined cell.

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SACRED POEMS OF Oh! by the anguish of that night, Send us down blest relief; Or to the chastened, let thy might Hallow this grief; And Thou, that when the starry sky Saw the dead strife begun, Didst teach adoring faith to cry, ” Thy will be done!”  i” Al, tile train Sang Hallelujahl as the sound of seas.” Milton. %GAIN! oh, send those anthem notes again!

Through the arched roof in triumph to the sky! lid the old tombs give echoes to the strain, The banners tremble, as with victory! sing them once more!-they waft mnay soul away, High where no shadow of the past is thrown; fo earthly passion through the exulting lay, Breathes mournfully one haunting under tone. ll is of Heaven!-yet wherefore to mine eye, Gush the quick tears unbidden firom their source, ‘‘en while the waves of that strong harmony, Sweep with my spirit on their sounding course? ‘ herefore must rapture its full tide reveal, Thus by the signs betokening sorrow’s power? -Oh! is it not that humbly we may feel Oti nature’s limits in its proudest hour! CALM on the bosom of thy G od, Young spirit! rest thee now!

E’en while with us thy footsteps trod, His soul was on thy brow. Dust, to its narrow house beneath! Soul, to its place on high! They that have seen thy look in death, No more may fear to die. THOUGHTS FROM AN ITALIAN POET.

VHFrE shall I find, in all this fleeting earth, This world of changes, and farewells, a friend Clhat will not fail me in his love and worth, Tender, and firm, and faithful to the end? Far hath my spirit sought a place of rest Long on vain idols its devotion shed; lome have forsaken whom I loved the best, An,] some deceived, and some are with the dead. But thou, my Savior! thou, my hope and trust, Faithful art thou when friends and joys depart, Teach me to lift these yearnings from the dust, And fix on thee, the Unchanging One, my heart. THE PENITENT’S OFFERING. ST. LUKE vii. 37, 38. THOU that with pallid cheek, And eyes in sadness meek, And faded locks that humbly swept the ground, From their long wanderings won, Before the all-healing Son, Didst bow thee to the earth, oh, lost and found I ‘TWAS early day, and sunlight streamed Soft through a quiet roomi, That hushed, but not forsaken, seemed, Still, but with naught of gloom. For there, serene in happy age, Whose hope is firom above, A father communed with the page Of Heaven’s recorded love. Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright, On his gray holy hair, And touched the page with tenderest light, As if its shrine were there! But oh! that patriarch’s aspect shone With something lovelier far, A radiance all the spirit’s own, Caught not fiom sun or star. Some word of life e’en then had met His calmrn, benignant eye, Some ancient promise, breathing yet Of Immortality: Some martyr’s prayer, wherein the glow Of quenchle,s faith survives: For — very feature said-,, I know That my Redeemer lives!” And silent stood his children by, Hushing their very breath, Before the solemn sanctity Of thoughts J’ersweeping death. Silent-yet did not each young breast With love and reverence melt?

Oh! blest be those fair girls, and blest That home where God is felt! When thou wouldst bathe his feet, With odors richly sweet, And many a shower of woman’s burning tear, And dry them with that ha i r, Brought low the dust to wear From the crowded beauty of its festal year. Did he reject thee then, While the sharp scorn of men On thy once bright and stately head was cast? No, from the Savior’s mien, A solemn light serene, Bore to thy soul the peace of God at last. For h e e thee, their smil es no mor e Familiar faces wore, Voices, once kind, had learned the stranger’s tons, Who raised thee up and bound Thy silent spirit’s wound? He; from all guilt the stainless, He alone! But which, oh, erring child! From home so long beguiled, Which of thine offerings won those words of Heaver, That o’er the bruised reed, Condemned of earth to bleed, In music passed, “Thy sins are all forgiven?” Was it that perfume fraught With balm and incense, brought From the sweet woods of Araby the blest? Or that fast flowing rain Of tears, which not in vain To Him who, scorned not tears, thy woes confessed t HYMN BY THE SICK-BED OF A MOTHER. FATHER! that in the olive shade When the dark hour came on, Didst, with a breath of heavenly aid, Strengthen thy Son; No, not by these restored Unto thy Father’s board, Thy peace, that kindled joy in heaven, was made; But costlier in h is eyes, By that blest sacrifice, Thy heart, thy full deep heart, before him:aid. I I 464 MRS. I-IE-‘,IANS. CfT[TRCJ4 NIUSIC. By thy raeek spirit, Thou, of all That eler have mourned the chiefThou Savior! if’tlie,;troke rntist fall, Hallow this grief! A DIRGE. Lone are the path.-,, and sad the bowers Whence thy meek smile is gone;, But oh! a brighter home than ours, In heaven, is now thine own. A FATHER READING THE BIBLE.

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M It S. UH E MANS. COME TO ME, DREAMS OF HEA -TGh COME to me. (dreams of heaven! My ftainting sp)irit bear Oa your br ight rwings, by morninng given, Up to celestial air. Aw.ay, far, frl away, Froowen,rs by temn,ests riven, flold mne in blue, still, cloudless day, O blessed dreams of heaven! KNOWEST thou that seas are sweeping Where cities once have been?

When the calm wave is sleeping, Their towers may yet be seen; Far down below the glassy tide Man’s dwelling’s where his voice hath died I Knowest ho thou that flocks are f eeding Above the tombs of old, Which kings, their armies leading, Have lingered to behold? A short, smooth greensward o’er them spread Is all that marlks where heroes bled. Come but fbor one brief hour, Sweet dreams! and yet again, O’er blu,aning thought and memory shower Yoiur soft effacing rain! Waft me where gales divine, Withl dark clotuls ne’er have striven, Where living founts for ever shine 0 blessed dreams of heaven! Knowest thou that now the token Of temples once renowned, Is but a pillar, broken, With glass and wall-flowers crowned?

And the lone serpent rears her young Where the triumphant lyre hath sung?

;Vell, well, I know the story Of ages passed away, And the mournful wrecks that glory Ilas left to dull decay. But thou hast yet a tale to learn More full of warnings sad and stern ” Itark’ tiey whisper’ a,,els say, Sister spirit comne away!” CoME to the land of peace! Come where the tempest hliath no longer sway, The shadow passes fiomn the soul away, The soutlds of weeping cease! Fear hath no dwelling there! Come to the mingling of repose and love, Breathed by the silent spirit of the dove Through the celestial air! Thy pensive eve bu t ranges O’er ruined fane and hall, Oh!

the deep soul has changes More sorrowful than all. Talk not, while these before thee throng Of silence in the place of song,. Come to the bright and blest And criowned for ever!-‘midst that shining band, Gathered to Heaven’s own wreath from every land, Thy spirit shall find rest! Thou hast been long alone: Come to thy mnother!-on the sabbath shore, The heart that rocliked thy childhood back once more Shall take its wearied one. In silence wert thou left I Come to thy sisters!-joyously again All the home voices, blest in one sweet strain, Shall greet their long-bereft. Over thine orphan head The storm hath swept as o’er a willow’s bough Come to thy father!-it is finished now: Thy tears have all been shed. NOBLY thy song, 0 minstrel! rushed to meet The Eternal on the pathway of the blast, With darkness round him, as a mantle, caest And cherubim to waft his flying seat. Amidst the hills, that smoked bbneath his feet, With trumpet voice thy spirit called aou(i, And bade the trembling rocks his name repeat, And the bent cedars and the barsting cloud, But far more gloriously to earth made known By that high strain, than by the thunder’s tone, Than flashing torrents or the ocean’s roll; Jehovah spoke through the inbreathing fire, Nature’s vast realms for ever to inspire With the deep worship of a living soul. In thy divine abode Change finds no pathway, memory no dark trace, And, oh! bright victory death by love no place! Come, spirit! to thy God! THE FOUNTAIN OF MARAH. And i,e thiey came to Maralsh, they could not drink of the wa;rs of Marash, for they were bitter. “And tie people murmured against Moses, saying, What shall – drink? And he ried unto thie Lord; and the Lord showed him a tree, -hich wlieI lie had cast into the waters, the waters were made ..et.”-Exod. xv.

23-25. WaHERE is the tree the prophet threw Into the bitter wave? Left it no scion where it grew, Th.e thirsting soul to save? How many blessed groups this hour are bending Through England’s primrose meadow paths their way Toward spire and tower,‘midst shadowy elms ascending, Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day. The halls, from old heroic ages gray, Pour their fair children forth; and hanlets low, With whose thick orchard blooms the soft winds play, Send out their inmates in a happy flow, Like a free vernal stream. I mnay not tread With them those pathways-to the feverish bed Of sicklness bound; yet, oh, my God! I bless Thy mercy, that with sabbath peace hath filled My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled To one deep calm of lowliest thanklifuluess. Na y, wherefore ask?-since gifts are ours, Which yet may well irmbue Earth’s many-Aroubled founts with showers Of Heaven’s own balmy dew. Oh! ming,le(d *with the cup of grief, Let faith’s deep spirit be; And every prayer shall win a leaf From that bleat healing tree! I i I 463 EI\18 OF THINGS’I’IIAT CHANGE. THE

ANGELS’ CALL. See scorn-wlier’e love has perished; Distrust-where friendship grew; Pride-where once nature cherished All tender thoughts and true! And shadows of oblivion thrown O’er every trace of idols gone. Weep not for tombs far scattered, For temples I)rostrate laidIn thine own heart lie shattered The altars it had made. Go, sound its depths in doubt and fear! Heap up no more its treasures here. THE POETRY OF THE PSALMS. THE

SABBATH. Hath nattii,e lost the hidden power Its precious foliage shed? Is the:e no distant eastern bower, With such sweet leaves overspread,

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SACRED POEMS OF MRS. IIEMANS. And calmly, brightly, that pure life Melted from earth away; No cloud it knew, no parting strife, No sorrowful decay; He bowed him not, like all beside, Unto the spoiler’s rod, But joined at once the glorified, Where angels walk with God! So let us walk!the night must come To us that comes to all; We through the darkness must go home, Hearing the trumpet’s call. Closed is the path for evermore, Which without death he trod; Not so that way, wherein of yore Hi footsteps walked with God! ‘ I heard thy voice in the garden and I was afraid.” AMIDsT the thrilling leaves, thy voice, At evening’s fall, drew near; Father! and did not man rejoice That blessed sound to hear! Did not his heart within him burn, Touched by the solemn tone? Not so! for, never to return, Its purity was gone. ‘herefore,‘midst holy stream and bower, His spirit shook with dread, And called the cedars in that h our, To veil his conscious head.

Oh! in each wind, each fountain flow, Each whisper of the shade, Grant me, my God, thy voice to know, And not to be afraid! (Numbers xvii. 8.) WAS it the sigh of the southern gale That flushed the alinond bough? Brightest and first the young spring to hail, Still its red blossoms glow. Was it the sunshine that woke its flowers With a kindling look of love? Oh, far and deep, and through hidden bowers That smile of Heaven can rove! No!

from the breeze and the living light Shut was the sapless rod; But it felt in the stillness a secret might, And thrilled to the breath of God. FATHER in Heaven! from whom the simplest flower On the high Alps or fiery desert thrown, Draws not sweet odor or young life alone, But the deep virtue of an inborn power To cheer the wanderer in his fainting hour, With thoughts of Thee; to strengthen, to infuse Faith, love, and courage, by the tender hues That speak thy presence; oh! with such a dower Grace thou my song!-the precious gift best(w From thy pure spirit’s treasury divine, To wake one tear of purifying flow, To soften one wvrung heart for thee and thine; So shall the life breathed through the lowly strain, Be as the meek wild-flower’s-if transient, yet not vain. E’en so may t rak that breath, like the vernal air, O’er our gltd spirits move; And all such things as are good and fair, Be the blossoms, its track that prove I MXEE,R

CHAARAMPED. “What in me is dark Illumine: what is low raise and support.”-.Milton. FAR are the wings of intellect astray, That strive not, Father! to thy heavenly seat They rove, but mount not; and the tempests beat Still on their plumes; O source of mental day! Chase from before my spirit’s track the array Of mists and shadows, raised by earthly care In troubled hosts that cross the purer air, And veil the opening of the starry way, Which brightens on to thee! Oh! guide thou right My thought’s weak pinion, clear mine inward sight, The eternal springs of beauty to discern, Welling beside ty hy thron e; unsea mine ear, Nature’s true oracles in joy to hear: Keep my soul wakeful still to listen antd to learn. WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF NINE. OH! God, my Father and my Friend, Ever thy blessings to me send; I Let me have Virtue for my guide, And wisdom always at my side; Thus cheerfully through life I’ll go, Nor ever feel the sting of wo; Contented with the humblest lot, Happy, though in the meanest cot. THF, OCEAN. “1T ey that go dowt to the sea in ships, that do business in 6 waters, these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in’

deep.”-Psalm cvii. 23, 24. He that in venturous barks hath been A wanderer on the deep, Can tell of many an awful scene, Where storms for ever sweep.

For many a fair majestic sight Hath met his wandering eye, Beneath the streaming northern light, Or blaze of Indian sky. HE walked with God, in holy joy, Whilst yet his days were few; The deep glad spirit of the boy To love and reverence grew. Whether, each nightly star to count The ancient hills he trod, Or sought the flowers by stream and fount Alike he walked with God. The graver noon of manhood came, The full of cares and fears; One voice was in his heart-the samne It heard through child ood’s years.

Amidst fair tents, and flocks, and swains, O’er his green pasture-sod, A shepherd-king on eastern plains The patriarch walked with God. 11 1. 466

THE VOICE OF GOD. i THE ROD OF AARON. A PRAYER. A PRAYER. HE WALKED WITH

GOD. Genesis v. 24. Go! ask him of the whirlpools roar, Whose echoing thnnder peals Loud, as if rushed along the shore An army’s chariot-wheels; Of icebergs, floatin!,- oer the main, Or fixed upon the coast, Like glittering citadel or fane, ‘Mid the bright realms of frost Of coral rocks fi-om waves below In steep ascent tb,,tt tower, And frau.,zlit with peril,‘daily grow, Formed by an inseet’s power;

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SACRED POEMS OF MRS. HEMANS. Of sea-fires, which at dead of night Shine o’er the tides afar, And mnake the expanse of ocean bright As heaven, with many a star. Oh God! thy name they well may praise, Whio to the deep go down, And trace the wonders of thy ways, Where rocks and billows frown. If glorious be that awful deep, No human power can bind, What then art Thou, who bidst it keep Within its bounds confined! Let heaven and earth in praise unite, Eternal praise to Thee, Whose word can rouse the tempest’s might, Or still the raging sea! Be t hou at pea ce!-the a?l-seeino eye.

Pervading earth, and air, and sky, The searching glance which Done may flee, Is still, in inercy, turned on thee. No bitter tears for thee be shed, Blossom of being! seen and gone! With flowers alone we strew thy bed, 0 blest departed one! Whose all of life, a rosy ray, Blushed into dawn, and passed away. THE trumpet’s voice hath roused the land, Light up the beacon pyre! -A hundred hills have seen the brand And waved the sign of fire. A hundred banners to the breeze Their gorgeous folds have castAnd hark!-was that the sound of seas? -A king to war went past. The chief is arming in his hall, The peasant by his hearth; The nMourner hears the thrilling call, Andi rses froca the earth. The mother on her first-born son Looks with a boding eyeThey come not back, though all be won, Whose young hearts leap so high. The bard hath ceased his song, and bound The falchion to his side; E’en for the marriage altar crowned, The lever quits his bride. And all this haste, and change, and fear, By earthly clarion spread!How will it be when kingdoms hear ‘T.he blast that walks. the dead?

Yes! thou art fled, ere guilt had power To stain thy cherub soul and fbrm, Closed is the soft ephemeral flower, That never felt a storm! The sunbeam’s smile, the zephyr’s breath, All that it knew from birth to death. Thou wert so like a form of light, That Heaven benignly called thee hence Ere yet the world could breathe one blight O’er thy sweet innocence: And thou, that brighter home to bless, Art passed, with all thy loveliness! We rear no marble o’el thy tomb, No sculptured image there shall mourn; Ah! fitter far the vernal bloomn Such dwelling to adorn.

Fragrance, and flowers, and dews, must be The only emblems meet for thee.

THE STARS. ‘The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth x. handy work.”-Psalm xix. 1. No cloud obscures the summer sky, The moon in brightness walks on high, And, set in azure, every star Shines, like a gem of heaven, afar! Child of the earth! oh! lif thy glance To yon bright firmament’s expanse; The glories of its realm explore, And gaze, and wonder, and adore! Doth it not speak to every sense The marvels of Omnipotence? Seest thou not there the Almighty name, Inscribed in characters of flame? And oh! sometimes in visions blest, Sweet spirit!

visit our repose, And bear from thine own world of rest, Some balm for human woes! What form more lovely could be given Than thine, to messenger of Heaven? Count o’er those lamps of quenchless light, That sparkle through the shades of night! Behold them!-can a mortal boast To number that celestial host? Mark well each little star, whose rays In distant splendor meet thy gaze, Each is a world by Him sustained, Who from eternity hath reigned. Each, shining not for earth alone, Hath suns and planets of its own, And beings, whose existence springsFrom Him the all-powerful King of kings. THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS& THE breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods, against a stormy sky, Their giant branches tossed; Haply, those glorious beings know Nor stain of guilt, nor tear of wo! But raising still the adoring voice, For ever in their God rejoice. Not as the conqueror comes,’

They, the true-hearted camne, Not with the roll of the stirring drurn, And the trumpet that sings of fame; 1i 1 4#i7 What then art thou, oh I child of clay I Amid creation’s grandeur, say? -E’en as an insect on the breeze, E’en as a dew-drop, lost in seas! Yet fear thou not!-the sovereign hand, Which spread the ocean and the land, And hung the rolling spheres in air, Hath, elen for thee, a Father’s care! DIRGE OF A CHILD. THE TRUMPET. Oh!

hadst thou still on earth remained, Vision ofbeauty! fair as brief! How soon thy brightness bad been stained With passion or with grief? Now not a sullying breath can rise, To dim thy GIG.Y in the skies. Thy grave shall be a blessed sbriii e’ Adorned with Nature’s brightest wreath, Each glowin season shall combine Its incense there to breathe; And oft, upon the midnight. air, Shall viewless harps be murmuring there. And the heavy night hung dark The hirs and -wters o’er, When a band of exiles moored tbeirbark On the wi4d New England shore.

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0 tAR, OF Mi RS.‘l N IAN’. “And oh! th oe ho le ience thy brighlt smnile hath parted, Will it not seem as if the sunny day Turned lroni its door away? While through its chambers wandering, weary-hearted, I languish for thy voice, which past me still Went like a singing rill! Not M the flying come, In silence and in fear,They shook the depths of the desert’s gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard and the sea! And the sounding a isle s o f the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free! “Under the palm-trees thou no more shall meet me, When from the fount at e ven ing I return, With the full water-urn; Nor will thy sleep’s low dove-like breathings greet me, As midst the silence of the stars I wake, And watch for thy dear sake. The ocean-eagle soared From his nest by the white wave’s foam. And the rocking pines of the forest roared-A This was their welcome home! There were men with hoary hair, Amidst that pilgrim-bandWhy had they come to wither there Away from their childhood’s land? There was woman’s fearless eye, Lit by her deep love’s truth; There was manhood’s brow serenely high, And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? -They sought a faith’s pure shrine! Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found A i Freedom to worship God! “And thou, will slumber’s dewy cloud fall round thee, Without thy mother’s hand to smooth thy bed? Wi lt thou not vainly sprea d Thine armns, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee, To fold my neelS, an(d lift tip, in thiy fear, A cry which none shall hear? “i What have I said(, my chill! Will He not hear thee, Who thse aounrB ratven s heandeth froml their nest? Shall He not!zuard thy rest, And, in the hush of holy illidnig-ht near thee, Breathe o’er thy souli, and fill its dreams with joy? Thou shalt sleep soft, mny boy! “I give thee to thy God-the God that gave thee, A well-sprined of deep gladness to my heart! And precious, as thou art, And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee, My own. my beautiful, my undefiled! And thou shalt be his child THE HEBREW MOTHER. TnIz rose was rich in bloom on Sharon’s plain, When a young mother with her first-born thence Went up to Zion, for the boy was vowed Unto the temple-service;-by the hand She led him, and her silent soul, the while, Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think ‘hat aught so pure, so beautiful, was hers, To bring before her God. So passed they on, O’er Judah’s hills; and wheresoe’er the leaves Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon, Like lulling rain-drops, or the olive-boughs, With their cool dimness, crossed the sultry blue Of Syria’s heaven, she paused, that he might rest; Yet from her own meek eyelids chased the sleep That weighed their dark fringe down, to sit and watch The crimson deepening o’er his cheek’s repose, As at a red flower’s heart. And where a fount Lay like a twilight star’midst palmy shades, Making its banks green gems along the wild, There too she lingered from the diamond wave Drawing bright water for his rosy lips, And softly parting clusters of jet curls To bathe his brow. At last the Fane was reached, The earth’s One Sanctuary-and rapture hushed Her bosom, as before her, through the day, It rose, a mountain of white marble, steeped In light, like flowing gold. But when that hour Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy –

Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye Beseechingly to hers, and half in fear Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her armn Clung as the ivy clings-the deep spring tide Of Nature then swelled high, and o’er her child Bending, her soul broke forth, in mingled sounds Of weeping and sad song. “Alas,” she cried, “Alas! my boy, thy gentle grasp is on me, The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes, And now fond thoughts arise, And silver cords again to earth have won me; And like a vine thou claspest my fill heart How shall I hence depart? DEATH tound strange beauty on that cherub brow, And dashed it out. There was a teint of rose On cheek and lip-he touched the veins with ice, And the rose faded; forth from those blue eyes There spoke a wishful tenderness-a doubt Whether to grieve or sleep, which innocence Alone can wear. With ruthless haste he bound The silken fringes of their curtai,ing lids For nver; there lih.d been a mturimtring sound, WAi, which the babe would claim its mother’s ea r, Chalminn her even to teatrs. The spoiler set His seal of silence. But there beamied a smile So fixed and holy from that rn,tble b-rowDeath -azed, and left it there; he.li-c-d not steal The signet-ring of Heaven.

How the lone paths retrace where thou wert playing So late, along tne mountains, at my side? And I, in joyousrpride, By every l)lace of flowers my course delaying Wovw, e’en as pearls, the lilies round thy hnii, Beholding thee so fair! i I i I 468 SACRED POEMS I I “Therefo,re, farewell! I go, my solil may fail me, As the hart panteth for b water-brook,,,, Yearning for thy sweet loolisBut thou, my first-born, droop not, nor bewail me; Thol-i in the Shadow of the Rock shalt dwell, The Rock of Strength. Farewell!” SPANISH EVENING HYMN. AVE! now let prayer and music Meet in love on earth and sea! Now, sweet Mothei-! may the weary Turn from this cold world to thee! From the wide and restless waters Hear the sailor’s hymn arise! From his watch-fire Iniidst the mountains, Lo! to thee the shepherd cries! Yet, when thus fall liearts find voices Ifo’erburdetied soiils there be, Dark and silent in their anguish, Aiti those captives! set therri free! Touch them, every fount tinsenliiig, Where the frozen tears lie deep; Thou, the Mother ofall Sorrows, Ai(], oh!

aid to pray and weep! DEATH OF AN INFAN,R. la

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THE HEBREW MELODIES OF LORD BYRON. SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Runs mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. THE wild gazel le on Judah’s hills Exulting yet may bound, And drink from all the living rills That gush on holy ground; Its airy step and glorious eye, May glance in tameless transport by: One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half-im)aired the nameless grace, Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face: Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. More blest each palm that slhades those plains Tha n Israel’s scattered race; For, taking root, it there remains In solitary grace: It can not quit his place of birth, It will not live in other earth. A,nd on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the teints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mnind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent. tHE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT. THE harp the monarch minstrel swept, The king of men, the loved of’ Heaven, Which music hallowed while she wept O’er tones her heart of hearts had given.

Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven! It softened men of iron mould, It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold, That felt not, fired not to the tone, Till Davi(i’s lyre grew mightier than his throne. 0 WEEP for those that wept by Babel’s stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the h arp of Judah’s broken shell: Mourn-where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell It told the triumphs of our king,, It wafted glory to our God; It made our gladdened valleys ring, The cedars bow, the mountains nod; Its sound aspired to Heaven, and there abode! Since then, though heard on earth no more, Devotion and her daughter Love Still bid the bursting spirit soar To sounds that seem as from above, In dreams that day’s broad light can not removeH And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? And when shall Zion’s songs again seem sweet? And Judah’s melody once more rej oice The hearts that leaped before its heavenly voice? Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, How shall ye flee away and be at rest? The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave, Mankind their country-Israel but the grave. IF THAT HIGH WORLD. IF that high world, which lies beyond Our own, surviving love endears; If ee there the cherished heart be fond, The eye the same, except in tears flow welcome those untrodden spheres! How sweet this very hour to die! To soar from earth, and find all fears Lost in thy light-Eternity! On Jordan’s banks the Arab’s camels stray, On Sion’s hill the False One’s votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai’s steepYet there-even there-O.God! thy thunders sleep. There where thy finger scorched the tablet stone! There-where thy shadow to thy people shone! Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire: Thyself-none living see and not expire! It must be szo:‘tis not for self Ttl:It we so trenrble on the brink; An( strivin? to o’erlea) the gulf, V4et clir:, to t’ein’rs severing link. ‘[‘,> };,L, ] ,..!,‘l- I; 1 h,eart that shares, U~’+;i t’:,,:h >i n n ]t.“t1;’ watos,(XXtIirik .’~t:, .,.’! i;? s,’:! “t,,,v dtth;lcsl’s theirs!’ 0O! in the lightning let thy alance appear! Sweep fromn his.

shivered( han,I the oppressor’s spear. How long by tyrants shall thy land he tr(ll? How long thy temple worshipless, 0,Go a I I THE WILD GAZELLE. A step as fleet, an eye more bright, Hath Judah witnessed there; And o’er her scenes of lost delight, Inhabitants more fair. The cedars waire on Lebanon, But Judah’s statelier maids are gone! But we must wander witheringly, In other lands to die; And where our fatliers -ishes be Our own may never lie: Our temple hath not left -t stone, And mockery sits on Salent’s tlirone. 0 WEEP FOR THOSE. ON JORDANIS BANKS.

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HEBREW MELODIES. JEPHTHAH’S DAUGHTER. 1 SINCE our country, our God-O my sire! Demand that thy daugoiter expire; Since thy triumph was bought by thy vowStrike the bosom that’s bared for thee now! I saw thee weep-the big bright tear Came o’er that eye of blue; And then Bethought it did appear –

A violet dropping dew; I saw thee smile-the sapphire’s blaze Beside thee ceased to shine, It could not match the living r.-Ss That filled that glance of thine. And the voice of my mourning is o’er, And the mountains behold me no more: If the hand that I love lay me low, There can not be pain in the blow! As clouds from yonder sun receive A deep and mellow die, Which scarce the shade of coming eve Can banish from the sky, Those smiles unto the moodiest mind Their own pure joy impart; Their sunshine leaves a glow behind That lightens o’er the heart. nd of this, 0 my father! be surehat the blood of thy child is as pure , the blessing I beg ere it flow, td the last thought that sooths me below. tough the virgins of Salem lament, the judge and the hero unbent! have won the great battle for thee nd my father and country are free! When this blood of thy giving hath gushed, When the voice that thou lovest is hushed, Let my memory still be thy pride, And forget not I smiled as I died. THOU whose spell can raise the dead, Bid the prophet’s form appear. ‘ Samuel raise thy buried head!

King behold the phantom seer.” Earth yawned; he stood the centre of a cloud: Light changed its hue, retiring from his shroud: Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye; His hand was withered and his veins were dry, His foot, in bony whiteness, glittered there, Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare: From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame, Like caverned winds, the hollow accents came. Saul saw, and fell to earth, as falls the oak, At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke. ” Why is my sleep disquieted? Who is he that calls the dead? Is it thou, 0 k ing?

Behold, Bloodless are these limbs, and coldo Such are mine; and such sha ll be Thine, to-mo rrow, whe n with me: Ere the coming day is done, Such shalt thou be, Such thy son, Fare thee well, but for a day; Then we mix our moulderitg clay. Thou, thy race, lie pale and low, Pierced by shafts of many a bow: And the falchion by thy side To thy heart, thy hand shall guide; Crownless, breathless, headless fall, Son and sire, the house of Saul.” I SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY’S BLOOM. 0! SNATCHED away in beauty’s bloom, On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves the earliest of the year; And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom: ,nd oft by yon blue gushing stream, Shall sorrow lean her drooping head, knd feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread: Fond wretchl! as if her steps disturbed the dead.

&way! we know that tears are vain, That death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain? Or make one mourner ween the less? And thou-who tell’st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. MY SOUL IS DARK. MY soul is darkl.-O quickly string The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers fling Its melting murmurs o’er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear, That sound shall charm it forth again; If in these eyes there lurk a tear, ‘Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain. “ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER.” FAME, wisdom, love, and power, were mine, And health and youth possessed me; My goblets blushed from every vine, And lovely forms caressed me; I sunned my heart in beauty’s eyes, And felt my soul grow tender; All earth can give, or mortal prize, Was mine of regal splendor. But bid the strain be wild and deep, Nor let thy notes of joy be first; I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nurst, And ached in sleepless silence long; And now’tis doomed to know the worst, And break at once or yield to song. I strive to number o’er what days Remembrance can discover, Which all that life or earth displays Would lure me to live over. There rose no day, there rolled no hour Of pleasure unembittered; And not a trapping decked my power That galled not while it glittered. SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE. WARRIORS and chiefs!

should the shaft or the swold Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord, Heed not the corse, though a king’s, in your path: Bury your steels in the bosom of Gath! Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet! Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet. Farewell to others, but never we part, Heir to my royalty, son of my heart! Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, Or kin,l, the death which awaits us today.

I I I I .1 I I 47 -. - ==A I SAW THEE WEEP. i SAUL. The serpent of the field, by art And spells, is won from harming; But that which coils around the heart, 0 who hath power of charming? It will not list to wisdom’s lore, Nor music’s voice can lure it; But there it stings for evermore The soul that must endure it.

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MEI,ODIES. 471 THY DAYS ARE DONE. A’he bnoarch saw, and shook, And bade no more rejoice; All bloodless waxed his look, And tremulous his voice. ” Let the men of lore appear, The wisest of the earth, And expound the words of fear, Which mar our royal mirth.” THY days are done, thy fame begun; Thy country’s strains record The triumphs ot’ her chosen son, The slaughters of his sword! The deeds he did, the fields he won, The freedom he restored! Though thou art fallen, while we are free Thou shalt not taste of death! The generous blood that flowed from thee Disdained to sink beneath: Within our veins its currents be, Thy spirit on our breath: a.haldea’s seers are good, But here they have no skill; And the unknown letters s t ood, Untold and awful still. And Babel’s men of age Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not sage, They saw-but knew no more.

Thy name, our charging hosts along, Shall be the battle-word! Thy fall, the theme of choral song From virgin voices poured! To weep would do thy glory wrong; Thou shalt not be deplored. A captive in the land, A stranger and a youth, He heard the king’s command, He saw that writing’s truth. The lamps around were bright, The prophecy in view; He rea d it on that night The morrow proved it true. WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY. WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay, Ah, whither strays the immortal mind H

It can not die, it can not stay, But leaves its darkened dust behind.

Then, unembodied, doth it trace By steps each planet’s heavenly way? Or fill at once the realms of space, A thing of eyes, that all survey T

Eternal, boundless, undecayed, A thought unseen, but seeing all, All, all in earth, or skies displayed, Shall it survey, shall it recall: Each fainter trace that memory holds, So darkly of departed years, In one broad glance the soul beholds, And all, that was, at once appears. WERE MY BOSOM

AS FALSE AS THOU DEEMST IT TO BE. WERE my bosom as false as thou deemst it to be, I need not have wandered from far Galilee; It was but abjuring my creed to efface The curse which, thou say’st, is the crime of my rac. If the bad never triumph, then God is with thee! If the slave only sin, thou art spotless and free! If the exile on earth is an outcast on high, Live on in thy faith, but in mine I will die. I have lost for that faith more than thou canst bestow, As the God who permits thee to prosper doth know; In his hand is my heart and my hope-and in thine The land and the life which for him I resign. Above, or love, hope, hate, or fear, It lives all passionless and pure; An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years as moments shall endure. &way, away, without a wing, O’er all, through all, its thoughts shall iy; A nameless and eternal thing Forgetting what it was to die. 0 MARIAMNE! now for thee The heart for which thou bled’st is bleeding: Revenge is lost in agony, And wild remorse to rage succeeding.

O, Mariamne! where art thou? Tho,a canst not hear my bitter pleading: Ah, couldst thou-thou wouldst pardon now, Though Heaven were to my prayer unheeding. And is she dead?-and did they dare Obey my phrensy’s jealous raving? My wrath but doomed my own despair: The sword that smote her’s o’er me waving. But thou art cold, my murdered love! And this dark heart is vainly craving For her who soars alone above, And leaves my soul unworthy saving. THE king w as on his throne, The satraps thronged the hall A thousand bright lamps shone O’er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deemed divineJehovah’s vessels hold The godless heathen’s wine! She’s gone, who shared my diadem! She sunk, with her my joys entombing; I swept that flower from Judah’s stem Whose leaves for me alone were blooming, And mine’s the guilt, and mine the hell, This bosom’s desolation dooming; And I have earned those tortures well, Which unconsumed are still consuning! 11 Belshazzar’s grave is made, His kingdom passed away, He in the balance weighed, Is light and worthless clay. The shroud, his robe of state, His canopy, the stone; The Mede is at his gate!. The Persian on his throne.” Before creation peopled earth, Its eye shall roll through chaos back; And where the furthest heaven had birth, The spirit trace its rising track, And where the future mars og makes, Its glance dilate o’er all to be, While sun is quenched or system breaks, Fixed in its own eternity. HEROD’S LAMENT FOR MARIAMNE. VISION OF

BELSHAZZAR. In that same hour and hall, The,.,fingers ofa hand Came forth against the wall, And wrote as if on sand: The fingers of a man; A solitary hand Along the letters ran, And traced then-. like a wand.

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HLEBRIEW MEI,ODIES. SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS. SUN of the sleepless!

mnelanrcholy star! Whose tearful beams glows tremulously far, That show’st the darkness thou canst not dispel, How like art thou to joy remembered well! So gleams the past, the light of other,lavs, Whicl. shines, but warms not with iLt powerless rays; A night-beam sorrow watelieth to behold, Distinct, but distant-clear-but, 0 how cold! A StIRIT p ass ed before me: lI beheld The face of immortality unveiled  Deep sleep came down on every eye save mineAnd there it stood-all fortnle,ss-but divine: Along my bones the creel,ping flesh did quake; And as my damp hair stiffened, thus it spake: ” Is man more just than God? Is man more pure Than he who deems even seraphs insecure? Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust! The moth survives you, and- are ye more just? Things of a (ay! yout weither ere the night, Heedless and blind to wisdom’s wasted light.” I HE DESTRUC [‘ION OF JERUSALEM BY TITUS. FROM the last hill that looks on thy once holy dome, [ beheld thee, 0 Sion! when rendered to Rome: ‘Twas thy sun went down, and the flames of thy fall Flashed back on the last glance I gave to thy wall. I looked for thy temple, I looked for my home, And forgot lfor a moment my bondage to come: I beheld but the death-fire that fed on thy fane, And the fist-fettered hands that made vengeance in vain. On many an eve, the high spot whence I gazed Had reflected the last beam of day as it blazed; While [ stood on the height, and beheld the decline Of the rays from the mountain that shone on thy shrine. And now on that mountain I stood on that day, But I marked not the twilight beam melting away; 0, would that the lightning had glared in its stead,’ And the thunderbolt burst on the conqueror’s head! But the gods of the pagan shall never profane The shrine where Jehovah disdained not to reign: And scattered and scorned as the people may b e, Our worship, 0

Father! is only for thee. THIE PRAYER OF NATURllE. FATIIER of Light’ zreat God of Heaven! Hearest thou the aceents of despair? Can guilt like inani’s be e’er tfrgiven? Can vice atone foi crines by prayer? Father of light, on thee I call! Thou seest my soul is dark within; Thou wlo canst mark t he sparrow’s fall, Avert fiom me the de ath o f sin. No shrine I seek to sects unknown; Oh point to me the path of truth! Thy dread omnipotence I own; Spare, yet amend, the faults of youth. Let bigots real a gloomy fane, Let superstition hail the pile, Let priests, to spread their sable reign, With tales of mystic rites beguile. Shall man confine his Maker’s sway To Gothic domes of moulderling stone? Thy temple is the face of day; Earth, ocean, heaven, thy boundless tbrope Shall man condemn his race to hell Unless they bend in pompous form; Tell us that all, for one who fell, Must perish in the mingling storm? Shall each pretend to reach the skies, Yet doom his brother to expire, Whose soul a different hope supplies, Or doctrines less severe inspire? Shall these, by creeds they can’t expound, Prepare a fancied bliss or wo? Shall reptiles, grovelling on the ground, Their great Creator’s purpose know? Shall those, who live for self alone, Whose years float on in daily climgeShall they by Faith for guilt atone, And live beyond the bounds of time? Father! no prophet’s laws I seek Thy laws in Natuire’s works appear:I own myself corrupt and weak, Yet will I pray, for thou wilt hear! Thou, who canst guide the wandering star Throug,h trackless realms of ether’s spaceX Who calmst the elemental war, Whose hand from pole to pole I trace; Thou, who in wisdom placed me here, Who, when thou wilt, can take me hence, Ah! whilst I tread this earthly sphere, Extend to me thy wide defence. To thee, my God, to thee I call, Whatever weal or wo betide, By thy command I rise or fall, In thy protection I confide. If, when this dust to dust restored, My soul shall float on airy wing, How shall thy glorious name adored Inspire her feeble voice to sing! But, if this fleeting spirit share With clay the grave’s eternal bed, While life yet throbs I raise my pra)yer, Though doomed no more to quit the dead. To thee I breathe my humble strain, Grateful for all1 thy mercies past, And hope, my God, to thee aeain This erring life may fly at last. THE LAME.NT BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON. WE sat down and wept by the waters Of Babel, and thought of the day When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters, Made Salem’s high places his prey; And ye, 0 her desolate daughters! Were scattered all weeping away. While sadly we gazed on the river Which rolled on in freedom below, They demanded the song; but, 0 never That triumph the stranger shall know! May this right hand be withered for ever, Ere it string our high harp for the foe! On the willow that harp is suspended O Salem! its sound should be free; And the hour when thy glories were ended, But left me that token of thee; And ne’er shall its soft tones be blended With the voice of the spoiler by me! THE

DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. TH: Assyrian camne down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but one heaved, and for ever grew still. And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beatirig surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, Thie lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. &nd the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal, And the night of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword; I Hath mielted like snow in the glance of the Lord! i I I i i i 1,; liii i li !i i i ii i i i i I I i, I 4 7’’ FROAI JOB.

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THE SACRED ROSARY. Though multiplied by myriads, ari arrayed In all the glory of sublimest thought, Is but an atom in the balance weighed Against thy greatness-is a cipher brought Against infinity! What am I, then?-Naught! Naught! But the effluence of’ thy light divine, Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too; Yes! in my spirit doth thy Spirit shine, As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. Naught!-but I live, and on hope’s pinions fly Eager toward thy presence; for in thee I live, and breathe, and dwell: aspiring high, Even to the throne of thy divinity. I am, 0 God, and surely thou must be! 0 THou eternal One! whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motion guide; Unchanged through time’s all-devastating flight; Thou only God! there is no God beside I Being above all beings! Mighty One! Whom none can comprehend and none explore; Who fill’st existence with thyself alone: Embracing all-supporting-ruling o’er Being whom we call Got-and know no more! In its sublime research, philosophy May measure ou, the ocean deep-may count Tlie sands or the sun’s raysbut, God! for thee There is no weight nor measure:-none can mount Up) to thy mysteries; reason’s brightest spark, Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark: And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high, Even like past moments in eternity. Thou from primeval nothingness didst call First chaos, then existence;-Lord, on thee Eternity had its foundation: all Sprung forth from thee: of light, joy, harmony, Sole origin: all life-all beauty thine.

Thy word created all, and doth create: Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine. Thou art, and wert, and shalt be, glorious! great!

Light-gi.ing, life-sustaining Potentate. Thou art! directing, guiding all.-Thou a rt! Direct my understanding then to thee; Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart: Though but an atom’mid immensity Still I am sometlhing, fashioned by thy hand! I hold a middle rank’twixt heaven and earth, On the last verge of mortal being stand, Close to the realms where angels have their birth. Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land! The chain of being is complete in me; In me is matter’s last gradation lost And the next step is spirit-deity! I can command the lightning, and am dust! A monarch, and a slave! a worm, a god! Whence came I here, and how?

so marvellously Constructed and conceived! unknown? this clod Lives surely through some higher energy? For from itself alone it could not be! fhv chains the unmeasured universe surround; Upheld by thee, by thee inspired with breath! Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, And beautifully mingled life and death! As sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze, So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from thee; And as the spangles in the sunny rays Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry Of heaven’s bright army glitters in thy praise. Creator, yes! thy wisdom and thy word Created me, thou source of life and good! Thou Spit-it of my spirit, and my Lord! Thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear The garments of eternal day, and wing Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, Even to its source-to thee-its Author there. 0 thoughts ineffable!

0 visions blest! Though worthless our conceptions all of thee, Yet shall thy shadowed. image fill our breasts, And waft its homage to thy l)eity.

God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar; Thus seek thy piresence Being wise and good! ‘Midst thy vast works, admire, obey, ado-e! And when the tongue is eloquent no more, The soul shall speak in tears of’ gratitu(le.

Transl(ted,l from DEIRZIIAVIN ((t Ruit.sin gesillenman bored 17hI e ), by DR. BowaIrNi A million torches lighted by thy hand Wander unwearied through the blue abyss: They own thy power, accomplish thy command, All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light A glorious company of golden streamsLamps of celestial ether, burning bright Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? But thou to these art as the noon to night. Ye! qs a drop of water in the sea, All this magnificence in thee is lost; What are ten thousand wvorl~ls comnpared to thee? AMi3 what am I. then? Heavey’s unnumbered host, II, GOD.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY From the lovely, who loved her too well; From the heart that had grown to her own; From the sorrow which late o’er her young spirit fell, Like a dream of the night she hath flown; And the earth hath received to its bosom its trustAshes to ashes, and dust unto dust. SING to the Lord! let harp, and lute, and voice, Up to the expanding gates of heaven rejoice, While the bright martyrs to their rest are borne; Sing to the Lord! their blood-stained course is run, And every head its diademn hath won, Rich as the purple of the coming morn: Sing the triumphant champions of their God, While burn their mounting feet along their skyward road. Sing to the Lord! for her in beauty’s prime Snatched fromn the wintry earth’s ungenial clime, In the eternal spring of Paradise to bloom; For her the world displayed its brightest treasure, And the air panted with the songs of pleasure; Before earth’s throne she chose the lowly tomb, The vale of tears with willing footsteps trod, Bearing her cross with Thee, incarnate Son of God y Sing to the Lord! it is not shed in vain, The blood of martyrs! from its freshening rain High springs the church, like some fount-shadowing palm; The nations crowd beneath its branching shade, Of its green leaves are kingly diadems made, And wrapt within its deep embosoming calm Earth sinks to slumber like the breezeless deep, And war’s tempestuous vultures fold their wings and sleep. Sing to the Lord! No more the angels fly Far in the bosom of the stainless sky The sound of fierce licentious sacrifice. From shrined alcove, and stately pedestal, The marble gcds in cumbrous ruin fall, Headless in dust the awe of nations lies; Jove’s thunder crumbles in his mouldering hand, And mute as sepulchres the hymnless temples stand. Ay, the sprin g will r eturn-but the blossom That bloomed in our presence the sweetest, By the spoiler is borne from the cherishing bosom, The loveliest of all and the fleetest!

The music of stream and of bird, Shall come back when the winter is o’er; But the voice that was dearest to us shall be heard In our desolate chambers no more 1 The sunlight of May on the waters shall quiverThe light of her eye hath departed for ever! As the bird to its sheltering nest, When the storm on the hills is abroad, So her spirit hath flown from this world of unrest To repose on the bosom of God! Where the sorrows of earth never more May fling o’er its brightness a stain; Where, in rapture and love, it shall ever adore, With a gladness unmingled with pain; And its thirst shall be slaked by the waters which spring, Like a river of light, from the throne of the KING! Sing to the Lord! From damp prophetic cave No more the loose-haired sybils burst and rave, Nor the pale augurs watch the wandering bird: No more on hill or in the murky wood, ‘Mid frantic shout and dissonant music rude, In human tones are wailing victims heard; Nor fathers by the reeking altar-stone Cowl their dark heads t’ escape their children’s dying groan. Sing to the Lord! No more the dead are laid In cold despair beneath the cypress shade, To sleep the eternal sleep that knows no morn: There, eager still to burst death’s brazen bands, The angel of the resurrection stands; While, on its own immortal pinions borne, Following the breaker of the imprisoning tomb, -Forth springs the exulting soul, and shakes away its gloom. Sing to the Lord! The desert rocks break out, And the thronged cities, in one gladdening shout, The farthest shores by pilgrim step explored; Spread all your wings, ye winds, and waft around, Even to the starry cope’s pale waning bound, Earth’s universal homage to the Lord; Lift up thy head, imperial Capital, Proud on thy height to see the bannered cross unroll. Sing to the Lord! when time itself shall cease, And final ruin’s desolating peace Enwrap this wide and restlessworld of man; When the Judge rides upon the enthroning wind, And o’er all generations of mankind Eternal justice waves its winnowing fan; To vast infinity’s remotest space, While ages run their everlasting race, Shall all the beatific hosts prolong, Wide as the glory of the Lamb, the Lamb’s triumphant song I MlN. There is weeping on earth fo r the los t!

There is bowing in grief to the ground! But rejoicing and praise’mid the sanctified host, For a spirit in paradise found! Though brightness hath passed from the earth, Yet a star is newborn in the sky, And a soul hath gone home to the land of its birth, Where are pleasures and fulness of joy! And a new harp is strung, and a new song is given To the breezes that float o’er the gardens of heaven I WILLIAM H. BURLFIGH. I bi thrid the cr owded street A satchelled lad I meet, With the same beaming eyes and colored hair: And, as he’s running by, Follow him with my eye, Scarcely believing that-he is not there I ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL. I know his face is hid Under the coffin lid; Closed are his eyes, cold is his forehead fair; My hand that marble felt; O’er it in prayer I knelt; ‘Net my heart whispers that-he is not there t SHF. hath gone in the spring-time of life, Ere her sky had been dimmed by a cloud, While her heart with the rapture of love was yet rife, Anid the hopes of her youith were unbowed 474 HY.’LVLN OF PRAISE. The spring, in its loveliness dressed, Will return with its MU.3ic-winged hours, And, kissed by the breath of the sweet southwest, The buds shall burst out in flowers; And the flowers her grave-sod above, Though the sleeper beneath reeks it not, Shall thickly be strown by the hand of Love, To cover with beauty the spotMeet emblems are they of the pure one and bright, Who faded and fell with so early a blight. MY CHILD. I CAN NOT make him dead I His fair sunshiny head is ever bounding round my study-chair; Yet, when my eyes, now dim With tears, I turn to him, The vision vanishes-he is not there I I walk my parlor floor, And, through the open door, I hear a footfall on the chamber stair: I’m stepping toward the hall To give the boy a call; And then bethink me that-he is not there I

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TilE SARE =OAY 7 Weep not for her! Her memory is the shrine Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers, Calm as on w indles s eve the sun’s d ecline, Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers, Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light, Pure as the moonshine of an autumn night: Weep not for her.! I can not -make him dead! When passing by the bed, So long watched over with parental care, My spirit and my eye Seek it inquiringly, Before the thought comes that-he is not there I When at the cool, gray break Of day, from sleep I wake, With my first breathing of the morning air, My soul goes up, with joy, T o Him who gave my boy: Then comes the sad thought that-he is not there! Weep not for her! There is no cause of wo, But rather nerve the spirit that it walk Unshrinking o’er the thorny path below, And firom earth’s low defilements lieep thee back. So, when a few fleet swerving years have flown, She’ll meet thee at heaven’s gate-and lead thee on: Weep not for her! When at the day’s calm close, Before we seek repose, Pm with his mother, offering up our prayer: Whate’er I may be sayinig, I am, in stirit, praying For our boy’s spi it, though-he is not there! Not there!-Where, then, is he? The form I used to see Was but the raiment that he used to wear. Th e grave, that now doth press Upon that cast-off dress, Is but his wardrobe locked;-he is not there! ROLL on, thou Sun, for ever roll, Thou giant, rushing through the heaven, Creation’s wonder, nature’s soul; Thy golden wheels by angels driven; The planets die without thy blaze, And cherubim with star-dropt wing Float in thy diainond-sparkling rays, Thou brightest emblem of their King! Roll, lovely Earth! and still roll on, With ocean’s azure beauty bound; While one sweet star, the pearly Moon, Pursues thee through the blue profound; And angels w ith delighte d eyes Behold thy teints of mount and stream, From the high walls of paradise; Swift-wheeling like a glorious dream. He lives!-In all the past, He lives; nor, to the last, Of seeing him again will I despair; In dre ams I s ee hi m now; And, on his angel brow, I see it written, “Thou shalt see me there!” Yes, we all live to God! FATHER, thy chastening rod ,o help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, That, in the spirit-land, Meeting at thy right hand, “‘will be our heaven to find that-he is there! REV. JOHN PlRaPONT. Roll, Planets! on your dazzling road, For ever sweeping round the sun; What eye beheld when first ye glowed? What eye shall see your courses done? Roll in your solemn majesty, Ye deathless splendors of the skies! High altars, from which angels see The incense of creation rise. HvErP not for her! Her span was like the sky, Whose thousand stars shine beautiful and bright, Like flowers that know not what it is to die, Like long linked shadeless months of polar light, Like music floating o’er a waveless lake, While echo answers from the flowery brake, Weep not for her! Weep not for her! She died in early youth, Ere hope had lost its rich romantic hues, When human bosoms seemed the homes of truth, And earth still gleamed with beauty’s radiant dews. Her summer prime waned not to days that freeze, Her woine of life was not run to the lees: Weep not for her! HIGH on the stately wall The spear of Anrad hu ng, Through corridor and hall Gemadin’s war-note rung. Where are they now? the note is o’er; Yes! for a thousand years and more Five fathoms deep beneath the sea Those halls have lain all silently; Naught listing save the mermaid’s song, While rude sea-monsters roam the corridors along. Weep not for her! By fleet or slow decay It never grieved her bosom’s core to mark The playmato- of her childhood wane away, Her prospects wither, and her hopes grow dark. Translated by her God with spirit shriven, She passed, as’twere on smiles, from earth to heaven: Weep not for her! Weep iAt for her! It was not hers to feel The miseries that corrode amassing years, ‘Ga inst dreams of baffled bliss the heart to steel, To wander sad down age’s vale of tears, As whirl I he withered leaves from friendship’s tree, And on earth’s wintry wold alone to be: Weep not for her! Weep not for her! She is an angel now, And treads the sapphire floors of Paradise, All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow, Sin, sorrow, suffering, banished from her eyes; Victorious over death, to her appears The vistaed joys of heaven’s eternal years: Weep not for her I Fa r from the wo ndering East Tubal and Javan came, And Araby the blest, And Kedar, mighty names Now on that shore, a lonely guest, Some dripping fisherman may rest, Watching on rock or naked stonie His dark net spread before the sun, Unconscious of the dooming lay That broods o’er that dull spot, and there shall brood fox ave! I THE SACRED ROSARY. 47J D. M.

mollit. HYMN TO THE UNIVERSE. WEEP NOT FOR HER I Roll, Comets! and ye million Stars!. Ye that through boundless natu.re roam; Ye monarchs on your flame-win,,ed cars; Tell us in what more glorious domeWhat orb to which your pomps are dim, What kindom but by angels trod Tell us, where swells the eternal hymn Around His throne-where dwells your God!

Paraphra,sed from GOETHS TYRE. l,ura Ipostolica.

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47 -‘H MIRRLBAY Ever, my child, be thy morn’s first lays Tuned, like the lark’s, to thy Maker’s praise. 0 GOD! it is an awful thing indeed For one who estimates,‘ir nature well, Be what it may his outward sect, or creed, To name thee, thou incomprehensible! Hadst thou not chosen of thyself to tell, As in thy gospel thou hast done; nor less, By condescending in our hearts to dwell; Could man have ever found to thee access, O)r worshipped thee aright in spiritual holiness i What i s that, mother? lIhle Dove, my son.And that low, sweet voice, like a widow’s moar,t Is flowing out from her gentle breast, Constant and pure by that lonely nest, As the wave is poured from some crystal urn, For the distant dear one’s quick return.

Ever, my son, be thou, like the doveIn friendship as faithful, as constant in love. No! for the utmost that we could have done, Were to have raised, as Paul at Athens saw Altars unto the dread and unknown One, Bendling before we knew not what with awe, And even now, instructed by a law Holier than that of Moses, what know we Of thee, the Highest? Yet thou bidst us draw Near thee in spirit; 0 then pardon m e If, in this closin, strain, I crave a boon of thee. What is that, mother? The Eagle, boyProudly careering his course of joy, Firm in his own mountain vigor relying, Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying; His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun, He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on.

Boy, may the eagle’s flight ever be thine, Onward and upward, true to the line It shall be this: Permit me not to place My soul’s affections on the things of earth; But, conscious of the treasures of thy grace, To let them, in nmy inmost heart, give b)irth To gratitude proportioned to their worth: Teach me to feel that all that thou hast made Upon this mighty globe’s gigantic girth, Though meant with filial love to be surveyed, Is nothing to thyself-the shadow of a shade. The Swan, my love.He is floating down from his native grove, No loved one now, no nestling nigh; He is floating down by himself to die; Death darkens his eye, it unplumes his wings, Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings. Live so, my son, that when death shall come, Swan-like and sweet, it may wait thee home. BISHOP

DoNiK, If thou hast given me, more than unto some, A feeling sense of nature’s beauties fair, Which sometimes renders admiration dumb From consciousness that words can not declare The beauty thou hast scattered everywhere; O grant that this may lead me still, through all Thy works, to thee! nor prove a treach’rous snare Adapted those affections to enthrall Which should be thine alone, and waken at thy call. MY heart goes with thee, dauntless man, Freely as thou dost hie To sojourn with some barbarous clan, For them to toil or die. F ondly our spirit s t o our own Cling, nor to part allow; Thine to some land forlorn has flown We turn-and where art thou? I would not merely dream my life away In fancied rapture, or imagined joy; Nor that a perfumrned flower, a dew-gemmed spray, A murmuring brook, or any prouder toy, Should, for its own sake, thought or song employ; So far alone as nature’s charms can lead To thee who framed them all, and can destroy, Or innocent enjoyment serve to feed, Grant me to gaze and love, and thus thy works to read. Th ou climbst the vessel’s lofty si de, Numbers are gathering there; The youthful warrior in his pride, The merchant in his care; Hearts which for knowledge track the sene, Spirits which lightly move Glad as the billows and the breeze And thou-the child of love. But while from one extreme thy power may keep My erring frailty, 0 preserve me still From dullness! nor let cold indifference steep My senses in oblivion: if the thrill Of early bliss must sober, as it will, And should, when earthly things to heavenly yield, I would have feelings left time can not chill; That while I yet can walk through grove or field, I may be conscious there of charms by;’:ee revealed. And when I shall, as soon or late I must, Become infirm; in age, if I grow old; Or, sooner, if -nv strength should fail its trust; When I relinquisn haunts where I have strolled At morn or eve, and can no more behold Thy glorious works: forbid me to repine; Let memory still their loveliness unfold Before my mortal eye, and let them shine With borrowed light from thee, for they are thine! BERNARD BARTON. A savage shore receives thy tread; Companion thou hast none; The wild boughs wave above thy head, Yet still thou journeyest on; Thridding the tangled wild-wood drear, Piercing the mountain glen, Till, wearily, thou drawest near The haunts of lonely men. Strange ispt o thy aspect to their eyes, Strange is thy foreign speech; And wild and strong is their surprise At marvels thou dost teach. Thy strength alone is in thy words; Yet armies could not bow The spirit of those barbarous hordes So readily as thou. But oh! thy heart, thou homesick man, With saddest thoughts runs o’er, Sitting, as fades the evening wan, Silently at thy door. Yet that poor hut upon the wild, A stone beneath the tree, And souls to heaven’s love reconciled These are enough for thee. WILLIAM HowIT-r. WHAT is that, mother? The Lark, my child.The morn has but just looked out, and smiled, When he starts from his humble, grassy nest, And is up and away with the dew on his breast, And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright sphere, To warble it out in lies Maker’s ear. 476 ‘I’HE MIRROR LIBRARY. A POET’S PRAYER.

What is that, mother? THE MISSIONARY. ‘rHE MOTHER AND CHILD.

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THE SACRED ROSARY. A PREPARATIVE TO PRAYER. THEN thou dost talk to God-by prayer I mean Lift up pure hands, lay down all lust’s desires; ax thoughts on heaven, present a conscience clean; Such holy blame to mercy’s throne aspires. Confess faults, guilt, crave pardon for thy sin, Tread holy paths, call grace to guide therein. It is the spirit with reverence must obey OuI Maker’s will, to practise what he taught; Make not the flesh thy counsel when thou pray; ‘Tis enemy to every virtuous thought; It is the foe we daily feed and clothe; It is the prison that the qoul doth loath.

Even as Elias mounting to the sky, Did cast his mantle to the earth behind; So when the heart presents the prayer on high, Exclude the world from traffic with the mind; Lips near to God, and ranging heart within, Is but vain babbling, and converts to sin. God of the dark antd heavy deep!

The waves lie sleeping on the sands, Till the fierce trumpet of the storm Hath summoned up their thundering ban(l., Then the white sails are dashed in foam, Or hurry, trembling, o’er the seas, Till calmed by thee, the sinking gale Serenely breathes, Depart in peace. Go,’ of the forest’s solemn shade! ‘I he grandeur of tie lonely tree, Tha-t wrestles singly with the gale, Lifts up admiring eyes to Thee. But more majestic far they stand, When, side by side, their ranks they fonrm To wave on high their plumes of grace, And fight their battles with the storm. God of the light and viewless air! When summer breezes sweetly floss, Or, gathering in their angry might, The fierce and angry tempests blow. All-fromn the evening’s plaintive sigh, That hardll lifts the dro(oping flower, To the wild whirlwind’s midnignt --- – Breathe forth the language of thy power.

Like Abraham ascending up the hill To sacrifice, his servants left below, That he might act the Great Commander’s willT Without impeach to his obedient blow; Even so the soul remote from earthly things, Should mount salvation’s shelter-mercy’s wings. SOLrTHWELL. God of the fair and open sky! How gloriously above us springs, The tented dome of heavenly blue, Su s pended on the rainbow’s wings. Each brilliant star that sparkles through, Each gilded cloud that wanders free, In evening’s purple radiance gives The beauty of its praise to Thee. CONSOLATIONS OF RELIGION TO THE

POOR. THERE is a mourner, and her heart is broken She is a widow; she is old and poor; Her only hope is in that sacred token Of peaceful happiness when life is o’er; She asks nor wealth nor pleasure, begs no more Than heaven’s delightful volume, and the sight Of her Redeemer. Skeptics, would you pour Your blasting vials on her head, and blight Sharon’s sweet rose, that blooms and charms her being’s night? She ives in her affections; for the grave Has closed upon her husband, children; all fiH hopes are with the arm she trusts will save ifer treasured jewels; though her views are small, Though she has never mounted high to fall And writhe in her debasement, yet the spring Of her meek, tender feelings, can not pall Her utperverted palate, but will bring A joy without regret, a bliss that has no sting. Even as a fountain, whose unsullied wave Wells in the pathless valley, flowing o’er With silent waters, kissing, as they lave, The pebbles with light rippling, and the shore Of matted grass and flowers-so softly pour The breathings of her bosom, when she prays, Low-bowed, before her Maker; then no more She muses on the griefs of former days; Her fil heart melts, and flows in heaven’s dissolving rays. And faith can see a new world, and the eyes Of saints look pity on her; Death will come A few short moments over, and the prize Of peace eternal waits her, and the tomb Becomes her fondest pillow; all its gloom Is scattered. What a meeting there will be To her and all she loved here! and the bloom Of new life from those cheeks shall never flee; Theirs is the health which lasts through all eternity. PERCIVAL. LtiKE as the damask rose you see, Or like the blossoms on the tree, Or like the dainty flower of May, Or like the morning to the d fay, Or like the sun, or like the shade, Or like the gourd which Jonas had, E’en such is man; whose thread is spun, Drawn out and cut, and so is done.The rose withers, the blossom blasteth, The flower fades, the morning hasteth, The sun set s, the s hadow f lies, The gourd consumes-and inan he dies! Like to the grass that’s newly sprung Or like a tale that’s new begun, Or like the bird that’s here to-day, Or like the pearled dew of May, Or like an hour, or like a span, Or like the singing of a swan, E’en such is man;-who lives by breath, Is here, now there, in life and death.The grass withers, the tale is ended, The bird is flown, the dew’s ascended, The hour is short, the span not long, The swan’s near deaths,man’s life is done WAIITJI. GOD of the earth’s extended plains!

The dark green fields contented lie; The mountains rise like holy towers, Where man might commune with the sky; The tall cliff challenges the storm That lowers upon the vale below, Where shaded fountains send their streams, With joyous mueic in their flow. I I 477 God of the rolling orbs above! Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day’s unvarying blaze, Or evening’s golden shower of light. For every fire that fronts the sun, And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven, Were kindled at tby burning throne. God of the world! the hour must come And Nature’s self to dust return; Her crumbling altars must decay, Her incense fires shall cease to burn But still her grand and lovely scenes Have made man’s warmest praises fl For hearts grow holier as they trace The beauty of the world below. PF,ABODY. MORTALITY OF MAN. HYMN OF NATURE.

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478 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Light for the hills of Greece! Light for that trampled clime, Where the rage of the spoiler refused to cease Ere it wrecked the boast of time; If the Moslem hath dealt the gift of peace, Can you grudge your boon sublime. Light on the Hindoo shed! On the maddening idol-train. The flame of the Suttee is dire and red, And the Fakir faints with pain; And the dying moan on their cheerless bed, By the Ganges laved in vain. THY neighbor? It is he whom thou Hast power to aid and bless, Whose aching heart or burning brow Thy soothing hand may press. Thy neighbor?‘Tis the fainting poor, Whose eye with want is dim, Whom hunger sends from door to door; Go thou, and succor him. Thy neighbor? “ris that weary man, Whose years are at their brim, Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain; Go thou, and comfort him. Thy neighbor?‘Tis the heart bereft Of every earthly gem, Widow and orphan, helpless left; Go thou, and shelter them. Thy neighbor? Yonder toiling slave, Fettered in thought and limb, Whosehoopes are all beyond the grave; Go thou and ransom him. Light for the Per sian sky! The Sophi’s wisdom fades, And the pearls of Ormus are poor to buy Armor when death invades; Hark! Hark!-‘tis the sainted Martyn’s sigh From Ararat’s mournful shades. Light for the Burman vales!

For the islands of the sea! For the coast where the slave-ship fills its sails With sighs of agony; And her kidnapped babes the mother wails ‘Neath the lone banana-tree I Where’er thou meetest a human form Less favored than thine own, Remember’tis thy neighbor worm, Thy brother, or thy son.

Light for the ancient race Exiled from Zion’s rest! Homeless they roam from place to plate Benighted and oppressed; They shudder at Sinai’s fearful base: Guide them to Calvary’s breast. Oh! pass not, pass not heedless by; Perhaps thoe canst redeem The breaking heart from misery Go, share thy lot with him. ANONlyMoUs Light for the darkened earth! Ye blessed, it s beams w ho shed, Shrink not, till the day-spring hath its birt Till, wherever the footstep of man doth Salvation’s banner, spread broadly forth, Shall gild the dream of the cradle-bed, And clear the tomb Fromn its lingering gloom, For the aged to rest his weary head. PAUL AND

SILAS AT PHILIPPI. HEAtREST thou that solemn symphony, that swells And echoes through Philippi’s gloomy cells? From vault to vault the heavy notes rebound, And granite rocks reverberate the sound. The wretch, who long in dungeons cold and dank Had shook his fetters, that their iron clank Might break the grave-like silence of that prison, On which the star of hope had never risen; Then sunk in slumbers, by despair oppressed, And dreamed of freedom in his broken rest; Wakes at the music of these mellow strains, Thinks it some spirit, and forgets his chains. ‘Tis Paul and Silas; who, at midnight pay To Him of Nazareth a grateful lay. Soon is that anthem wafted to the skies; An angel bears it, and a God replies. At that reply, a pale portentous light Plays through the air,-then leaves a gloomier night. The darkly tottering towers,-the trembling arch,The rocking walls confess an earthquake’s march,-T The stars look dimly through the roof:-behold, From saffron dews and melting clouds of gold, Brightly uncurling on the dungeon’s air, Freedom walks forth serene; from her loose hair, And every glistening feather of her wings, Perfumes that breathe of more than earth she flings, And with a touch dissolves the prisoner’s chains, Whose song had charmed her from celestial plains.

PIERPONT. Thou wilt-for Thou art Israel’s God, And Thiae unwearied arm Is ready yet with Moses’ rod, The hidden rill to charm Out of the dry unfathomed deep Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep, Save when the scorching whirlwinds heap Their waves in rude alarm. LIGHT for the dreary vales Of ice-bound Labrador! Where the frost-king breathes on the slippery sails, And the mariner wakes no more; Lift high the lamp that never fails, To that dark and steril shore. Light for the forest child! An outcast though he be, From the haunts where the sun of his childhood smiled, And the country of the free; Pour the hope of Heaven o’er his desert wild, For what home on earth has he? THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 478 W-HO IS MY NEIGHBOR?

&GO THE PILGRIMIS SONG. AND wilt Thou hear the fevered heart To Thee in silence cry? And as the inconstant wildfires dart Out of the restless eye, Wilt Thou forgive the wayward thought, By kindly woes yet half untaught A Savior’s ri,-ht, so dearly bought, That Hope should never die? Thou wilt; for many a languid prayer Has reached Thee from the wild, Since the lorn mother, wandering there, Cast down her fainting child, Then stole apart to weep and die, Nor knew an angel form was nigh To show soft waters gushing by And dewy shadows mild. MISSION& These moments of wild wrath are Thine Thine too the drearier hour When o’er the horizon’s silent line Fond hopeless fancies cower, And on the traveller’s listless way Rises and sets the unchanging day, No cloud in heaven to slake its ray, On earth no sheltering bower.

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-~~~H SARDRSAY 7 Of better hopes, and prayer, and penitence, Rising in incense on the sacred air, From many a woodland spire, Or hifl-embosomed tower. THE CATHEDRAL. Thon wilt be there, and not forsake, To turn the bitter pool Into a bright and breezy lake, The throbbing brow to cool; Till left awhile with thee alone The wilful heart be fain to own That He, by whom our bright hours she Out darkness best may rule. The scent of water far away Upon the breeze is flung; The desert pelican today Securely leaves her young Reproving thankless man, who fears To journey on a few lone years, Where on the sand thy step appears, Thy crown in sight is hung. Thou, who didst sit on Jacob’s well The weary hour of noon, The languid pulses Thou canst tell, The nerveless spirit tune. Thou from whose cross in anguish burs The cry that owned thy dying thirst, To thee we’urn, our last and first, Our Suh1 and soothing Moon. From darkness here, and weariness, We ask not full repose, Only be Thou at hand to bless Our trial hour of woes; Is not the pilgrim’s toil o’erpaid By the clear rill and palmy shade? And see we not, up earth’s dark glade, The gate of heaven unclose? THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. THE eyes of thousands glanced on him, as’mid the cirque he stood, Unheeding of the shout which broke from that vast multi tude. The prison damps had paled his cheek; and on his lofty brow Corroding care had deeply traced the furrows of his plough. Amid the crowded cirque he stood, and raised to heaven his eye, For well that feeble old man knew they brought him forth to die! Yet joy was beaming in that eye-while from his lips a prayer Passed up to heaven, and faith secured his peaceful dwel ling there. Then calmly on his foes he looked; and, as he gazed, a tear Stole o’er his cheeks-but’twas the birth of pity, not of fear. He knelt down on the glory land-once more he looked toward heaven, And to the Christian’s God he prayed that they might be forgiven.

But hark! another shout, o’er which the hungry lion’s roar Is heard, like thunder,‘mid the swell on wild tempestuous shore! And forth the Libyan savage bursts-rolls his red eyes around; Then on his helpless victim springs. and beats him to the ground. Short pause was left for hope or fear-the instinctive love of life One struggle made, but vainly made, in such unequal strife, Then with the scanty stream of life his jaws the savage dyed; While one by one the quivering limbs his bloody feast sup plied. Rome’s prince and senators partook the shouting crowd’s delight; And beauty gazed unshrinkingly on that unhallowed sight. But say what evil had he done?-what sin of deepest hue? A blameless ifaith was all the crime that Christian martyr knew: And where his precious blood was spilt, even from that barren sand There sprung a stem, whose vigorous boughs soon over spread the land: O’er distant isles its shadow fell; nor knew its roots de cay, Even when the Roman Cesar’s throne and empire passed away. uaway.

REV. HAMILTON BUCHANAN. THE CLOUD. A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; Long had I watched the glory moving on, O’er the still radiance of the lake below: Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow, E’en in its very motion there was rest, While every breath of eve that chanced to blow, Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. Emblem, roethought, of the departed soul, To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onward to the golden gates of heaven, While to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies. EXCELLENCY OF

CHRIST. HE is a path, if any be misled; He is a robe, if any naked be; If any chance to hunger, he is bread; If any be a bondma,i.. he is free; If any be but weak, how strong is he! To dead men life he is, to sick men health; To blind men sight, and to the needy wealthA pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth. GILEs FLETCHER. DISTANT CHURCH BELLS. UP steeps reclining in the autumnal calm, The woodland nook retired, and quiet field, Upon the tranquil noon The Sunday chime is borne; Rising and sinking on the silent air, With many a dying fall most musical, And fitful bird hard by, Blending harmoniously. The sky is looking on the sunny earth, The fleecy clouds stand still in heaven, Making the blue expanse More still and beautiful. If aught there be upon this rude, bad earth, Which angels, from their happy spheres above, Could lean and listen to, It were’hose peaceful sounds: There is unearthly balm upon the air, And holier lights which are with Sunday born, That man may lay aside Himself, and be at rest. The week-day cares like shackles from us fall, As from our Lord the clothings of the grave, And we, too, seem with him To walk in endless morn. Not that these musical wings would bear us up On buoyant thoughts too high for sinful man, But that they spefak the best Which earth lhath left to give  I THE SACRED ROSARY. 479 KEBL,E. WILSM.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Came leaping from its sylvan height, and poured Music upon the pebbles; and the winds, Which gently’mid the vernal branches played Their idle freaks, brought show’ring blossoms down, Surfeiting earth with sweetness. Sad I came From weary commerce with the heartless world: But, when I felt upon my withered check My mother Nature’s breath, and heard the tramp Of those gay insects at their honeyed toil, Shining like winged jewelry, and drank T he healthfil odor of te flow’ring trees And bright-eyed violets-but, most of all, When I beheld mild slumbering innocence, And on that young maternal brow the smile Of those affections which do purify And renovate the soul-I turned me back In gladness, and with added strength, to run My weary race, lifting a thankful prayer To Him who showed me some bright teint of heaven Here on the earth, that I might safer walk, And firmer combat sin, and surer rise From earth to heaven. SABBATH THOUGHTS. WELCOME thou peaceful dawn! O’er field and wooded lawn The wonted sound of busy toil is laid. And hark the village bell! Whose simple tinklings swell, Sweet as soft music on the straw-roofed shed, And bid the pious cottager prepare To keep the appointed rest, and seek the house of prayer. How goodly’tis to see The rustic family Duly along the church-way path repair: The mother trim and plain, Leading her ruddy train, The father pacing slow with modest air.

With honest heart and humble guise they come, To serve Almighty God, and bear his blessing home. At home they gayly share Their sweet and simple fare, And thank the Giver of the festal board: Around the blazing hearth They sit in harmless mirth, Or turn with awe the volume of the Lord: Then full of heavenly joy, retiring pay Their sacrifice of prayer to Him who blessed the day. 0 sabbath-bell, thy voice Makes hearts like these rejoice; Not so the child of vanity and power. He the blest pavement treads Perchance as custom bids, Perchance to gaze away a listless hour; Then crowns the bowl, or roams along the road, Nor hides his shame from men, nor heeds the eye of God. When the seventh morning’s gleam Purpled the lonely stream, On its green bank of old the Christian bowed. The hand adoring spread, And broke the mystic bread; And, leagued in bonds of holy concord, vowed From the cleansed heart to wash each foul offence, And give his days tc peace and saintly innocence. W HERE IS HE? AND where is he?

Not by the side Of her whose wants he loved to tend; Not o’er those valleys wandering wide, Where sweetly lost, he oft would wend! That forin beloved he marks no more; Those scenes admired no more shall seeThose scenes are lovely as before, And she as fair-but where is he? No, no, the radiance is not dim That used to gild his favorite hill; The pleasures that were dear to him, Are dear to life and nature still: But ah! his home is not so fair, Neglected must his garden beThe lilies droop and with-r there, And seem to whisper, where is he? His was the pomp, the crowded hall! But where is now the proud display? His riches, honors, pleasures, all Desire could frame: but where are they? And he, as some tall rock that stands Protected by the circling sea, Surrounded by admiring bands, Seemed proudly strong-and where is he? The churchyard bears an added stone, The fireside shows a vacant chair! Here sadness dwells and weeps alone, And death displays his banner there; The life has gone., the breath has fled, And what has been no more shall be; The well-known form, the welcome tread, Oh! where are they? and where is he? NEEL.L In vain the Roman lord Waved the relentless sword, And spread the terrors of the circling flame; In vain the heathen sought, If chance some lurking spot Might mar the lustre of the Christian name Th’ Eternal Spirit by his fruits confessed, In life secured from stains, and steeled in death the breast. O would his influence bless With faith and holiness, The laggard people of our favored isle! But if too deep and wide Heaven spread corruption’s tide, O might he deign on me and mine to smile; So shall we ne’er with due devotion fail The consecrated day of solemn rest to hail: So shall we still resort To Sion’s hallowed court, And lift the heart to Him that dwells above; Thence, home returning, muse On sweet and solemn views, Or fill the mind with acts of holy love; Then lay us down in peace, to think we’re given Another precious day to fit our souls for heaven. THE. sun was sinking on the mountain zone That guards thy vale of beauty, Palestine! And lovely from the desert rose tl,’ moon, Yet lingering on the horizon’s purple line, Like a pure spirit o’er its earthly shrine. Up Padan-aram’s height abrint and bare A pilgrim toiled, and oft on day’s decline Looked pale, then paused for eve’s delicious air; The summit gained, he knelt, and breathed his evening prayer. I saw a cradle at a cottage-door, Where the fair mother, with her cheerful wheel, Carolled so sweet a song, that the young bird Which, timid, near the threshold sought for seed, Paused on his lifted foot, and raised his head As if to listen. The rejoicing bees Nestled in throngs amid the woodbine cups That o’er the lattice clustered.

A clear stream He spread his cloak and slumbered-darkness fell Upon the twilight hills; a sudden sound Of silver trumpets o’er him seemed to swell; Clouds heavy with the tempest gathered round; Yet was the whirlwind in its caverns bound; Still deeper rolled the darkness from on high, Gigantic volume upon volume wound; i 480 SIGOURNV. 6 JACOB’S DREAM. MANT.

A COTTAGE SCENE.

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‘D ROSARY 48t Whtfe Th y refresh ing pastures grow, Where all Thy chosen flock is fed, Where living waters gently flow, There may our wandering feet be led Direct us toward the heavenly hill, And bear us in thy bosom still. Jkbove, a pillar s’i ti t, the slyh Below, a mighty sea that sl)read incessantly. Voices are heard-il choir of golden strings, Low winds, w!-ose breath is loaded with the rose h Then chariot-whicels-the nearer rush of wings; Pale lightning round the dark pavilion glows. It thunders-the ies!aen lent gates unclose Far as the e e an glance; on height o’er height Rise fiery wairg wing,s, and star-crowned brows, Millions on millions, brighter and more bright, Till all is lost in one slpieme unmingled light. But two beside the sleeping pilgrim stand, Like cherub-kings, with lifted mighty plume, Fixed sun-bright eyes, and looks of high command: They tell the patriarch of his glorious doom; Father of countless myriads that shall come, Sweeping the land like billows of the sea, Bright as the stars of heaven from twilight’s gloom, Till he is given, whose angels long to see, And Israel’s splendid line is crowned with Deity. CROLY. And thus encouraged by thy grace, To those still open armns we fly! And though we can not see Thy face, Yet Thou canst bless us from on high: For still Thy gracious wford, we see, Says-’” Suflfr them to come to me.” JANE. TAYLOR. THF MARTYRDOM OF CRANMER. Lo! gathering round a dungeon door, Appear the soldier’s plume and lance; And restless crowds around it pour, With eager step and wrathful glanceUpon their cheeks the bigot’s smileThe bondslaves dark of priestly guile. THE sun is Op-fromn Carmel’s woody brow His orient radiance rushes like a floodA generous stream by whose fiesh influence grow The flowers that blossomn, and the trees that bud; The moon that rose at eve as if the blood Of life was in her veins, turns pale as clay From which the life has fled; the stars that stud The miidniaht skv by thousands, glide away Like foam-blown bells that burst within the ocean’s bay. The night-ven like a fierce despotic king That wraps the nation in a fearful shade, Dark as the darkness which the death-glooms fling Around the sepulchre where bones are laid; The night departs-as when with power arrayed, Some generous monarch from his throne has hurled The gloomy tyrant, humbled and dismayed; For now the gates of morning are unfilrled, And light, and loveliness, and joy, possess the world. No longer stoops that captive’s brow, His form erect in majesty, His pale cheek lighted with the glow Of one who sees deliverance nighThe entrance to the promised restThe welcome’mong the Savior’s blest. The pile is lit the flames ascend; Yet peace is in the martyr’s face; Arid unseen visitants attend That chief of’ England’s priestly race: Mightier in peril’s darkest hour, Than when enthroned in rank and power. The dew-bent lilies, by the breezes kissed, Awake in beauty on their grassy beds, Like lovely infants from the mother’s breast, That joys to pillow their protected heads; On Zion’s holy hill the green-grape sheds Its sweet perfume; the fig-tree is in blow; On fertile Lebanon the corn-field spreads Its store, and to the winds that o’er it go, Heaves as the billows heave with undulating flow. Steadfast he stood in that fierce flame, As standing in his own high hall: He said, as sadness o’er him came, Remembrance of his mournful fallStretching it to the burning brand” First perish this unworthy hand!” Thy foul and cruel deed, 0 Rome! Is vain; that blazing funeral pyre Where Cranmer died, shall soon become To England as a beacon-fire: And he hath left a glorious name, Victorious over gore and flame. ANiDREw R. BoNAR. On Gilead’s pastures green the bleating flocks Disport, in Jordan’s stream the fishes play; The snow-white goats are gambolling on the rocks, The insects dancing in the sunny ray; The humming bees upon their early way Are wandering happily from flower to flower; And all unseen, where twilight shadows gray Are lingering still, the wild birds in the bower Potur out their choral song unto the matin hour. And man comes from his dwelling forth-afar He casts his eye o’er all the happy sight, And lifts his heart to Him whose mercies are Each morning new, whose faithfulness each night; To Him who sends the sun in all his might To bid the forests bud, the flowerets bloom; Who fills the lower creatures with delight, Who sweeps the shadows from the hearts of gloom, And feeds the aspiring so},I with hopes beyond the tomb, KNox. i I i i I I THE SACRE

Much do we need Thy watchful care, Through every day and every hour; For life is set with many a snare, And Satan wanders to devour: But we are safe from all alarms, Within our heavenly Shepherd’s arms. Here in the Gospel we are told What great compassion was in Thee, When mothers brought their babes of old  Poor helpless children such as we; Elen to thy tender bosoin brou,htAnd thou didst say,’ Forbid their, not.” MORNING IN JUDEA.

And now the dungeon’s portals ope, Now froi-n its archway deep and dim, Gleam silver cross and broidered cope, And solemn swells the priestly hymn; Beneath the torch’s ruddy glare, Are mitred brows and tonsures bare.

But who comes forth’? His step is slow, His eve is bent upon the ground, And when are heard the sig-lis of wo, He loolis as if he heard the soundAs if no other soul was thereWith wan lips moving still in prayer: ITYMN FOR

CHILDREN. JEsus, our gentle Shepherd, see These tender lambs of Zion’s fold; Lo 1 we are come to follow thee; Gather and gLi,,Ard us as of old: While throuh the desert world we stray, Pi-eserve us in the narrow way.

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TI’IE M[iI’,()i LIBRARIY. rThe cold and false deceiver, whlo betLrays The trusting li(hearit hlie fondly toile(t to win; The spendlthrift, seattiering hii s golden store, And left in age despised aindt dlesolate, All may their iaults confecss, forsake, deplore, Yet struggle to retrieve the pIast too late. How sweet at summers noon. to sit and m:sse Beneath the shadow of some ancient elm! While at my feet the mazy streamlet flows In tuneful lapse, laving the flowers that bend To h-kis its tide; while spoit the finny throng On the smooth surface of the crystal depth In silvery circles, or in shallows leap, That sparkle to the sunbeam’s trembling glare. Aroun(l the tiny jets, where humid bells Break as they form, the water-spiders weave, Brisk on the ed.lyin’ pools, their ceaseless dane, The wild bee winds her hl-ornr, lost in the cups Of honeyed, flowers, or sweets with ample curve; While o’er the summer’s lap is heard the hum Of countless insects sporting on the wing, Inviting sleep. And liom the leafy woods One various song of bursting joy ascends, While echo wafts the notes from grove to hill; From luill to glove the gratefll concert spreads, As boirne on flitterin,. plismes, encircling mnakei The happy birds flit throtnh the balmy air, Where la the gossa mer; an,d, as they felt The genieral joy, tb)ight exhalations dance; And shlephlrd’s pip, aisd song of blooming maid, Quick as she tutis the odor-bieathing swathes Of new-nmown hav, and children playing round The ivy-elustered co, aind low of herds, kndl bleat of larmbs, that crop the verdant sward WVith daisies spiread, while smiles the heaven serene, ll wake to ec-tacy. or melt to love, And to the Source of goodness raise the soulRaise it to him, exhaustless Source of bliss! ‘I’hat like the sun, best em.blein of Himself, For ever flowing, yet for ever full, Diffuses life and happiness to all. REv. W. GILLESPIE. What is truth? The only token Lent to guide our blinded race, Is the Word which God hath spoken By the heralds of his grace. Thence we learn how helpless strangers, Guilty rebels, such as we, .Myv escape ten thousand dangers, Burst ouir fetters, and be free. CONSOLATION. PILC,RTT burthened with thy sin, Come the way to Zion’s gate, There, till mercy lets thee in, Knockl, and weep, and watch, and wait. Knock!-He klnows the sinner’s cry; Weep!-lie loves the mourner’s tears; Watch!-for saving grace is nigh; Wait-till heavenly light appears.

Hark! it is the bridegroom’s voice Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest; Now within the gate rejoice, Safe, and sealed, and bought, and Safe fromn all the lures of vice, Sealed-by signs the chosen know Bought by love, and life the price, Blest-the mighty debt to owe. Holy pilgrim! what for thee, In a world lilke this remain? From thy nuarded breast shall flee Fear, and shame, and doubt, and 1 Fear-the hope of heaven shall fl Shame-from g’lory’s view retire, Doubt-in. certain rapture,ie, Pain-in endless bliss expire AOfitt is truth? That man is mortal, Wretched, feeble, and depraved; Dyin!g still at merey’s portal, Yet unwilling to be saved: Off to safety’s path invited, Prone from it to wander far; I!n the blaze of noon benighted, With himself and God at war. I What is truth? That He, who made us, He, who all our weakness knows, qtooped himself from heaven to aid us, Bear our guilt, and feel our woes. i l le tie lamnb tile peasant slaughters, See him unresisting le(]; ‘5!idst the tears of Judah’s daughters, Mocked, and numbered with the dead! Y’es, mnv soult! thy los.t condition Brought the gentle Savior low; Hast thou felt one hour’s contrition For those sius which pierced him so? Dost thou bear the love thou owest For such proof of grace divine? Meekl I answer, Lord, thou knowest, That this heart is wholly thine! roe late-too late! how heavily that phrase Comes, like a knell, upon the shuddering ear, Telling of slighted duties, wasted days; Of privileges lost, of hopes once dear Now quenched in gloom and darkness. Words like tLcLmc The worldling’s callous heart must penetrate  All that he might have been in thought he sees, And sorrows o’er his present viwreck too late. Lon, in(lee(l, too lon! I wandered Fromn the path thy children tread T.,on my time andl substance sqiiand Seelkingz that which wa,rs not bread Noow-thlioih flesh may (lisallowi it, Now,-th l,mih sense no fIory see, in thby sir(ehath, my Gc,,! I losw it, N>e’er agai to lurn fron ttee! To(. ltli too the l:rolizgal who stras TIr’r,.::h tl:e d,;.im gr’ovcs asod win-iinf s’cwer i,af [; I I i i I i I I i i i i I I I 4 i? i., -_z .N-ITURE. Too late-l,oo late! 0 dark and fatal ban, Is there a sl)eli thy terrors to assuage?

rliei-e is-tliei-e is! but seek it not from man: Seek for the healing balm in God’s own page; Rea(.1 of tli3r Savioi-‘s love, to him repair I-le loolis with i-,it3- on thy guilty state; Kneel at his throne in deep and fervent prayer Kneel and repent, ere yet it is too late. – Too late-too late! that direful sound portends ‘4oi-rcw on earth, but not immortal pain. ,ri,oi, mf-t)-st have lost the confidence of friends, The love of Iiindred thoii ma3,st ne’er regain; But there is One above who marlis thy tears, And opes for thee salvation’s golden gate. Come, then, poor mourner, cast away thy fears. Believe, and enter-it is not too late! MRS.

DV. PILATE’S QUESTION. WITAT is truth? The fickle Rornan Aslied, nor waited for reply. Question of momentous omen! Shall I also pass it by? No, my Lord! I’ll turn me to it, Anxious all its depths to sound; Let le humbly, closely, view it, ‘lil I have the ans-%ver found. CRA]BBF,. l’OO

LATE. DR. flu-is

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THE SACRED ROSARY. SAUL JOURNEYING TO DAMASCUS. WHOSE is that sword-that voice and eye of’ flameThat heart of unextinguishable ire? Who bears the dungeon keys, and bonds of fire? Along his dark and withering path he cameDeath in his looks, and terror in his name, Tempting the might of heaven’s Eternal Sire. Lo! the light shone!-the sun’s veiled beamns expireA Savior’s self, a Savior’s lips proclaim! Who is yen form, stretched on the earth’s cold bed, Witht smitten soul and tears of agony He hlourning the past? Bowed is the lofty headtRayless the orbs that flashed witht victory. Over the raging waves of human will The Savioir’s spirit walked-and all was still ROSCOE ADDRESS TO POETS. YiE whose hearts are beating high With the pulse of Poesy, H eirs of more than ro yal race, Framed by Heal-oen’s peculiar grace, God’s own work to do on earth, (It the word be not t oo bold), Giving virtue a new birth And a life that ne’er gaoies oldSovereign ma o ers of all he arts! Know ec wsho hath set your parts? He, who ga,e you breathi to sinig, By whose strengtlh ye sweep the string. He hath chosen you to lead His hosannas here below;Mount, and claimn )our glorious meetd Linger not with sin Zind wo. But if ye shouldli hoht lyour peace, Deem not that tile song would ceaseAngels round His g>lory-throne, Stars, His guidling hand thltt own, Flowers, Ilhat row beneath our feet, Stones, in earth’s dark womb that rest, Hitgh and low in choir shall meet, Ere His name shall be unblest. HYMN FOR THE OPENING- OF

A CHIURCH. O Tiou to wl(rn,, in ancient time, The lyre of Hebrew bards was strong, Whom kings adored in song sublime, An(] prophets praised with glowing tongue Not now, on Z ion’s heiglht ailone, Tlby fi,tvore( worsllirer tray dwell, Nor where, at sultry noon, tlh Son Sat, weary,, by the Patriarch’s well. Lord, by everv minstrel tongue Be thy praise so duly sung, That thine angels’ harps may ne’er Fail to find fit echoing here! We the while, of meaner birth, Who in that di-inest sipell Dare not hope to join on. earth, Give us grace to listen well. But should thankless silence seal Lips that might half heaven revealShould bards in idol-hylvr,.is profane The sacred soul enthralling strain, (As in this bad world below Noblest things find vilest using), Then, thy power and mercy show, In vile things noble breath infusing. From every place below the skies, The grateful song, the tervent prayerThe incense of the hearlt-may rise To heaven, and find acceptance there. In this Thy house,whlose doors we now For social worship first unfold, To Thee the suppliant throng shall bow, While circling years on years are rolled. To Thee shall Age, weith snowoy hair, And Strength and Beauty, bend the knee, And Childhood lisp, with reverent air, Its praises and its prayers to Thee. rhen waken into sound divine The very pavement of thy shrine, Till we, like hea-%en’s star-sprinlled fl Faintly give back what we adore, Childlike though the voices be, And untunable the parts, Thou wilt own the minstrelsey, If it flow from childlike hearts. O Thou, to whom, in ancient time, The lyre of prophet bards was strung, To Thee, at last, in every clime, Shall temples rise and praise be sung. PI:EsroNr CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. How happy is he born and taught, That serveth not another’s will; Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill! THE MfETEOR. A SHEPHERD on the silent moor Pursued his lone employ, And by him watched, at midnight hour, His lovedi and gentle boy. The night was still, the sky was clear, The moon and stars were bright; And well the youngster loved to hear Of those fair orbs of light. Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death; Untied unto the worldly care Of public fame, or private breath; Who envies none that chance doth raise, Or vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise; Nor rules of slate, but rules of good; When, lo! an earth-born meteor’s glare Made stars and planets dim; In transient splendor through the air Its glory seemed to swim. No more could stars’ or planets’ spell The stripling’s eye enchant, He only urged his sire to tell Of this new visitant. Who hath his life from rumors freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great; But ere the shepherd found a tongue, The meteor’s gleam was gone; And in their glory o’er them hung The orbs of night alone. Wh o God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend:  Canst tlhoui the simnple lesson read, My artless miuse hath given! The only lights that safely lead, Are those that shine fironom heaven! BARTON. T his man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, and fear to fall; Lord of himself, though-Ii not of lan1ds; And having nothing, yct hathl all. WoT’rON. i l .I I I I I! I I I I I 483 i i 11 i 11 i i l i ii i i i ii I I i i I KEBzx.

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‘ TIlE AilriOf~ LIBRARY. Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our Sovereign Lord King Henry, the soldier of Na varre! Ho!

maidens of V~ienna matrons of Lucerne. Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never sbll return. Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spear men’s souls. Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright; Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night, For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave. Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are; And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre’ T. B. MA^CA.LEY. THlE HUGUENOT’S BATTLE HYMN. Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre! Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, 0 pleasan t land of France! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daugh ters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still, are they who wrought thy walls annoy. Hurrah!

hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war, Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre. 01 how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel’s stout infantry, and Egmont’s Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land; And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand: And as we looked on them, we thought of Seine’s empur pled flood, And good Coligni’s hoary hair, all dabbled with his blood; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre! LABORERS’ NOON-DAY

HYMIN. Up to the throne of God is borne The v oice of praise at early morn, And he accepts the punctual hymn Sung as the light of day grows dim.

Nor will he turn his ear aside From holy off’rings at noon-tide; Then, here reposing, let us raise A song of gratitude and praise. What though our burden be not light, We need not toil fiom morn to night; The respite of the mid-day hour Is in the thankful creature’s power. Blest are the moments, doubly blest, That, drawn from this one hour of rest, Are with a ready l al t bestowed Upon the service of our God. Why should we crave a hallowed spot? An altar is in each man’s cot, A church in every grove that spreads Its living roof above our heads. Look up to heaven!the industrious sun Already half his race hath run; He can not halt or go astrayBut our immortal spirits may. Lord, since his rising in the east, If’ we have faltered or transgressed, Guide, from thy love’s abundant source, What yet remains of this day’s course. Help with thy grace, through life’s short day, Our upward and our downward way; And glorify for us the west, When we shall sink to final rest. WORDSWORTH The King is come to marshal fs, in all his armor dressed, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, “God save our Lord the King!” “And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody frayPress where ye see my white plume shine amid the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre!” Hurrah! the foes are moving-hark to the mingled din Of fife and steed, and trump and drum, and roaring cul verin. The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre’s plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now by the lips of those we love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies-upon them with the lance! A thousand spurs are striki;- deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are preping close behind the snow white crest; And in they burst, and on they rushed, while like a guiding star, Amid the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre! Now, God be praised, the day is ours!

Mayenne hath turned his rein! D’Aumale hath cried for quarter! The Flemish Count is slain! Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale! The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance; and, all along our van”Remember Saint Bartholomew!” was passed from man to man: But out spake gentle Henry-” No Frenchman is my foeDown, down, with evcry foreigner, but let your brethren go.” CHRIST IN THE GARDEN. A WREATH of glory circles still His head And yet he kneels-and yet he seems to be Convulsed with more th an hum an agony; On his pale brow the drops are large and red As victim’s blood at votive altar shed His hands are clasped, his eyes are raised in prayer: Alas! and is there strife he can not bear, Who calmed the tempest, and who raised the dead? There is! there is! for now the powers of hell Are struggling for the mastery-‘tis the hour When Death exerts his last permitted power, When the dread weight of sin since Adam fell, Is visited on him, who deigned to dwell A ]nan with men-that he might bear the stroke Of wrath divine, andI burst the captive’s yokeBut 0! of that dread strife what words ean tell t I I 484

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THE SACRED R1tOSARY. Those-only those which l,roke with many a groan From his full heart-” 0 Father, take away The cup of vengeance I must drink to-dayYet, Father, not my will, but thine be done I” It could not pass away-for he alone Was mighty to endure, and strong to save: Nor would Jehl;rahl leave him in the grave; Nar could corruption taint his Holy One.

DALE. The light of God’s approving co unt enance, With rapturous glow of blessedness divine. And’neath the radiance of that mighty glance, Basked the wide-scattered isles o’er ocean’s blue panse. But there survives a tinge of glory yet, O’er all thy pastures and thy heights of green, Which, though the lustre of thy day hath set, Tells of the joy and splendor which hath been: So some proud ruin,‘mid the desert seen, By traveller, halting on his path awhile, Declares how once beneath the light serene Of brief postcrity’s unclouded smile, Uprose in grandeur there some vast imperial pile. DEATHLESs principle, arise! Soar, thou native of the skies! Pearl of price, by Jesus bought, To his glorious likeness wrought, Go, to shine before his throneDeck his mediatorial crown; Go, his triumphs to adornBorn for God, to God return. 0 Thou, who through the wilderness of oid Thy people to their promised rest didst bring, Hasten the days by prophet-bards foretold, When roses shall again be blossoming In Sharon, and Siloa’s cooling spring Shall murmur freshly at the noontide hour; And shepherds oft in Achor’s vale shall sing The mysteries of that redeeming power Which hath their ashes changed for beauty’s sunniet bower. Lo, he beckons from on high! Fearless to his presence fly; Thine the merit of his blood, Thine the righteousness of God! Angels, joyful to attend, Hoveriin round thy pillow bend; Wait to catch the signal given, And escort thee quick to heaven! Is thy earthly house distrest? Willing to retain its guest? ‘Tis not thou, but it must dieFly, celestial tenant, fly! Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay; Sweetly breathe thyself away: Singing, to thy crown remove, Swift of wing, and fired with love. Thou hadst a plant of thy peculiar choice, A fruitful vine from Egypt’s servile shore; Thou mad’st it in the smile of heaven rejoice; But the ripe clusters which awhile it bore Now purple on the verdant hills no more; The wild-boar hath upon its branches trod; Yet once again thy choicest influence pour, Transplant it from this dim terrestrial sod, To adorn with deathless bloom the paradise of God. T. G. NICHOLA. Shudder not to pass the stream, Ventuire all thy cares on himHim, whose dying love and power Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar; Safe in the expanded wave, Gentle as a summer’s eve; Not one object of his care Ever suffered shipwreck there I See the haven full in view, Love divine shall bear thee through; Trust to that propitious gale, Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail! Saints in glory perfect made, Wait thy passage through the shade: Ardent for thy coming o’er, See! they throng the blissful shore! Bound upon the accursed tree, Dread and awful-who is He? By the sun at noon-day pale, Shivering rocks, and rending veil; By earth that trembles at his doom, By yonder saints who burst their tomb, By Eden, promised ere he died To the felon at his side, Lord! our suppliant knees we bow, Son of God!‘tis thou,‘tis thou! Mount, their transports to improve, Join the longing choir above, Swiftly to their wish be given, Kindle higher joy in heaven. Such the prospects that arise To the (lying Christian’s eyes! Such the glorious vista Faith Opens through the shades of death! TOPLADY. Bound upon the accursed tree, Sad and dying-who is he By the last and bitter cry, The ghost given up in agony; By the lifeless body laid In the chambers of the dead; By the mourners come to weep Where the bones of Jesus sleep Crucified! we know thee nowSon of Man!‘tis thou,‘tis thou Bound upon the accursed tree, Dread and awful-who is he? By the prayer for them that sle~ “Lord! they know not what the! By the spoiled and empty grave, By the souls he died to save, By the conquest he hath won, By the saints before his throne, By the rainbow rouind his brow, Son of God!‘tis thou,‘tis thou! THE RESTORATION OF

ISRAEL. ‘is eventide; the golden teints are dying Along the horizon’s glowing verge away; Far in the grove the nightingale is sighing Her requiem to the last receding ray; And still thou holdest thy appointed way. But Salem’s light is quenched. Majestic sun! Her beauteous flock hath wandered far astray, Led by their guides the path of life to shun: Her orb hath sunk ere yet his wonted course was run. In ages past all glorious was the land, And lovely were thy borde-rs, Palestine! The heavens were wont to shel their influence bland On all tl:,;s. P,).i )itains a-i I those vales of thine; For o’er h coasts resplendent then d(lid shine 4,lit THE

DYING CHRISTIAN. THE CRUCIFIXION. BOUND Upon the accursed tree, Faint and bleedin, who is He By the eyes so pale and dim, Streaming blood, and writhing limb, By the flesh with scourges torn, By the crown of twisted thorn, By the side so deeply pierced, By the baffled, burning thirst, By the drooping,,death-dewed brow, Son of Man!‘tis thou, Itis thou! MILMAJW.

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Torrents, methinks, that heard a Thiety vooice, And stopped aIt once amid thceil’ m-uldnst plynge! r Moti()le~ss torrents! silent eatar’,cts! Who m?l.se;‘ou gloriouls as the gqlaes of Heavenl Benelth the keen full moon?

tho banke the SIihn Clothe you1 with r tinblows? Who, wvith living flowers Of lov eliest hue, sprecd 1 arlands at your feet? God! Let the torrents, li e a shoot of natioHns, Answ’r! rt l t the ic(- i;l is echo GodW sing ye m en- e rns e with gladsome v oice! Ye p ine-gr-es, witlx y(or soft and soul-like sounds! And they too havc a voice, 5on tiles of snow, Aud in their pc il ois fll s1hall thunder, God!-l Ye livin’ flowers that skirt the eternal fiost! Ye wiln-o.ts spor in’r rount toe eagle’s nest! Y, e-i’les, playna tfs of the mnountnain-storm! Ye ligrhtninzs, tbe d1rea.

Iarrowvs of the c0louds! Ye signs anl -yon leis of the element! Utter fiorth Go!, aosl fill the hills with praise!Once mlore, hoatr 51oulnt! w ith thly sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward glittering through the pure serene, Into the depth of cloudts that veil thy breast.Thou too, again, stiipendlous Mountain! thou That, as I raise my head. awhile bowed low In adloration, upward from thy base, Slow-traveiling, with dui eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly sternest, lilke a vapory cloud, To rise before men-Rise, O ever rise-A Rise like a cldo i of incense, from the earth! Thou kin~ly spirit throned among the hillsThou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven. Great hieiarch!

tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, anil tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. C OLF,RID(E.F. h Yet still-oh! the baseness that reigns in my spirit? I often forget thee my heavenly Friend, And thankless for all wvhich fi’om thee I inherit, Deny thee, and grieve thee, ay times without end. How oft when the oftlylinf has hoared me to trialy Have I peaqsedl himl in silence regalrdlecssy b~,’; W Aas this lilke the coulraae, thle boulndless dlenial, 1IWhich a sense of thyv favor should ever supoply? IO Father of mercies, assist me to cherish IThe light of thy wvord in my inlnermost soul; Without thinle assistance I feel I must perish, In the tempe~st of sin whichl I can not control: But thoul, wvho canqt say to thse foamn evested oce~an, Thus far and no farther thy proud waves shall come; Thou only cast cuwb each yhallowped emotion, And guide mne in p~eace to my g,lorious home. JOHTN

BUCHAI~AN WHFN. the radiant morn of crealtion broke, And the wrorld in the smile of God awoke, And the emp~ty realmss of darlmess and death Were moved through their depths by his mighty breat} And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame From the f oird abl es by myr iads came, I n the j oy of routh as they darted away, Throueffh the wideninz waste of space to play, Their silvrer voices in chorus rane, And this wvas the song, the bright ones sang:  : Away, away, throngh the wride, wide sky, T~he falir blue fields that before us lie; Each sun with the worlds that round us roll, Each planet poised on her turning pole, With her isles of green, and her clouds of white And or aters that lie like fluid light. “~For the Source of glory uncovers ills face, Andl the brighltness o’erflows unbounded space: Anld wve drink, as we o, the luminous tides In our ruddy air andl oulr bloomin sides; Lo, yonder the living sp~lendors p~lay.! Away, on our joyouls p~ath, awray! On, blest were the accents of early creation, When the word of Jehovah caine down from above; [n the clouds of the earth to infuse animation, And wake their cold atoms to life and to love! And mighty the tones which the firmament renled, When on wheels of the thuniler, andI wings of the wind,I By lightning, and hail, andI thick darkness attended, He uttered, on Sinai, his laws to mankind. ” Look, look throug~h oulr litterin rank~s afar In the infinite azure, star after star, How3 tliter t risshtel rand t bloom o.s theyi swiftly pass; How the v-er,lllre r,~nsq’,’ each rollirn’z mass! A nq tlace path sof tile ~entll win,Is;s s ~en, Whe‘1 ~:,‘f swn-~11 w~avsS Xes;rtce nl tl’e y,,/1un7 wood s’e. And sweet was the voice of the First-horn of heaven, (Tho’ poor his apparel, t},o’ eairthly his fo)rm,) W\hlio saidl t,i the mo’lirner, ” ThIy sins are forgiven!” ;“Bc who;le.” to 1!;.~ sickc, and “B~e still” to theM storm.n ,The Sav i(,r andl Prinlce wshomn I lhlls hadl rejected, Wans mny onlty relief when I wandered forlorn. – SONG OF THE STARS. HYiMN.

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THE SACRitED R0OSARY. ‘And see where the brighter day-beams pour, How the rainbows hunr inl the surinv shower: And the mo:n and the eve, with tleir pomp of hues, Shift o’er the brighit planets an(] shed their dews, And’twixt tiheri both, o’ei the teemini- ground, With her shiadowy cone, the nilght goes round. l’ Away, away! In our blossoming b)owers, In the s(ult ait -tap)ing these spiieres of ours, In the t’;s a, f, untaius thlit shine with morn, See love is bhiolini, ani life is born, And breat}iiiin m yli4s are beaklina firom night,; To rejoice, likle us, in mnotion anll light.” Glide on in your beauty, yre youthful spheres, To weave the alance that measures the years A Glide on in the tlory, and gladness, sent To the ftarthest Nwall of the firmament, The boun(lless visible smile of HIM, ‘fo the veil of \whol.e brow our lamps are dim. ANONYMOUS. Of life the way, of life the spring Eternal, uin(lefiled; Redeemer, Prophet, Priest, al.,ing 

Yet came he as a child! Andi Zioin’s fa-vored ewe rowin dim, Knew not her promised Lord in Him, The lowly and the mnild! She saw the manver, and the tree, And scornful cried,” Can this be He?” A NONYE510tS. CHRI.T STILLING

THE TEMPEST. FEARa was within the tossinz bak, When stormy vindls grew loud, And wavres came rolling high and dark, Andl the tall mrast was bowed. WHo art thou, stranger? Nay, read on, I will not ask thy name or lot; Whether thy days be well niahl gone Or in their spring-it matters not; Thou art my brother! and for thee Stranger! shlall my best wishes be.

Life is a sea of stormy pair; Thou klnowvest it or thou soon wtilt know: Thine be the faith that braves the main, When its most angprv tempests blow: Thinie anchor east within the veil; None ever knew that ino(n’irig fail. And men stood breathless in their dread, An(l baffledl in their skillBut One was there, who rose and said To the wild sea, “‘Be still!”

Andl the wind ceased-it ceased-that wora Passed through the zloomy sky; The troubled bI;lows knewv their Lord, And sank beneath his eye. Thine be the love,-refinedl fr(m sense, Tlat seeks its object in the skies, Draws all its warmth and brightness thence, Its comfort, confidence, and joys; An(d be thy best affections driven, To Him, who loved thee first, in heaven. And( slumber settled on the deep, And silence on the blast, As when the rizhteous falls asleep, When leath’s fierce throes are past. Thou that didst rule the anqry hour, And tame the tempest’s mnood, Oh! send thyr Spirit forth in power, O’er our dark souls to brood! Thou that diist bow the billow’s pride, Thy mandates to fulfil,So speak to passion’s razing title, Speakl and stay,-Peace, be still. MRS. HEMANS. Thine be the refilige,-ever foundc By them who seek in faith andi prayerFrom all the trials that abouind Throi,:rhout this wilflern(ss of care, The faithfulness of Hirn, whose love Storms can not quench, nor death remove.

Thine be the meekness of the flower That bows its head before the blast; Increase in wisdom and in power; Be lowliness around( thee cast; Thy faith an r love, likle flames of fire Trembl ing, the higher they aspire. And when thy Master calls thee, thine, Thine be the crown of endless joy, Where heaven’s eternal rivers shine Beneath a brizht and cloud(iless sky.

Those realms-nhow beautiful and fair, Stranger! a blissful meeting there!

ANoxymo’& A-E’SSIAH’S ADVENT. HE came not in his people’s day, Of miracle and mighlt, When awe-struck nations owned their sway, And conquest crowned each fight;Whien nature’s self with wonder saw, Her ancient power, her boasted law, To feeble man give wayThe elements of earth and heaven For Israel stayed-for Judah riven! Pillar and cloud1 Jehovah gave, High emblems of his grace; Anl clove the rock, and smote the wave, Moved inounfains from their place;But judamrnent waas with mercy blentIn thunder was the promise sent Fierce lightnings vei!erl his facee; The jealous God-the burning lawWere all thy chosen people saw. Behold them-pilg,rim tribes no more The promised land their own; And blessings theirs of sea and shore, To other realms unknown: From aze to ag,e a favored line, Of might,y’,inv an.ql seers divine, A t’r,;,,fa 1 a t tu o orne: Not’I,’-n,’,t in th;e hom of shamne, Wo, w: nt, a.’ w\a,-n^TsRth-en’-He came.” I I ii I I II I il I i i I I ,I I i’i I ;I I I i i i I I 4,7 Not in the eai-thqua’kf-‘,,; rending force, Not in the bl,tstin!z fire; Not iii’,lie wit(I’s rushing course, C,,tnie He their soul’s desire!

Foreriiiinei-s of his coniin,, these, Proclaiming over earth and seas, As God, his might and ire; ‘I’he still, small voice-tbe boverit-,,- do,%,e, Proved him Messiah-spoke him Ill,i v.(,!” 0 BEST WISHES. THE MIFRCIES OF

REDEMPTION. Oi4! can siieh charms be left to waste, Unm,-ir’ke(i by man’s insensate taste? Can beauty, use, and health, Be spread before regardless eves, And not one thankful accent rise For all creation’s wealth? Alas! in vain-if outward sense Is claimed by ITeaven’s benevolence, How sball it hope to reach The cqlloiis bo,,om’s inmost core, And bid the heart with love run o’cr, That mocks the vent of sreec’h? ,tich love as lost an,]

rii’,nerl man Oweg to releinpti(,n’s wonli-ou.,; pian; – S,uch love,is!le (itm,-,inJs.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Who, clothed in poverty’s disgrace, Was given on earth no resting-place, Save by his murderers’ hands. The Son of God descend from Heaven! The Son of God( to slaughter given For manr’s etffending race! Oh! help us to conceive aright The mysteries of’ that awful sight, Oh! help us, guardian grace! When all the heavenly host around Heard the tremendous fiat’s sound, That man was doon-ed to die; Each on the other gazed in dread, Each hung his sad angelic head, And silence filled the sky. Then, like the light, first-born above, :,ad launched o’er earth by holy love, Stood ibrth the all,racious Son; Eager to pay the appointed price, Offered HLMSFLzF the sacrifice, Anrd man’s redemption won. Shot through the vast etlihereal space, Flew the briglht messen,er of grace At heaver’s appointed hour; And o’er yon low Judean roof, While human power stood far aloof, Announced the Incarnate Power. The Virgin hears, with holy awe, The great fillfilmient of the law, Sprung fiomn herself on earth; And now the manifesting star Calls wisdom from the east afair, To hail the promisedl birth. Ye nations, worshipl at the call! Emmanuel comes, to rescue all From death’s relentless doom: Thou slumbering world, awake and see Thy life and immortality In yon poor manger’s gloom! Lay down your worthy offerings here; The myrrh he loves is sorrow’s tear, O’er conscious guilt distilled; His frankincense the grateful sigh Of guilt redeemed fiom misery Thus be his temple filled! ‘ Peace and good-will” to earth he brings, And heaven that hears, in transport sings! Oh! turn to him alone, Turk, Heaithei, Jew! till Heaven behold One Shepherd, and one spotless fold Surround Jehovah’s throne. ” Soldier, rise-the war is done: Lo! the hosts of hell are flying; ‘Twas thy Lord the battle won; Jesus vanquished them by dying. Pass the stream-before thee lies All the conquered land of glory lark what songs of rapture rise, These proclaim the victor’s story. Soldier, lay thy weapons down, Quit the sword, and take the crown, Triumphl! all thy foes are banished, Death is slain, and earth has vanished. CHARLOTTE ELIZ.1B]T}]. A CHURCH-YARD SCENE. How sweet and solemn, all alone, With reverend step, from stone to stone, In a small village churchl-yard lying, O’er intervening flowers to move  And as we read the names unknown, Of young arnd old, to ju dgm ent gon e, And hear, in the caln air above, Time onward, softly flying, To meditate, in Christian love, Upon the dead and dying! Acros s t he silence seem to go With dreamlike motion, wavere, slow, And shrouded in their fold s of s now, The friends we loved on, long ago! Gliding across the sad r etreat, How beautiful th eir phant om feet! What tenderness is in their eyes, Turned where the poor survivor lies, Mid monitory sanctities! What nme ars of vanished jo y s are fanned From one uplifting of that hand In its white stillness! e then the shade Doth glimmeringly in sunshine fade From our embrace, how dim appears This world’s life, through a mist of tears! Vain hopes! Wild sorrows! Needless fears!I Such is the scene around me now: A little church-yard, on the brow Of a green pastoral hill: Its sylvan village sleeps below, And faintly, here, is heard the flow Of Woodbtir-n’s summer )ill; A place where all things mournful meet, And, yet, the sweetest of the sweet!The stillest of the still! With what a pensive beauty fall, Across the mossy, mouldering wall That rose-tree’s clustered arches! See The robin-redbreast, warily, Bright through the blossoms leaves his nest Sweet ingrate! through the winter blest At the firesides of men-but shy Through all the sunny, summer hours,He hides himself among the flowers In his own wild festivity. What lulling sound, and shadow cool, Hangs half the darkened church-yard o’er, From thy green depths, so beautiful, Thou gorgeous sycamore! Oft hath the lonely wine and bread, Been blest beneath thy murmuring tent, Where many a bright and hoary head, Bowed at the awful sacrament. Now all beneath the turf are laid, On which they sat, and sang, and prayed. Alone that consecrated tree Ascends the tapering spire, that seems To lift the soul up silently To heaven, with all its dreams!While in the belfry, deep and low, From his heaved bosom’s purple Beame The dove’s continuous mltrmurls flow, A dirge-like song, half-bliss, half wvo,~ The voice so lonely seems! JOHN WIL 9 ^ CHRISTIAN

WARFARE. SOLDIER, go, but not to claim Mouldering spoils of earth-born treasure, Not to build a vaunting name, Not to dwell in tents of pleasure.

Dream not that the way is smooth, Hope not that the thorns are roses; Turn no wishful eye of youth Where the sunny beam reposes; Thou hast sterner work to do Hosts to cut thy passage through: Close behind thee gulfs are burningForward! there is no returning. Soldier, rest-but not for thee Spreads the world her downy pillow; On the rock thy couch must be, While around thee chafes the billow Thine must be a watchful sleep, Wearier than another’s waking; Such a charge as thou dost keep Brooh os no moment of forsaking. Slee.n, as on the battle-field, Gir(led-z-rasping sword and shield rhfse thou canst not name nor number, Steal upon thv broken slumber. I 1, II i I i, I i i i i I I I i 4 S’-,; HODGSOlq.

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THE SACRED ROSARY. There’s a charm in delivery-a magical art That thrills like a kiss, from the lip to the heart; ‘Tis the glance-the expression-the well-chosen word4 By whose magic the depths of the spirit are stirred; The smile the mute gesture-tthe soul-startling pause, The eye’s sweet expression, that melts while it awes The lips soft persuasion, its musical tone: 0 such was the charm of that eloquent one! THE day was declining-the breeze in its glee Had left the fair blossoms to sing on the sea, As the sun in its gorgeousness, radiant and still, Dropped down like a gem from the brow of the hill, One tremulous star in the glory of June Came out with a smile and sat down by the moon, As she graced her blue throne with the pride of a queen, She smiles of her loveliness gladdened the scene.

The scene was enchanting! in distance away Rolled the foam-crested waves of the Chesapeake bay, While bathing in moonlight the village was seen With the church in the distance that stood on the green, The soft-sleeping meadows lay brightly enrolled, With their mantles of verdure and blossoms of gold, And the earth in her beauty, forgetting to grieve, Lay asleep in her bloomn on the bosom of eve. & light-hearted child, I had wandered away From the spot where my footsteps had gamboled all day; And free as a bird’s was the song of my soul, As I heard the wild waters exultingly roll; While lightening my heart as I sported along, With bursts of low laughter and snatches of song, I struck in the pathway half worn o’er the sod By the feet that went up to the worship of God. The time is long past -ye t what v isi ons I see! The past, the dim past, is the present to me; I am standing once more’mid that heart-stricken throng, A vision floats up-‘tis the theme of my songAll glorious and bright as a slpiirit of air, The light, like a halo encircling his hair, As I catch the same accents of sweetness and love, He whispers of Jesus, and points us above. As I traced its green windings, a murmur of prayer With the hymn of the worshippers rose on the air, And drawn by the links of its sweetness along, [ stood unobserved in the midst ot’f the throng. For awlile my young spirit still wandered about With the birds, and the winds, that were singing with out; But birds, waves, and zephyrs, were quickly forgot In one ang,el-like being that brightened the spot. How sweet to my heart is the picture I’ve traced! Its chain of bright fancies seem almost effaced, Till Memory, the fond one that sits in the soul, Took up the frail links, and collected the whole. As the dew to the blossom-the bud to the beeAs the scent to the rose-are those memories to me. Round the cords of my heart they have tremblingly clung, And the echo it gives is the song I have sung. CoR. oF

LOUISVILLE JOURNAL In stature majestic, apart from the throng, He stood in his beauty, the theme of my song! His cheek pale with fervor-the blue orbs above Lit up with the splendors of youth and of love, Yet the heart-glowing rapture that beamed from those eyes Seemed saddened by sorrow, and chastened by sighs, As if the young heart in its bloom had grown cold With its loves unrequited, its sorrows untold. NOT worlds on worlds in phalanx deep, It Need we to prove a God is here: The daisy, fresh from winter’s sleep, Tells of his hand in lines as clear. Such language as his may I never recall, But his theme was salvation-salvation to allAnd the souls of a thousand in ecstasy hung On the mnanna-like sweetness that dropped from his tongue. Not alone on the ear his wild eloquence stole: Enforced by each gesture, it sunk to the soul, Till it seemed that an angel had brightened the sod, And brought to each bosom a message from God. Then fling it, unrestrained and free, O’er hill and dale, and desert sod, That man, where’er he walks, may set In every step, the stamp of God. J. M. GOOD. He spoke of the Savior-what pictures he drew! The scenes of his sufferings rose clear on my viewThe cross-the rude cross, where he suffered and died; The gush of bright crimson that flowed from his side; The cup of his sorrows-the wormwood and gall; The darkness that mantled the earth as a pall; The garland of thorns; and the demon-like crews Who knelt as they scoffed him, “Hail, King of the Jews!”

GOD is not great because on ipotent! But because power in him is understood, And felt and proved, to be benevolent, And wise, and holy-thus it ever should! For what HE wills, we know is pure and good, And has in view the happiness of ALL: Hence love and adoration-never could The contrite spirit at his footstool fall, If power, and power alone, its feelings did appal! He spoke, and it seemed that his statue-like form’

Expanded and glowed, as his spirit grew warm; His tone so impassioned-so melting his air, As touched with compassion he ended in prayer; His hands clasped above him-his blue orbs upthrown, Still pleading for sins that were never his own, While that mouth where such sweetness ineffably clung, Still spoke, though expression had died on his tongue. O God! what emotions the speaker awoke! A mortail he seemed-yet a Deity spoke; A man-yet so far from humanity riven; Qn earth-yet so closely connected with heaven! How oft in my fancy I’ve pictured trim there As he stood in that trinumplh of passion and prayer, With his eyes closetl in rapture -their transient eclipse Made bright by the smnil-s that illuiniaed his lip l , i 489′ c — PI’LPIT ELOQUENCE. The time is long past-yet how clearly defined That bay, church, and village, float up on my mind; I see amid azure the moon in tier pride, With the sweet little trembler that sat by her side; I hear the blue waves, as she wanders along, Leap up jn their gladness and sing her a song, And I tread in the pathway lialf worn o’er the sod By the feet that went up to the worship of God. THE DAISY. For who but be that arelied the skies, And pours the day-spring’s living flood, Wondrous alike in all he tries, Could rear the daisy’s purple bud? Mould its green cup, its wiry stem, Its fringed border nicely spin, And cut the -old-embossed gern, That, set in silver, gleams within? POWER AND BENEVOLENCE. If then divinest power be truly so, Because its object is to bless; It follows, that all power which man can know, The highest even monarchs can possess, Displays alone, their “less than littleness,” Unless it seen the happiness ot’man, And lory of the Highest:-iiotli i ng less Than such a-iise of power one moment can Make its possessor great, on wis(loi-r’s god-like plan, BART(,*.

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TIlE MIRROR Yet, in her final night, amid her stood Inmortal messengers, and pausing Heaven Pleaded with man, but she was quite imnbued, Her last hour waned-she scorned to be forgiven. ‘Twas done! down poured at once the sulphurous shown Down stooped, in flame, the heaven’s red canopy. 0y h!

for the arm of God, in that fierce hour! ‘Twas vain, nor help) of God or man was nigh. They rush, they bound, they howl, the men of sin; Still stoopel the cloud, still burst the thicker blaze, The earthquake heaved!-then sank the hideous din I Yon wave of darkness o’er their ashes strays. Rev. G. CROLY. Can all thadt o otics tc h, unfold Ihy, fSoill to l.‘lcase ine so, As when I dr-eamued of gemso and old Hid in thy radiai: t bow I When Science fiom crca.tior’s face Endch’.tsLne’s Xeil ci iaws, P E.

FRiENlDS What lovely visionIs yield ther place To cold material lawis.

PARTFDl friends may meet again, When the storms of life are past; And the spirit freed from pain, Basks in fi’iendship that will last. And yet, fair bow, no fillling dreams, But words ct tlhe AMost Iijlh, Have toltl, wli lirst til itrbe of beams WAas wvoven in tile sky. Worldly cares may sever wide Distant far their path may be; But, the bond by Death untied, They shall once again be free. When oer the ieeni uii(leluged earth Heav-en’s ov’caat thlou didist shine, How canie the woi Ild’s,ar fathters forth To watchl tiy sacred sian! And when its yellow iustre smiled O’er nountiains ye(t uitro’], Each motlher held tloft her child To bless the bow of God.

Death-,the end of care and pain Death, the wretch’s happiness meed, Death can l)reak the strongest chain, Death is liberty indeed. Methiinks thy jubilee to keep, The first-mnade, anlthemn rang, On earth delivered fromn the deep, And the fir.st poet sang. Nor ever shall the Muse’s eye Unraptured greet thy beam: Theme of primeval prophecy, Be still the poet’s theme! Parted friends again may meet, From the toils of na,tuire free; Crowned with mercy, Oh! how sweet Will eternal itendship be! C. W. THoMSO.

OH’tis lovely to watch ye at twilight rise, When the last gleam fades in the distant skies When the silver chime of the minster-bell, And the warbling fount in the woodland dell, And the viewless sounds inii the upper air, Proclaim.the hour of prayer! Toe earth to thee its incense yields, The lark thn welcome sings, When glittering in the fieshened fields The snowy imiushroom springs. How glorious is thy girdle cast, O’er mountain, tower, and town; Or mirrored in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms (]own! Then ye shine in beauty above the sea, Bright wanderers o’er the blue sky free! Catching the tone of each sighing breeze, And the whispering sound of the forest-trees, Or the far-off voice, through the quiet dim Of some hanilet’s hymn! As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. And the midnight, too, all still and lone! Ye guard in beauty, from many a throne! In your silver silence throughout the hour, Watching the rest of each folded flower, Gladdening withi vision’s each infant’s sleep, Through the night hour deep! For, faithful to its sacred page, H e aven s till rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the tylpe,,row pale with age, That first spoke peace to man. T. C AMPBELL. Yes, ye look over Nature’s hushed repose, By the forest still where the strean)let flows, 3y the breezeless hush of many a plain, knd the pearly flow of the silver main, Or sweetly far o’er satme chapel shrine Of the olden time! rHi wind blows chill across those gloomy waves; Oh! how unlike the green and dlancing main! [he surge is foul as if it rolled o’er graves: Stranger! here lie the cities of the plain. Yes, on that plain, by wild waves covered no,%at Rose palace once, and sparkling pinnacle; On pomp and spectacle beamed mornine’s glow, On pomp and festival the twilight fell. T hu s in shadeless glory ye onward roll, Bright realms of beauty, from pole to pole! ‘Mid the vaulted space where your bright paths hl, In the hidden depths of the midnight sky, To some far4)ff land-to some distant home, ‘Neath the ocean’s toam!

l,ovely and splendid all-but Sodom’s soul Was stained with blood, aid pride, and perjury; Long warnedl, long spared, till her whole heart was foul, And fiery vengeanc en its clotids caine nigh. Andi still she miel 1, an, l l,ice 1, aiTIIE IZAI,21,BO V. Tp,iu,,ip.,,,IAL ai-eli, tli,-Ilt the ,,ky, ‘Wheii storins pr(-I)ai,e to part, I ,k not I)roud i)l,ilu-copliy To i,eacli file wlitt tliou art. Still seem as to iiiy cliil(iliood’s sight, A.rlidway station gln,ell l,‘or ha,,)I)- sl)iiits to a]’:,I_,Iit Betw’LKL the e,.irtli aiid I,.eaven. PARTED FRIENDS. THE STARS. THE DEAD SEA. But lo!

the 1,tr voice ot the waiin,7, sea, And the diiii (](,,w risin,, o’er lawn and l,i, And i.lic first 1,,iint tiiize, of tl,e e-trlv Sliinin o’ei- t tie (,ceiin’s,i)tav Oli, i-e tli,-tt!,(,e!i ,,s, I,.ow(i- qiid’,I T) e F I I, o, IA t!! c I I I I-,-well T-1 pr.

Page 491 view page image itR.() -VI~Y. Yet thinki not, lhoi(,lh fi-lcrn and drear The laiatic’s door his hlot the worst: Ther e is a:;ulilinn ln7oie severe Tlhn t h(: sad records have rehearsed ‘Tis his, wvhlose vilrttle strugg,les still In hopeless c(;ntflict with his still. I WOULD not be A leaf on yonder aspen tree; In every fickle breeze to play, Wildly, weakly, idly, gay, So feebly fi’amed, so lightly hung, By the wing of an insect stirred and swung; Thrilling ev’n to a redbreast’s note, Drooping if only a light mist float, Brightened and dimmed like a varyirng glass, As shadow or sunbeam chance to pass:I would not be A leaf on yondler aspen tree. It is not because the autumn sere Would change my merry guise and clheerThat soon, full soon, nor leaf, nor stem, Sunlight would gladden, or dew-dro) gemThat I, with my fellows, must fall to the earth, Forgotten our beauty and breezy mirth, Or else on the bough where all had grown,T Must linger on, and linger alone; Might life be an endless summer’s day, And I be for ever green and gay, I would not be, I would not be, A leaf on yonder aspen tree! Th’llere ale)-whoselo>C n ~!,i) ta] car hias heard WTuha e isec anslii sT,:,’ /

(,ize!” y et pione to wrong, Igaee pilou(ly’, lilesly yrefnsrr n The soi)hisi’MISS JEWSBURY. For him-awake-asleep-there came No vision of sweet rest; Undying memory, like a flame, Burned in his guilty breast: Dark as the weary gloom around His soul was dark within; For, oh! he lived but in the sound Of shamelessness and sin. His mother heard his final doom, With shrieks that thrilled through allOh! could naught save him from the tomb I Must he must he! thus fall? The arrow pierced her aged head, With cold and deadly pain; She tottered senseless to her bed. And never rose again!

To see the human mind o’erturned, Its loftiest heights in ruin laid, And reason’s lamnp, which brightly burned, Obscured, or quenched in phrensy’s shade: A sight like this may well awake Our grief, our fear-for nature’s sake. It is a painful, humbling thought To knowv the empire of the mind, With wit endowed, with science fraught, Is fleeting as the passing wind; And that the richest boon of heaven To man-is rather lent than given.

To-day he sits on reason’s throne, An,l bils hIis subject powners obey: Thought, mnemory, will-all seem his own, Come at his bi lding, list his sway; To-mornrow-fronm ilominiio)n hurledNta,lness pTHE ASPE.LN LEttF. Tlici-e,it-e-l)ef’cre incnfitl eye Tr titii 1,,is fiei- cliai,ii,s (lisplayed; But gati(ier,Ili,,ii’(:ii-l-s fiit’i-iiig by, T ‘ie t,i-i-ii-ig still beti-a3,ed; Till I clcii(Is in a%-;ft,.l n’glit, c)f’ Heavenly light. There are, iii slici-t, d-i3-s I)i-e,, One cotist,,ii-t scene of ll,,,itilu] str lvlio liotirli- ffi, Fresli co tliis’dre-,i,m of II-,is in.i(i, acli An (i y(.t, tl,is f’e-,,,r to With th(-ii-s the d Ttioti,-,Ii abj’cct, iiiii’t be e(;tiiited bl flis iiiiild, tioti !i el’te!i in gloo At times niiy l,noNN, t -,,,,icai-it rest: Not so, wl)ile thought cc-iscience TJI,on tllf-, heart -,%,Iiicli slights their s 0 Thou! whose cause they both espo In ii-iercy bid such coiiflict cease; Strengthen the waleiiing si-,iner’s vo And grant him penitence and peac Or else, in pity, o’er the soul The dark’ning clouds of madness roU. BAR-rom THE CRIMINAL. TliE dungeon walls were dark and high, The narrow pavement bare, No sunlight of the blessed sky Might ever enter there: In all the melancholy weeks The prisoner cliaitie(i had lain, No breath of heaven had kissed his cheek8, Or cooled his fevered brain. THE MANIAC. Fa.,,t flew the fat.-tl liotirs-lie trod T,ife’s I)rliili, n.lone; Yet iio God 11 Hii- I)e,,ii-i vis to stone.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. On whieels of light, on wings of flame, The glorious hosts of Zion came; High heaven with songs of triumph rung, While thus they struck their harps and sung I saw hidn as he passed along, A branded death to die; Wild curses were upon his tongue Despair, and blasphemy! If there be one these lines may teach A moral, not in vain Have I endeavored thus to reach A more reflective strain; The picture is from life-each day As sad a tale records: Virtue! may thy eternal ray Light all our deeds and words! CHARLES SWAIN. 0 Zion! lift th y raptured eye, The long expected hour is nigh; The joys of nature rise again, The Prince of Sale m comes to reign. See, Mercy, from her golden urn, Pours a rich stream to them that mourn; Behold she binds with tender care, The bleeding bosom of despair.

He comes! to cheer the trembling heart, Bids Satan and his host depart; Again the day-star gilds the gloom, Again the bowers of Eden bloom; 0

Zion! lift thy r aptured eye, The long expected hour is nigh; The joys of nature rise again, The Prince of Salem comes to reign. C AMPBELL. VFRSES

WRITTEN AFTER REC OVERING FROM B A DANGEROUS ILLNESS. THOUGHI taught by woes to mortals seldom known, The humbling truth, that “man is not his own,” That, till we live to Him for us who died, All love is selfish, and a. knowledge pride, All happiness a momentary gleam, All hope a meteor, and all peace a dream: Though taught this truth by discipline severe, (Such as health could not, life could scarcely bear), Strong are the ties which still my mind entwine, And counteract the work of love divine. The world, the world, its glittering baits prepares, Its friendship offers, and obtrudes its cares; Still would intemperate fancy wildly stray, Spite of the secret check, the secret ray; Weak to withstand, and yet afraid to yield, I neither keep, nor wholly quit the field. Father of mercies, “till the day-spring rise,” And thy salvation glad my longing eyes; Till doubt and fear like “morning shadows flee,” And all my griefs are lost in love of thee; While through this cheerless wild I faintly strive, Hope sore depressed, and Faith but just alive, Teach me to dread all guidance but thy own, And patient tread “in paths I have not known:” Forgive my murmurings; let thy quickening power Support my spirit in the gloomy hour; And, when the host of household foes appal, “Turn, thou beloved,” at my feeble call. Come “with the swiftness of the mountain roe,“C And strength, proportioned to my wants, bestow; Teach me those wants more deeply still to feel, And deep)ly feelingz, suppliant when to kneel; Oh! in my soul that ardent thirst renew, Which naught can satiate but celestial dew; Drive thou from thence unprofitable care, Yea, all that mars it for a house of prayer; Dislodge alike the abject and the proud, Passion’s low mist, and notion’s airy cloud; Whate’er thy power has shaken, shake again, Till naught but things immovable remain. Thus, gracious Father, break each false repose, And unrelenting, “rule amidst thy foes,” Till, everyv low propensity exiled, ,‘My soul is even as a weaned child,” From mean self-love, or gross, or specious, free, And all my treasures, all my springs in thee. MARRIOT. So the lost sunbeam, in its soft reflection, Beamed from the bosom of the Queen of night, Sheds over nature’s face a recollection, More fair, more tender, though, indeed, less bright. Thus will the touch of memory awaken, And bid the sabbath shine along the week, And bring again sweet moments long forsaken, And altars which the spirit fain would seek WHEN Jordan hushed his waters still, And silence slept on Zion’s hill; When Bethlehem’s shepherds through the night, Watched o’er their flocks by starry light; Hark! from the midnight hills around, A voice of more than mortal sound In distant hallelujah’s stole, Wild murmuring o’er the raptured soul. Thlen swift to every startled eye, New streams of glory light the sky; Heaven tbursts her azure gates to pour Her spirits to the nii.tnight hour. Of holy converse, and of h i gh co mmun ion, Of praise celestial, and of ardent prayer, Of sacred mystery, and the blessed union Of hearts which glowed in our possession there. How doubly blest? first in the full possessing, And after in reflected life and light! The past-the present-plenitude,f blessing, Which not eternity itself will blight! J.t j:tas EiDl\ESTONI& I 492 CHRISTIAN TRIUMPHS.

THOUGII laurel crowns and victor wreaths Be for the sons of triumph twined; Though song her sweetest music breathes For the destroyers of our kind; Oh let them weep, for time shall sweep Their perishable pomp away; Oh let them mourn, for death shall turn The proudest conqueror into clay But here’s a deathless coronet, Wrought for the holy and the wise, And here is music sweeter yet, Which never faints and never dies! The good may see earth’s glory flee, Heaven’s ever living glory theirs; Their path is peace and pleasantness, And they are joy’s immortal heirs. JOHN BowRypia.

RECOLLECTION. HAIL, gentle Echo, Music’s softer daughter, Reclining on thy deep romantic seat; From cliff, or thick-set wood, or rocky water, Springing to meet us on ethereal feet! Yet in the soul doth softer Echo linger, It seems the spirit of departed song; When touchld again by MF-MORY’s airy finger, The harp note wanders lovelily along. Such is the train of holy thought Peturnin, When sacred seasons long have passed away, By meinory rekindled, glowing, burning Indeed with fainter, but as sweet a ray. CHRIST’S NATIVITY.

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493 ltour!-foir then where He resorts, otastes of future bliss are given, ortals find his earthly courts House of God-tl e Gate of Heaven. O Thtou!

who mak’st the sun to rise, Beamn on my soul, illume mine eyes, And guide me through this world of care: The wandering atom thou canst see. The falling sparrow’s marked by thee, Then, turning Mercy’s ear to me, Listen!

listen! Listen to an infant’s prayer! O Thou! whose blood was spilt to save Man’s nature from a second grave; To share in whose redeeming care, Want’s lowliest child is not too mean, Guilt’s darkest victim too unclean, Oh! Thou wilt deign from heaven to lean, And listen, listen, Listen to an infant’s prayer. Hail! peaceful hour, supremely blest Amid the hours of earthly care! The hour that y,ields the spirit rest, That sacred hour the hour of prayer. And w hen my hours of prayer are past, Oh! may I leave these Sabbatlh days, To find eternity at last A never-ending hour of praise. Ri:v. T. R.F}FLIM O Thou! who wilt from monarchs pa To dwell within the contrite heart, And build thyself a temple there; O’er all my dull affections move, Fill all my soul with heavenly love, And, kindly stooping from above, Listen! listen, Listen to an infant’s player! Prayer is the burd en of a sigh, The falling of a tear,The upwarcd glancing of an eye When none but God is near. Prayer is the simplest forin of speech That infant lipl)s can try; Prayer the subl)linest strains that reach The Majesty on high. Prayer is the Christian’s vital breatii The Christian’s native air, His watch-word at the gates of death, He enters Iteaiven with prayer. THE PILGRIIMS OF EMMAUS. IT happened on a solemn eventide, Soon after He who was our surety died, Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined, The scene of all their sorrows left behind. Sought their own village, busied as they went, In musings worthy of the great event: They spake of him they loved, of him whose life Though blameless, had incurred perpetual strife, Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, A deep memorial graven onil their hearts. The recollection, like a vein of ore, The further traced, enriched them still the more; They thought him, and they justly thought him, one Sent to do more than he appeared t’ have done: T’ exalt a people, and to place them high Above all else, and wondered he should die. Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, A stranger joined them, courteous as a friend, And asked them, with a kind, engaging air, What their affliction was, and begged a share. Informed, he gathered up the broken thread, And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said, Explained, illustrated, and searched so well The tender theme, on which they chose to dwell, That reaching home, “The night,” Ihey said, “is near, We need not now be parted-sojourn here.” The new acquaintance soon became a guest, And made so welcome, at their simple feast He blessed the bread, but vanished at the word, And left them both exclaiming-“‘Twas the Lord!

Did not our hearts feel all he deigned to sayDid they not burn within us by the way?” COWPER. Prayer is the contrite sinner’s voice Returning from his ways, While angels on their wings rejoice, And say,-” Belholdl, he prays!” The prophets of all former days; All who win honour, love, and praise, The eloquent tongue, the arm of might, The bard whose soul is love and light, The patriot king, the wise, the brave, Are ever mouldering in the grave. BLEST hour! when mortal man retires To hold communion with his God, To send to heaven his warm desires, And listen to his sacred word. 0

Grave, thou hast thy victory! The desert sands are sown by thee; And years must pass in misery steeped, Ere that dread harvest will be reaped; The desert air is parched and dry, And thousands have lain down to die; The traveller’s steps grow slow and faint His kind hear not his last complaint, See not his last convulsive start, As death is busy at his heart; His -rave is in the burning sand, His memory in his native land.

Blest hour! when earthly cares resign Their empire o’er his anxious breast; While all around, the calm divine Proclaims the holy day of rest.

Blest hour! when God himself draws nigh, Well pleased his people’s voice to hear; To list the penitential sigh, And wipe away the mourner’s tear. i I ,,,! 7 T, r-.,, -,’) , i k – 1, i, T,19 s-kt I N F A.,N,‘F S P I:’, A I E I 1. PRAYER. PRAYER is the soul’s sine(!re desire, Uttercd or unexl,resse(i; The motion of a Iii(Iden fire Tli,-tt trembles iii the I)i-eas.. NF,ELF.. The saints in prayer appear as one In word, and deed, and mind, When with the Father, Spirit, Son, Sweet fellowshil) they find.

Nor prayer is made on earth alone, The H-oly Spirit plea(Is, And Jesus on the eternal throne, For sinners intercedes. 0 thou, by whom we come to God! The Life-the Truth-the Way! The path of prayer thyself has trod, Lord, teach us how to pray! J. MOlqTGID-I THE GRAVE. 0 GRAVF,, thou least thy victory! Beauty and strength are laid with thee; Thus is it in each distant clime; Thus was it in the ancient time. .THE HOUR OF PRAYER.

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‘THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Of old thou hadst thy victory! And Cheops nobly built for thee; Raisi ng t h y tro py in the pile, That casts its shadow many a mile. Thine was the gain when rose on high The FE.ryptian’s mother’s midnight cry; And when God’s angel with the blast Of deatl; among the Assyrians passed; When the unnumbered Persians lay On Salamis at break of day; And when mnid revelr-y. camne down Dalkness on the Italian town,0

Grave, thou hadst thyr victory! WHAT spell has o’er the populous city past? The wonted current of its life is stayed; Its sports, its gainful schemes are earthward cast, As though their vileness were at once displayed; The roar of trade has ceased, and on the air Come holy songs and solemn sounds of prayer. Far spreads the charm; firom every hamlet spire A note of rest, and heavenward thought is pealed: By his calm hearth reclines the peasant sire; The toil-worn steed basks in the breezy field.

Within, without, through farm and cottage blest, ‘Tis one bright day of gladness and of rest. Down from the mountain dwellings, while the dew Shines on the heath-bells, and the fern is bending In the fresh breeze, in festive garbs I view Childhood, and age, and buoyant youth descending.

God! who hast piled thy wonders, round their home, ‘Tis in their love they to thy temple come. Thine are the isles, and thine the sea The hoary hills ar e all thint e own, With the gray cairn and cromlech-stone An,:l groves of oak andl woods of pine, And the dim ocean’s ciaves are thine. Thy ancient slumbers lie beneath The untilled verdurie of the heath: And in the fielbl thy ardent race Outstrips thr hunter in the chase; The mariner gfins no unknown bay, But there thou lurkest for thy prey. A stately ship speeds o’er the mighty main Oh! many a league from our own happy land: Yet firom its heart ascends the choral strain; For there its little isolated band, Amid the ocean desert’s awful roar Praise Himn whose love links shore to distant shore. O’er palmy woods where summer radiance falls, In the glad islands of the Indian main, What thronging crowds the missionary calls To raise to heaven the Christian’s glorious strain. Lo! wlIere engirt by children of the sun, Stands the white man, and counts his victories won. O Grave, what Ico is wrought by thee. What clotudedi years of misery! What lovina hearts hast thou bereft; What joyless, hoppeless mourners left; Young innocence without a guide, Beset with snares on every si(le; Age, with white hairs and chilled blood, Piting in friendless solitude! Yet, than earth’s mightiest mightier, O Grave thou hast thy ivanquisher! Long in thy night was man forlor,n, Long di(hst thou lar ah his lhope to scorn: Vainly Philosophy trrlihot dream, Her ligh t ia s b ot th e meteor gleam, Till rose th e C onquerlor of Deth,The humble Man of’

Nazareth: He stood betw!. en us an(! despair: He bore, and C-ave us stren-,th to bear; The mysteries (cf the crawe unseaied, Our Glorious dlestine revealed; Nor save nor bard inmay comp,rehend The heaven of rest to which we tend. Our home is not this mnortal clime; Our life hath not its bounds in time; And death is but the cloud that lies Between our soul.

an(I paradise. In the fierce deserts of a distant zone, ‘Mid savage nations, terrible and stern, A lonely atom, severed from his own, The traveller wends, death or renown to earn. Parched, fasting, wearied, verging to despair, He kneels, he prays-hope kindles in his prayer. O’er the wide worl(l, blest day, thine influence flies; Rest o’er the sufferer spreads her balmy wings; Love wakes, joy d(lawns, praise fills the listening skies; The expanding heart firom earth’s enchantment springs IlHeaven, for one day, withdraws its ancient ban, Unbars its gates, and dwells once more with man. WILLIAM HOWITT. SPIRITUAL WORSHIP. THOUGH glorious, 0 God! must thy temple have been, On the day of its first dedication, When the cherubim’s wings, widely waving were seen On high, o’er the ark’s holy station; When even thechosen of Levi, though skilled, To minister, standing before Thee, Retired from the cloud( which the temple then filled, And thy glory made Israel adore Thee: O Grave! well knigit each thoughtful rage Give thee the high an(i holy place: Mou ntains and tes were meet for thee, Thou portal of eterniity! Though awfifully grand was thy majesty then; Yet the worship thy gospel discloses, Less splendid in pomp to the vision of men, Far surpasses the ritual of Moses.

And by whom was thait ritual for ever repealed? But by Him unto whom it was given To enter the Oracle, where is revealed, Not the cloud, but the brightness of heaven. How fair and how lovelv it is to l)ehold The sun in its splendor, approaching, the west, Its rac e i s near run, an rr efulgen t as gold, It glide s througs,h the ether as hastening to rest. Who, having once entered, hath shown us the way O Lord, how to worship before thee; Not with shadowy forms of that earlier day, But in spirit and trofth to adore thee! This, this is the worship the Savior made known, When she of Samaria found him, By the patriarch’s well, sitting weary, alone, With the stillness of noontide around him. It sinks,-but in sinkitg’tis only to rise, Its splendor an l fIlorv afresh to display; it sets,-but in other anl far distant skies, It rises and reigns in the brightness of day. Yet far more, resplendent than this is the scene Of the nood man approaching the confines of time, All loving, all peaceful, all calm and serene, He pa-sses awNay with a brightness sublime. He dies, but no pencil can ever dlisplay, The spleonih or an- also thait bil ti. on his sight, As _ui le-l h y onceis ho sleels on hi;s wary Tlhro-,l-zh te c,o:tals o[ pratsJ the’ o pie of lhtqlt. J. TIA,,rs. How sublime, yet how simple the homage he taught ! To hOer, wiho inqid reaal by that fountain, ! If Jeh.ovah at Sola’s shrine would be sought? | COr:tlea oln S-ia.nari-‘s mountiaitn? 11

I I 494 THE SABBATH. i I MARY HOWITT. TFIF, Dr,.ATT4 op rHr,, RT(‘.-IlTr,,OUS.

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Whose passion, ardent yet refined, Survives the charms of youth, May sadlly mousrn love’s bre!:en tie Within] the lonely hlall, Anti h1eave the) solitary sizh, Whenl thesqe youngr leavesq shall fall. Hail, Vittuev!ail!‘From tiee i’u:‘ecCurc oy Thb. zr’at desigln, th’ her oic deo’, The hiea,t that melts for htma woes Maa,l n r Valor, an I trttth, anI cal!O 1rcp::se’. Thollh fitrtune fron, tlilotoll tfte prepare Her shIlts, andl w ake cor o 3 i ng cte u e, Thoug1h wrathfill clonIs involve the skies, Thoitzh lizlhtnin? glare and storms arise, In vain to shake the gui;tless sotil, Clian1ed fottune frowns and tmuniders roll. OhMan! v y (late of joy is brief, More brief is p~leasulre’s houlr; It wvitherls lilke thle bli.Mited le.af  Fades like the grathere3 qcwer. The view is awfill, yet subtlime, Of earth’s sqtill changretif ball; I shrink wvhile mulsing on the time, When these youlng leaves shlall fall. Pile Avarice, thy yellow hoard; Spread, Luxllr, thy costly board. Amb~ition, crown thy head with bays; Let Sloth recline on bedls of ease; Admired, aored, let Beauty roll The ~nt.ic eve that melts the soul; Unle ss. with tlmr ifying fires, Virtue, the conscious soul inspires, In vain, to b’r intruding wo, Wealth, fame, and power, and pleasure flow. But hark! 1 hea r on ai ry voice Thoft rvhisoele us ien heart, ear”~Thoul wrho dost mo, rn whlen most rejoice, Andl sa, lfle nest hlope v: it~l fealr, T!’ worhstollv c~ar,‘s an, wzoes may]\ r’est W~ithin the chulrch-vat,1 wall, Andl dlak wr.‘swls wailh~r o?n thx’ br-east. When thense y(;u-nfz l;(aTves sh1all filll.’’

ANONYMOU~ To ne thy sovereign gift impart, The resolulte, unshaken heart, To “nile me from the flowery way Where pleasure tunes her siren lay; Deceitffl path! where shame and care The poiseonouis shaft, concealed, prepare t And shiel I me with thy generous pride3 When ftshion scoffs, and fools deride. Ar HiF in Re ST GRAVE. A s1x,,L.;: grave! the only one Iu1 tliis t’nrokcn)l grlound, W\he:re ye (t the garden’I leatf and flower, Aret lingrl rerin ar anndl. Ne’er let Ambition’s meteor ray Mislead my reason, and betray Mv fancyr with the gilded dream Of hoarded altw h and noisy fa te. But let my soul, consenting liow, Compassionate of others’

wo. Teach me the kind, endlearing art To heal the mourner’s broken heart, To ease the rankling wounds of care, And sooth the phrensy of desp~air. A wih lth egram!my he art haes felt How utterlyi allome Inl crowdled al sa1, wshere breathed~ for m.e No~t one famUiliar tonc: My pulse has quickened with its awe, My lip has gtaspted for breath; But what were they to such as tltis The solitut1e of dIeath! So, lovely v irg~in, may I gain Admission to thy hallowed fane; Where peace of mind, of eye serene. Of heavenly hue, and placid mien, Leads, smilin”, thy celestial choir, Andi trikeo the consecrated lyre. And may tha t minstrelsey, whose cha C an ra,.e. a=q c’re, I a’wi( n!l’Trief dli;sarrr Can I’ asion’ l!ss 1 f’.ce control, Sc..’”.:{::t, lo],-Icate ton soul! a a ce f standli beneath tl’(‘ li ounted yew, An’,l w a tclts e aclv qjino t to,’ lm; .Ap., in tile anti’calt churc;h-y~ard fc& $(So – ntv4.t.not gkvcm:

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‘rIlE MIRROR I,IBRARY. Thile place is ii’wl witdh hope, The hope that is of p)rayer; And human love, and heavenwardl thought, And pious faith are there. The wild flowers spring amid the grass; And many a stone appeais, Carved by affection’s memory, Wet with affection’s tears. I see Him!n the blazing sun, And in the thunder-cloud: I hear Himn in the mighty roar, That rushetlh through the forest hoar, When winds are piping loud. I see Him, hear Him, everywhere, In all things-darkness, light, Silence, and sound; but most of all, When slumber’s dusky curtains fall, At the dead hour of night. I feel Him in the silent dews, By grateful earth betrayed; I feel Hinm in the gentle showers, The soft south wind, the breath of flower. The sunshine and the shade. The golden chord which binds us all, Is loosed, not rent in twain; And love, and hope, and fear unite To bring the past again. But this grave is so desolate, With no remembering stone, No fellow-graves for sympathy’Tis utterly alone. And yet (ungrateful that I am), I’ve turned in sullen mood From all these things, whereof He said, When the great whole was finished, That they were ” very good.” I do not know who sleeps beneath, His history or nameWhether if; lonely in his life, He is ill death the same: My sadness on the loveliest things Fell like the unwholesome dew; The darkness that encompassed me, The gloom I felt so palpably, Mine own dark spirit threw. Yet was He patient-slow to wrath, Though every day provoked By selfish, pining discontent. Acceptance cold or negligent, And promises revoked; And still the same rich feast was spriea For my insensate heart! Not always so-I Woke again To join Creation’s rapturous strain, “0 Lord, how good thou art.” Whether he died unloved, unmourned, The last leaf on the bough; Or if some desolated hearth Is weeping for him now. Perhaps this is too fanciful: Though single be his sod, Yet not the less it has around The presence of his God. It may be weakness of the heart, But yet its kindliest, best; Better if in our selfish world It could be less repressed.’ Those gentler charities which draw Man closer with his kindThose sweet humanities which make The music which they find. How many a bitter word’twould hush How many a pang’twould save, If life more precious held those ties Which sanctify the grave! Miss LA?DON. PRAYER. STANZAS. 0 THOU Great Being! what thou art Surpasses me to know: Yet sure I am, that, known to thee Are all thy works below. DAYS of my youth! ye have glided away; Hairs of my youth! ye are frosted and gray; Eyes of my youth! your keen sight is no more; Cheeks of my youth! ye are furrowed all o’er; Strength of my youth! all thy vigor is gone; Thoughts of my youth! your gay visions are flown, Thy creature here before thee stands, All wretched and distressed: Yet sure those ills that wring my soul Obey thy high behest. Sure thou, Almighty, canst not act From cruelty or wrath! Oh, free my weary eyes fi’om tears, Or close them fast in death.

But if I must afflicted be, To suit some wise design; Then man my soul with firm resolves To bear and not repine! BuRNm Days of my youth! I wish not your recall; Hairs of my youth! I’m content ye shall fall; Eyes of my youth! you much evil have seen; Cheeks of my- youth! bathed in tears you have been; Thoughts of m-y youth! ye have led me astray; Strength of my youth! why lament thy decay? Days of my age! ye will shortly be past; Pains of my age; yet awhile ye can last; Joys of my age! in true wisdom delight; Eyes of my age! be religion your light; Thoughts of my age! dread ye not the cold sod; Hopes of my age! be ye fixed on your God. TUCKER. ODE

TO DUTY. STERN Daughter of the Voice of God I 0 Duty! if that name thou love Who art a Light to guide, a Rod To check the erring, and reprove; Thou who art victory and law, When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free, And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity.

There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, WN’liere no misgiving is, rely Upon the geni,al sense of youth: THERE IS A TONGUE -IN EVERY LEAF. THERE: is a tongue in every leaf, A voice in every rill; k voice that speaketh everywhere, In flood and fire, through earth and air! A tongue that’s never still. ‘Tis the Great Spirit wide diffusea Througih everything we see, That with ouir spirits communeth Of things mysterious-Life and Death, Time and Eternity! I I i I i 4,’ The clouds drew up, the shadow The glorious sun broke out, And love, and hope, and gratitud Dispelled that miserable mood Of darkness and of doubt.

ANON’%‘M-DlM

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THE SACRED ROSARY. And lurks the mountain-fox, unseen, beside the vulture’s nest, And steals the wild hyena past in lone and silent quest.

Is this ambition’s resting-place-the couch of fallen might? And ends the path of glory thus, and fame’s enshrining light? Chief of a progeny of kings renowned and feared afar, How is thy boasting name forgot, and dimmed thine honor’s star? Glad dhearts! xwith ou t:prach or blot! Who do thy work, and know it not: May joys be theirs while lite shall last; And thou, if thiey should totter, teach them to stand fast. Serene will be our days, and bright, And happy will our nature be, When lov-e is an unerring light, And joy its own security. And blest are they who in the main This fitith e’en now do entertain: Live in the spirit of this creed; Ytt find that other strength, according to their need. Approach: what saith that graven verse? Alas, for human pride!”~ Dominion’s envied gifts were mine-nor earth her praise denied: Thou traveller, if a suppliant’s voice find echo in thy breast, Oh! envy not the little dust which hides my mortal rest!” ANONYMOUS. I, loving freedom, and untried; No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust; Full oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task imposed, from day to day; Bilt thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Though no disturbance of mny soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires: My hopes no more must chlange their name, I long for a repose which ever is the same. WHO loves me best?-My mother sweet, Whose every look with love is replete; Who held me, an infant on her kneeWho hath ever watched me tenderly; And yet I have heard Any mother say, That she sometime must pass away: Who then shall shield me from earthly ill 1

Some one must love me better still! Who loves me best?-My father dear, Who love th to have me always near; He whom I fly each eve to meet, When pl)tssed awaytv is the noontide heat; Who from the bank where the sunbeam lies Brings me the wild-wood strawberries. Oh! he is dear as my mother to meBut he will p)erislh, even as she. Stemrn Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear The Godhead’s most benignant grace! Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face: Flowers laugh before thee on their beds; And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong: Al the most ancient heavens through thee are fresh and strong. Who lI oves me best?-The gentle dove That I have tamneId with ray childish love, That every one save myself doth fear, Whose swift coo soundeth when I come near: Yet perhaps it but loves me because I bring To its cage the (dops from the clearest spring, And hang green branches around the door: Something, surely, must love me more! To humbler fuinctions, awful Power!

I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh! let mv weakness have an end! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live. WORDSWORTH. Who loves me best?-My sister fair, With her laughing eyes and clustering hair! Who flowers around my head doth twine, Who presseth her rosy lips to mine, Who singeth me songs in her artless glee, Can any lovre me better than she? Yet, when I asked, that sister confessed, Of all, she did not love me the best! A voICE tram stately Babylon, a mourner’s rising cryAnd Libya’s mi -ble palaces give back their deep reply; And like the sound of distant winds o’er ocean billows sent, Ecbatana, thy storied wvalls send forth the wild lament. For he, the dreaded arbiter-a dawning empire’s trustThe eagle child of victory-the great, the wise, the just, Assyria’s fhmed and conquering sword, and Media’s regal strengthHath bowed his head to earth beneath a mightier hand at length. Who loves me b est?-My bro ther young, With his healthy cheek and his lisping tongue; Who delightetn to lead me in merry play Far down the green wood’s bushy way;, Who showeth me where the hazel-nuts grow, And where the fairest field-flowers blow; Yet perhaps he loves me no more than the restHow shall I find who loves me best? And drrkly, through a sorrowing land, Euphrates winds along, And Cyndus, with its;ilver wave, has heard the funeral nong; Ad, thiough the wide and sultry East, and through the fiozen North, The tabret and the harp are hushed-the wail of grief goes foith. There is a solitary tomb, with rankling weeds o’ergrown, A single palm bends mournfully beside the mould’ring stone, Amid whose leaves the passing breeze, vith fitful gust and H slow, Seems sighing with a feeble dirge for him who sleeps below.

Beside its sparkling drops of foam a desert fountain showers, And, qoating calm, the lotus wreaths its red and scented flowers; My mother loves meb-but sh e may die; My white dove loves me-but that may fly; My father loves me-he may be changed; I have heard of brothers and sisters estranged; If they should forsake me, what should I do I Where should I bear my sad heart to? Some one, surely, would be my staySome one must love me better than they. Yes, fair child, there is One above, Who loves thee with an unchangeable love; He who formed those frail, dear things, To which thy young heart fondly clingsEven though all should forsake thee, still He would protect thee through every ill. Oh! is not such love worth all the rest! Child! it is God who loves thee best! MARY ANN XBROwit. I I I 497 WHO LOVES ME BEST? THE TOMB OF CYRUS.

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TiHE MIRRIOR LIBRARY. We know there is a world above, Where all the blessed meet, Where we shall gaze on those we love, Around the Savior’s feet; And I shall hear my sister’s voice, In holier, purer toneWith all those spotless souls rejoice Before the Eternal Throne. 0O! MY sister’s voice is gone away! Around our social hearth We have lost its tones, that were so gay, So full of harmless mirthWe miss the glancing of her eye, The waving of her hair, The footsteps lightly gliding by, The hand so small and fair; And the wild, bright smile that lit her ftace, And made our hearts rejoiceSadly we mourn each vanished grace, But most of all her voice. THE smoothest seas will sometimes prove To the confiding bark untrue; And if she trust the stars above, They can be treacherous too. For oh! it was so soft and sweet When uttered forth in words; Such tones it had as hearts repeat In echoes on their chords; And lovely when in measure soft She sung a mournful song, And heavenly when it swelled aloft In triumph-chliorus strong; And dearest when its words of love Would sooth our bosoms’ care, And loveliest when it rose above In sounds of praise an I prayer. Th’ umbrageous oak, in pomp outspread, Full oft, when storms the welkin rend. Draws lightning down upon the head It promised to defend. But thou art true, incarnate Lord! Who didst vouchsafe for man to die; Thy smile is sure, thy plighted word No change can falsify! Oh, in my childhood I have sate, When that sweet voice hath breathed, Forgetful of each merry mate Of the wild flowers I had wreathed; And though each other voice I scorned, That called me from my play, If my sweet sister only warned, I never could delay, ‘Twas she who sang me many a rhyme, And told me many a tale, And many a legend of olden time That made my spirit quail.

I bent before thy gracious throne, And asked for peace with suppliant knee; And peace was given-nor peace alone, But faith, and ho pe, and ecstasy! WORDSWOP-“L ONE. of this mood I do remember wellIn humbler dwelling born, retired, remote; In rural quietude,‘mong hills, and streams, And melancholy deserts, where the sun Saw, as he passed, a shepherd only, here And there, watching his little flock, or heard The pl)oughman talking to his steers; his hopes, His morning hopes, awoke before him, smiling, Among the dews and holy mountain airs; And fanicy colored them with every hue Of heavenly loveliness. But soon his dreams Of childhood fled away: those rainbow dreams, So innocent and fair, that withered age, E’en at the grave, cleared up his dusty eye, And passing all between, looked fondly back To see them once again, ere he departed: These fled away, and anxious thought, that wished To go, yet whither knew not well to go, Possessed his soul, and held it still awhile. He listened, heard from far the voice of fame, Heard and was charmed; and deep and sudden vow Of resolution made to be renowned; And deeper vowed again to keep his vow. His parents saw-his parents whom God made Of kindest heart-saw, and indulged his hope. Ther e e are thousand pleasant sounds Around our cottage stillThe torrent that before it bounds, The breeze upon the hill, The murmuring of the wood-dove’s sigh, The swallow in the eaves, And the wind that sweeps a melody In passing trom the leaves; And the pattering of the early rain, The opening flowers to wetBut they want my sister’s voice again, To make them sweeter yet. We stood around her dying bed, We saw her blue eyes close; While from her heart the pulses fled, And from her cheek the rose: And still her lips in fondness moved, And still she strove to speak To the mournful beings that she loved, And yet she was too weak; Till at last from her eye came one bright ray, That bound us like a spell; And as her spirit passed away, We heard her sigh, ”

Farewell!” The ancient page he turned, read much, thought mucks And with old bards of honorable name Measured his soul severely; and looked up To fame, ambitious of no second place. Hope grew from inward faith, and promised fair, And out before him opened many a path Ascending, where the laurel highest waved Her branch of endless green. He stood admiring; But stood, admired, not long. The harp he seizedThe harp he loved, loved better than his lifeThe harp which uttered deepest notes, and held The ear of thought a captive to its song. He searched, and meditated much, and whiles, With rapturous hand, in secret touched the lyre, Aiming at glorious strains; and searched again For theme deserving of immortal verse; Chose now, and now refused, unsatisfied; Pleased, then displeased, and hesitating still. And oft since then that voice hath “me Across my heart again; And it seems to speak as from the tomb, And bids me not complain; And I never hear a low, soft flute, Or the sound of a rippling stream, Or the rich, deep music of a lute, But it renews my dream, And brings the hidden treasures forth That lie in memory’s store; And again to thoughts of that voice gives birth, That voice I shall hear no more. i II i I i I I II I I I 49S THE SISTER’S VOICE. BROWNIL GOD AN ITNFAII,ING

REFUGE. THE CHRISRIAN POET. No more!-it is not so-my hope Shall still be strong in HeavenStill search around tl-ie spacious scope For peace an,]

comfort given.

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THE SACRED ROSARY. Thus stood his mind, when round him came a cloudSlow!y and heavily it came; a cloud Of ills we mention not. Enough to say, ‘Twas cold, anrid dead, impenetrable gloom. He saw its dark approach, and saw his hopes, One atter one, put out, as nearer still ft drew his soul; but fainteil not at first, Fainted not soon. He llknew the lot of man Was tiouble, and prepared to bear the worstEndure whate’er shlould come, without a sighEndure, and drink, e’en to the very dregs, The bitterest cup that Timre could measure out; And, having done, look up, anrid ask for more. When wearisome sickness hath taught me to l anguish For health, and the comforts it bears on its wing, Let me hope (oh! how soon it will lessen my anguish 1) That To-morrow will ease and serenity bring. TOr, when fion the friends of miy heart long divided, T rite tLnd expectation with joy how replete! I That from far distant reg,ions, by Providence guided, To-inorrow will see us most happily meet. He called Philosophy, and with his heart Reasoned. He called Religion, too, but called Reluctantly, and therefore was not heard. Ashlamed to be o’ermatched by earthly woes, He sought, and sought, with eye that dimmed apace, To find some avenue to light, some place On which to rest a hope-but sought in vain. Darker and darker still the da rkness grew. At length he sunk, and Disa,kp Tointment stood His oinly comforter, an d inournfully Told all was past. His interest in life, In being ceased: and now hlie seemed to feel, And shuddered as lie felt; his powers of mind Decaving in the spring-time of his day. The vigorous, weak became-the clear, obscure. Memory gave up her charge, Decision reeled, And from her flight, Fancy returned-returned Because she found no nourishment abroad. The blue heavens withered; and the moon, and sun, And all the stars, and the green earth, and niorn, And evening, withered, and the eyes, and smiles, And faces, of all men and w\omen, withered; Withered to him; and all the universe, Like something which had been, appeared; but now Was dead, and mouldering fast away. He tried No more to hope, wished to forget his vow, Wished to forget his harp; then ceased to wish. That was his last. Enjoyment now was done. He had no hope, no wish, and scarce a fear; ‘)r being sensible, and sensible Of loss, he as some atom seemed, which God Ha(] made stuperfluiousl-y, and needed not To build creation with; but back again To nothing threw, and left it in the void, With everlasting sense that once it was. WITI- blood but not his own-the awful sign At o nce of sin’s desert a nd guilt’s remission, The-Jew besought the clemency divine, The hope of mercy blending with contrition. Sin must have death! Its holy requisition The law may not relax. The opening tomb Expects its prey! mere respite, life’s condition; Nor can the bo(ly shun its penal doom. Yet, there is mercy: wherefore else delay To punish! Why the victim and the rite? But can the type and symbol take away The guilt, and for a broken law requite? The CRoss unfol)ds the mystery: Jesus died: The sinner lives: the law is satisfied! With blood but not his own-the Jew drew near The mercy-seat, and heaven received his prayer. Yet still his hope was dimmed by doubt and fear: “,If thou shoul(ist mark transgression, who might d*” To stand before Thee?” Mercy loves to spare And pardon: but stern Justice has a voice, And cries-our God is holy, nor can bear Uncleanness in the people of his choice. But now ONE OIFFERING, ne’er to be renewed, Hath made our peace for ever. This now gives Free access to the Throne of Heavenly Grace. No more base fear and dark disquietude. He who was slain-the accepted Victim-lives, And intercedes before the Father’s face. JOSIAH

CONDEI= Oh! who can tell what days, what nights he spent, Of tideless, waveless, sailless, shoreless wo! And who can tell how many, glorious once, To others and themselves of promise full, Conducted to this pass of human thought, This wilderness of intellectual death, Wasted and pined, and vanished from the earth, Leaving no vestige of memorial there! It was not so with him. When thus he lay, Forlorn of heart, withered and desolate, As leaf of Autumn, which the wolfish winds Selecting from its former sisters, chase Far from its native grove, to lifeless wastes, And leave it there alone to be forgotten Eternally, God passed in mercy by,His praise be ever new! and on him bitAtnW, And bade him live, and put into his hands A holy harp, into his lips a song,,, That rolled its nambers down the tide of time: Ambitious now but little, to be praised Of men alone; ambitious most to be Approved of God, the Judge of all, and have His name recorded in the book of life. POLLOK. But hurries on, and round, and round, . The wheel of life is sped; Unnoted oft, until rebound, Upon the ear, the startling sound, Another year has fled! Whoever said’tis New Year’s Day, With unmixed care or glee? For hope still paints the future gay, And memory o’er the past will stray, With sorrowing constancy. Yet blest if they but there behold The grave of well spent days; The joy of gratitude that told The tear, in patient trust that * ole The Christian’s ],allowed bay. .hmw sweet to the heart is the thought of To-morrow, ~l hen [{Ipe’s fairy pictures bright colors display; Tt,,w sweeet, when fe can fromn futurity borrow A batn f(l tlie griets that afflict us to-.‘Jay. i I I 11 11 .1 i i! i .i . i i .i i 409 7: When travellin’ alone, quite forlorn, unbefriended, Sweet the hope, that To-morrow my wand’rings wiU

That at home, with all care sympathetic attended, i I shall rest unt-nolested, and slumber in peace. I When six d,,,t3-s of labor each other succeeding, With buri-y and toil have my spirits oppressed, I What pleasure to thinli as the last is receding, 1 To-morrow will be a sweet s-,tbbath of rest. i And when the vain shadows of time are retiring, When life is fast Reetin,7, and death is in sight, The Christian believing, exulting, expiring, ‘! Beholds a To-m-orrow of endless de-light. i J.

B.RowN. THE OFFERING. ON THE NEW YEAR. OTIIEP. year! another year, Is borne by time away ‘ Nor pauses yet his swift career, Nor tires his wing, nor makes he here Elen one short bour’s delay TO,NIORROW.

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E ATTTMIRROR LIBRARY. Another year! so swift it flew, We sca rce had marked it ours; Ere, fading from our backward view, Tis but the past our eyes pursue; Eternity’s long hours! They see destruction’s funeral pall Blackening o’er Sion’s sacred wall. Like tempests gathering on the shore, They hear the coming army’s roar: They see in Sion’s halls of state, The Sign that malketh desolate The idol standard, pagan spear, The tomb, the flame, the massacre. ‘Tis New Year’s Day! the coming year All blank before us lies; Oh! may no blot or stain appear, To mar its history written here, When published in the skies! They see the vengeance fall; the chain, The long, long age of guilt and pain: The exile’s thousand desperate years, The more than groans, the more than tears; Jerusalem, a vanished nameIts tribes earth’s warnings, scoff, and shame. Still lronrs along the multitude, Still rends the heavens the shout of blood; But in the murder er’s furious van Who totters on? A wear) man; A cross upon his shoulder boundHis brow, his frame, one gushing wound. ‘Tis New Year’s Day! how oft have I, While yet a simple child, Made it the goal from whence to try, That race to run, which to the sky Can guide through Time’s dark wild. The sky, that home of quiet rest, When life’s poor dream is o’er, Where spirits mingle with the blest, And sorrow, in the aching breast, Shall reign, shall reign no more! E. DICKINSON. And now he treads on Calvary What slave upon that hill nmuist die? What hand(, what heart, in guilt embrued, Manst be thed mounta in veulture’ s f ood? There stand two victims vaunt and bare, Two culprits emblems of despair. Yet who the third? The yell of shame Is phrensied at the sufferer’s name. Hands clenched, teeth gnashing, vestures torn, The curse, the taunt, the laugh of scorn, All that the dying hour can sting, Are round thee now, thou thorn-crownec Wing’ FAREWELL TO A DEPARTED FRIEND. THOU art gone to the grave-but we will not deplore thee; Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb, The Savior has passed through its portals before thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom. Thou art gone to the grave-we no longer behold thee, Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee, And sinners may hope, since the sinless has died. Thou art gone to the grave-and its mansion forsaking, Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt lingered lone; But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy waking, And the song which thou heardst was the seraphim’s song. Yet cursed an(]

tortured, taunted, spurn, No wrath is for the wrath returned; No vengeance flashes from the eye; The Sufferer calmly waits to die; The sceptre-reed, the thorny crown, Wake on that pallid brow no frown. At last the wo rd of s ea th is given, The form is bound, the nails are drivei: Now triumph, Scribe and Pharisee I Now Roman, bend the mocking knee! The cross is reared. The deed is done, There stands MESS sslH’s earthly throne! aou art gone to the grave-but’twere wrong to deplore thee, When God was thy ransom, thy guardian, thy guide; He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore thee, Where death hath no sting, since the Savior hath died.

HEBERI. This was the earth’s consummate hour; For this hath blazed the prophet’s power; For this hath swept the conqueror’s sword; Hath ravaged, raised, cast down, restored; Persepolis, Rome, Babylon, For this ye sank, for this ye shone. Yet things to which earth’s brightest beam Were darkness-earth itself a dream. Foreheads on which shall crowns be laid Sublime, when sun and star shall fade: W orlds upon worlds, eternal things, Hang on thy anguish, King of kings! Still from his lip no curse has come, His lofty eye has looked no doom! No earthquake burst, no angel brand, Crushes the black, blaspheming band: What say those lips by anguish riven? “God, be my murderers forgiven!” CITY of God! Jerusalem, Why rushes out thy living stream? The turbaned priest, the hoary seer, The Roman in his pride are there! And thousands, tens of thousands, still Cluster round Calvary’s wild hill. Still onward rolls the living tide, There rush the bridegroom and the bridePrince, beggar, soldier, Pharisee, The old, the young, the bond, the free; The nation’s furious multitude, All maddening with the cry of blood. ‘Tis glorious morn; from height to height Shoot the keen arrows of the light: And glorious, in their central shower, Palace of holiness and power, The temple on Moriah’s brow Looks a new risen sun below. He dies! in whose high victory The slayer, Death, himself shall die: He dies! by whose all conquering tread Shall yet be crushed the serpent’s head; From his proud throne to darkness hurled, The god and tempter of this worl(l. But wo to hill, and wo to vale! Against them shall come forth a wail: And wo to bridegroom and to bride! For death shall on the whirlwind ride; And wo to thee, resplendent shrine The sword is out for thee and thane. He dies! Creation’s awtful Lord. Jehovah, Christ, Eternal word! To come in thunder from the skies; To bid the buried world arise; The earth his footstool; heaven his throne; Redeemer! may thy will be done. A N oNl-orm. Hate, hide thee in the heavens, thou sun, Before th e deed of blood is done! Upon that tem-qple’s haughty steep Jerusalemn’s last ang,els weep; I I I .1 I I I II;oo THE CRUCIFIXION.

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THE SA(CRED ROSARY. Winds waft the breath of flowers, To wanderer’s o’er the wave, But no message from the bowers Beyond the grave. Proud Science scales the skies From star to star to roanm, But reacheth not the shore where lies The Spirit’s home. I had a lute, whose music Made sweet the summer wind, But the broken strings have vanished, And no song remains behind. I had a lovely garden, Fruits and flowers on every bough, But the frost came too severely’Tis decayed and blighted now. Impe rvious shadows hide This mystery of Heaven; But, where all knowledge is denied, To hope is given! JOHN MALCOLM. rhat lute is like my spirits They have lost their buoyant tone; Crushed and shattered, they’ve forgotten The glad notes once their own. THERE is grief, there is grief-there is wringing of hands And weeping and calling for aid; For sorrow hath summoned her group, and it stands, Round the couch where the sufferer is laid. And lips are all pallid, and cheekls are all cold, And tears firom the heart-springs are shed; Yet who that looks on the sweet saint to behold, But would gladly lie down in her stead! There is grief, there is grief-there is anguish and strife, See, the sufferer is toiling for breath; For the spirit will cling, oh! how fondly, to life, And stern is the struggle with death I But the terrible conflict grows deadlier still, Till the last fatal symptoms have birth; And the eye-ball is glazed, and the heart-blood is chill; And this is the portion of earth! But in another spirit, With a hiolher hope and aim, And in a holier temple, And to a holier name. There is bliss, there is bliss in the regions above, They have opened the gates of the sky; A spirit has soared to those mansions of love, And seeks for admittance on high. And friends long divided are hasting to greet To a land, where no sorrow may come, And the seraphs are eager a sister to meet, And to welcome the child to its home. There is bliss, there is bliss at the foot of the throne, See the spirit all purified bend; And it beams with delight, since it gazes alone, On the face of a father, a friend!

Then it joins in the anthems for ever that rise, And its frailty or folly forgiven, It is dead to the earth and new-born to the skies: And this is the portion of Heaven! C(. F. RICHARDSON I offer up my memory Tiris a drear and darkened page, Where experience has been bitter, And whose youth has been like age. I oflfer hope s wh ose folly Only after-thoughts can know, For instead of seeking heaven They were chained to earth below.

Saying, wrong and grief have brought me, To thy altar as a home; I am sad and broken-hearted, And therefore am I come. IHEt waved his wand! dark spirits knew T ha t rod-yet no ne obeye d its call; And twice the mystic sign he drew, And twice beheld them bootless all: Then knew the seer Jehovah’s hand, And crushed the scroll and broke the wand; Let the incense of my sorrow Be on high a sacrifice; rhe worn andl contrite spirit, Thou alone would not despise? L. E. L. “I feel Him like a burning fire, When I would curse, my lips are dumb; But from those lips,‘mid hate and ire, Unchecked the words of blessing come; They come and on his people rest. A people by the curser blest! ;I see them from the- mountain-top, How fair their dwellings on the plain! Like trees that crown the valley’s slope, Like waves that glitter on the main! Strong, strong the lior.n slumbering thereWho first shall rouse him from hls lair? “Crouch, Amalek-iand thou, vain king! Crolch by thin(e ailtars vainer still! tBut fyr thelhe ri’s sl’ a shl(,lts that rinl .ttrnh no: l Isaral’s cl‘4ap b,Death the hill? IL cA;l Nor TELL WHENCE IT COMETH, OR WHITHER IT GOETH.” MNYSTERIOUS in its birth, And viewless as the blast; Where lath the spirit fled from earth, For ever past? 501 THE OFFEQING. I sFF, them fading round me, The beautiful, the bright, As the rose-red lights that darken At the fallin,, of the night. EARTH AND HEAVEN. EARTH. And my mind is like that garden It has spent its early store; And wearied and exhausted, It has no strength for more. I will look on them as warnings, Sent less in wrath than love, To call th-. being homeward To its other home above. As the Lesbian in false worship Hur,!,- her liarp upon the shrine, I.Vhen the world lost its attraction, So will I offer mine: HEAVEN. I offer up affections, Void, violent, and vain; I offer years of sorrow Of the mind, and body’s pain: THE WIZARD. THE PARTED SPIRIT. I ask the grave below it keeps the secret well; I call upon the heavens to show Thev will not tell. Of eai-tl,-i’s rem,)test str,,ini, Are tftles iii4 tiditi!zs known; Bitt fr,,),n the’,I,irit,‘s list,-ti-itlaTid, Rettirnetl l noric-.

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0O2 They have a God amid their tents, Banner at once, and battlements! To mark the Offerings of the babe That can not speak its wo; To see the infant tears gush forth, Yet know not why they flow; To meet the meek, uplifted eye, That fain would ask relief, Yet can but tell of agony  This is a nmother’s grief. “A star shall break through yonder skies, And beam on every nation’s sight; From yonder ranks a sceptre rise, And bow the nations to its might: I see their glorious strength afarAll hail, mild sceptre! hail, bright Star! Through dreary days and darker nights, To trace the marls of death; To hear the faint and frequent sigh, The quick and shortened breath; To watch the last dread strife draw near, An(] pray that struggle brief; Though all is ended with its close This is a mother’s grief. “And who am I, for whom is flung Aside the shrouding veil of time?

The seer whose rebel soul is wrung, By wrath, and prophecy, and crime, The futu re as the past I seeWo, then, for Moab! wo for me!” On Peor’s top the wizard stood, Around him Mloab’s princes bowe(ld; He bade-and altars streamed with blood, And incense wrapped him like a shroud! But vain the rites of earth and hellHe spake-a mastered oracle! MISS JEWSBURY. To see in one short hour decayed, The hope of future years; To feel how vain a father’s prayers, How vain a mother’s tears; To think the cold grave now must close O’er what was once the chief Of all the treasuried joys on earth This is a miother’s grief. THr, chariot! the chariot! its wheels roll in fire, As the Lord comreth down in the p)omp of his ire; Self-moving, it drives on its pathway of cloud, And the heavens with the burden of Godhead are bowed. Yet, when the first wild throb is pant, Of anguish and despair, To lift the eye of faith to heaven, And think “my child is there!” This best can dry the gushing tears This yield the heart relief; Until the Christian’s pious hope O’ercomes a mother’s grief. REV.

T. DALF,. The glory! the glory! around him are poured The myrials of angels that wait on the Lord; And the glorified saints and the martyrs are there, And all who the palm-wreaths of victory wear. The trumpet! the trumpet! the dead have all heard; Lo, the depths of the stone-covered monuments stirred! From ocean and earth, from the south pole and north, Lo, the vast generations of ages come forth! ‘Tis still thine hour, 0

Death! Thine, Lord of Hades, is the kingdom still; Yet twice thy sword unstained hliath sought its sheatlh, Though twice upraised to kill; And once again the tomb Shall yield its captive prey; A mightier arm shall pierce the pathless gloom, And rend the prize away: Nor comes thy Con(quieror armed with spear or swords He hath no arms but Prayer-no weapon but his Word The judgment! the jud(lg,ment! the thrones are all set, Where the lambs andl the white-vested elders are met; All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,. And the doom of eternity hangs on his word. Oh mercy! oh mercy! Look down from above, Redeemer, on us, thy sad children, with love When beneath to their darkness the wicked are driven, May our justified souls find a welcome in heaven! MILLMAN. ‘Tis now the fourth sad morn Since Lazarus, the pious and the just, To his last home by sorrowing kinsmen borne, Hath parted, dust to dust. The grave-worm revels now Upon his mouldering clay And He, before whose car the mountains bow The rivers roll away In conscious awe-He only can revive Corruption’s withering prey, and call the dead to live,’ THE PILGRIMS HOME. T’HERa are climates of sunshine, of beauty and gladness, Where roses are flourishing all the year long; Their bowers are despoiled not by wintry sadness, And their echoes reply to the nightingale’s song: But coldly the Briton regards their temptations, Condemned from his friends and his kindred to roam, He looks on the brightness of lovelier nations, But his heart and his wishes still turn to his home. Oh! why is this duteous and home-loving feeling So seldom displayed by the Pilgrim of Life? While faith to his mind a bright scene is revealing, He toils through a world of sin, sorrow, and strife: Yet, lured by the paltry attractions around him, Too oft he forgets the pure pleasure to come, Arid wildly foregoes for the toys that surround him, His hopes of a lasting, a glorious Home. lot sueh is the Christian: devoted, believing, Through storm and through sunshine his trust shalll abide: The way that he wends may be dark or deceiving, But heaven is his shrine, and the Lord is his guide. And when dleath’s warning angel around him shall hlover, He dreads not the mandate that bids him to come; It tells that his toils and( temptations are over’Tis the voice of his Father: it cal!s to his Home. ANoNY-NlOUS. Yet sti ll the sister’s keep Their sad and silent vigil at the grave, Watching for Jesus-,” Comes he not to weeo T He did not come to save!” But now one straining eye Th’

advancing Form hath traced; And soon in wild, resistless agony Have Martha’s arms embraced The Savior’s feet ’ 0 Lard! hadst thou been nigh-.

But speak the word e’en now-it shall be heard on high 10 They led him to the cave  The rocky bed, where now in darkness slept Their brother, and his friend-then at the grave They ptan used-for ” JF.SIs WEFPT.” 0 Love, sublime aind (deep! 0 Hand an(] Heart divine! Tie comes to rescuie, thougih lie deig,ns tc wveep The captive is nost thine, 0 DJoatlh! than ban%is are burst asiun(ler now  Th’lere stancs beside the grave a fIizhltier far tharn tht~a. ,rlle MIRIZOR I,IBIZAITY THE MOTHER’S GR.IEF.

ADVENT IFYMN. THE RAISING OF LAZARUS. lb

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TITE SACRED ROSARY. “Come fort!,” he cries, ” thou dead!” 0 God! whait means that strange and sudden sound, That murmurs fiom the tomb-that ghastly head, With funeral fillets bound T It is a LIVING FOa,I The loved, the lost, the won Won from the grave, corruption, and the worm “And is not this the Son Of God!” they whispered-while the sisters poured Their gratitude in tears; for they had known the Lord. But only then-un see n by day Their shores and mountains all of gold. They vranished as the night came onThose vari ed hues and for ms were gone: But in their stead, Reflection woke To teach her lesson-thus she spoke:“Those very clouds, so bright, so gay, So fair-are vapors which the earth Flung, as diseased parts, away Foul mists, which owe their second birth To him who keeps his throne on high, To bless the earth and gild the sky. Yes!‘tis the sun whose influence brings A change to these degraded thingsThat gives them lovely forms-and then Deprives them of their baneful powers, And sends to mother earth again, In gentle dews and cheering showers, What was her burden and her ban. Man feels a change as great-when man Feels that immortal spark within Whose might no human tongue can tell, Which shines to lighten and dispel The darkness and the weight of sin: When He, who formed Creation’s whole, To school and guide the human soul, Bids o’er the intellectual skies The Sun of Righteousness arise, And things of heaven and earth assume Their proper shape of light or gloom.” Now let the contemplative mind Fill up the blank I leave behind; And see through all Creation’s plan Some useful lesson taught to man: Compare the changes wrought withil And those without-by nature wrought: Compare the man who lives in sin, And him bv virtue led and taughtSee how the Christian’s shining light Makes all that once was darkness, bright; And see how, like the clouds on high, His every feeling, every thought, Adorn and bless the mental slky, -And then his glories creaser die! S. C. HI-L. Yet now the Son of God For such he was in truth-approached the hour For which alone the path of thorns he trod; In which to thee the power, 0 Death! should be restored And yet restored in vain For though the blood of ransom must be poured, The spotless Victim slain; He shall but yield to conquer, fall to rise, And make the cold dark grave a portal to the skies! THOMAS DALE.

WHEN first the day-beam blessed the sky, I marked the varied clouds on highThe clouds through which the sunlight broke, As if it came fiom heaven, and woke Their sleepy shadows into smiles, And wooed them witk a thousand wiles. Those at a distance yet, were col d And dull and naked after night; But on, toward the east, they rolled And clad them in a robe of light. Others, as if they loved to dwell In darkness, moved but slowly on, And when on them its brightness fell, But little of their gloom had gone: One, loomier still, its course delays, As though too heavy for the sky, Then breaks and passes gayly by: While some had gathered round the rays That gave them hues and forms so fair, As loath to leave that glorious place, To lose their beauty and to trace Their pathway through the murky air. I marked, when day was at its height, Others of many a varied die, More fair of form, more purely bright Than those that decked the morning sky, And gazed, till over all on high The sun held undisputed sway, And chased from heaven all gloom away; While th e few clouds that o’er it past, No beam obscured, no shadow cast. THE LAND WHICH NO MORTAL

MAY KNOW. THOUGH Earth has full many a beautiful spot, As a poet or painter might show, Yet more lovely and beautiful, holy and bright, To the hopes of the heart, and the spirit’s glad sight, Is the land that no mortal may know. There the crystalline stream bursting forthfrom the thio(ne, Flows on, and for ever will flow; Its waves, as they roll, are with melody rife, And its waters are sparkling with beauty and life, In the land which no mortal may know. And there, on its margin, with leaves ever green, With its iauits hea ling sickness and wo, The fair Tree of Life, in its glory and pride, Is fed by that deep, inexhaustible tide, Of the land which no mortal may know. Bu t when the day was almost done, The clouds we re b e autiful indeed, When, from his daily dutty freed, Still in his glorious strength, the sun Shone forth upon the twilight skies And grac ed them with his myriad dies. I saw the clouds that onwar d drew, From out the deep and distant blue, Become a ll b eautiful and bright, As if to sh ow t he coming night Howr g r eat the radiance and the power, E’en of the sun’s departing hour. They took all shapes, as Fancy wrought Her web, and mingled thought with thought! Some like familiar forms-the themes Of early loves that fade to dreamsSome were of rainbow shape and hues; Some glistened, like our earth, w-th dews; Some were like forests, seen afar; Some like the restless wandering star; While some appeared like coral caves Half hidden by the ocean waves, All covered with their snow-white spray; Others were there, which seemed to be Fair islands in a dark blue sea, Which human eyes at eve beholl; There, too, are the lost!

whom we loved on this earth With whose mem’ries our bosoms yet glow; Their relics we gave to the place of thie dead, But their glorified spirits before us have fled, To the land-which no mortal may know. There the pale orb of night, and the fountain of day, Nor beauty nor splendor bestow; But the presence of HIM, the unchanging I AM! And the holy, the pure, the immaculate Lamb! Light the land which no mortal may know. To walk in the light of the glor y above, And to share in the peace, and the joy, and the love, Of the laD l which no mortal may know. BERNA.RD BARToDN. : i i! I I i i i i i I ii i i II i i i i I ji I I I I 503 I i THE CLOUDS.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. A MOTHER’S LOVE. HASr thou sounded the depth of yonder sea, And counted the sands that under it be? Hast’hou measured the height of Heaven above? Then gayest thou mete out a mnother’s love. Hast thou talked with the blessed, of leading on To the throne of God some wandering son? last thou witnessed the angel’s bright employ I “hen ma) est thou speak of a mother’s joy. Night ts the time to weep; l’o wet with unseen tears Tt oshe grav e s of m emo ry, w here sleep The joys of other years, Hopes that were angels in their birth, But perished young-like things on earth. Night is the time to watch, On ocean’s dark expanse; To hail the Pleiades, or catch The full moon’s earliest glance, That brings into the home-sick mind All we have loved and left behind. Night is the time for care; Brooding on hours mis-spent, To se e the spetre ts of d espair Come to our lonely tent; Like Brutus,‘mid his slumbering host, Startled by Cesar’s stalwart ghost. ;vening and morn hast thou watched the bee so forth on her errands of industry? ‘he bee for herself hliath gathered and toiled, iut the mother’s cares are all for her chilNl last thou gone with the traveller Thought afar T rom pole to pole, and firom star to star?

rhou hast-but o n oc ean, earth, or sea, rhe heart ot a mother has gone with thee. rhere is not a grand, inspiring, thought, There is not a truth by wisdom taught, There is not a feeling )pure and high, That may not be read in a mother’s eye. Ni,ght is the t time t o muse; Then from the eye the soul Takes flight, and with expanding views, Beyond the starry pole Descries, athwart th’ abyss of night, The dawn of uncreated light. And ever since earth began, that look Has been to the wise, an open book, To win them back from the lore they prize, To the holier love that edifies.

There are teachings on earth, and sky, and air, The heavens the glory of God declare! But more loud than the voice beneath, above, He is heard to speak through a mother’s love. EMILY TAYLOR. Night is the time for death; When all around is peace, Calmly to yield the weary breath From sin and suffering cease, Think of heaven’s bliss, and give the sign To parting friends-such death be mine! MONTGOMERY ZECH. xiv. 7. AT evening time let there be light: Life’s little day draws near its close; Around me fall the shades of night, The night of death, the grave’s repose: To crown my joys, to end my woes, At evening time let there be light. “WATCH YE.” MARK xiv.

38. WHEN summer decks thy path with flowers, And pleasure’s smi le is sweetest; When not a cloud above thee lowers, And sunshine leads thy happy hours, Th y happiest and thy fleet est; Oh! watch thou then, lest pleasure’s smile Thy spirit of its hope b eguile. When round thee gathering storms are nigh, ‘And grief thy days hath shaded; When earthly joys but bloom to die, And tears suffuse thy weeping eye, And hope’s bright bow hath faded; Oh! watch thou then, lest anxious care Invade thy heart, and rankle there. Through all life’s scenes-through weal and w a, Through days of mirth and sadness, – Where’er thy wandering tbotsfeps goOh! think how transient here below Thy sorrow and thy gladness: And watch thou ALWAYS, lest thou stray From Him who points the h2avenward way.

ANONYMOU& At evening time let there be light: Stormy and dark hath been my day; Yet rose the morn divinely bright, Dews, birds, and blossoms, cheered the way; Oh lor one sweet, one parting ray! At evening time let there be light. At evening time there shall be light; For God hath spoken-it must be: Fear, doubt, and anguish, take their flight, His glory now is risen on me! Mine eyes shall his salvation see: -‘Tis evening time, and there is light! JAMES MONTGOMERY. NIGHT is the time for rest; How sweet when labors close, To gather round an aching breast The curtain of repose, Stretch the tired limbs, and lay the head Upon our own delightful bed. Night is the time for dreams; The gay romance of life, When truth that is, and truth that seems, Blend in fantastic strife; Ah! visions less beguiling far Than waking dreams by daylight are. THE CELESTIAL SABBATH. THE golden palace of my} God, Tawering above the clouds, I see; Beyond the cherub’s bright abode, Higher than angel’s thoughts can be. How can I in those courts appeal Without a wedding garment on? Conduct me, thou Life-giver, there, Conduct me to thy glorious throne! And clothe me with thy robes of light, And lead me through sin’s d(arksomne night, AMy Savior and my God. RUSSIAN

POF.TRT Night is the time for toil; To plough the classic field, Intent to find the buried spoil Its wealthy furrows yield; Till all is ours that sages taught, That poets sang, or heroes wrought. 11 I i I I i I I 04

Night is the time to pray; Otir S,ivior oft withdrew To desert mountains far away: So will his followers doSteal from the thron, to haunts untroa, And hold communion there with God. EVENING TIME. NIGHT.

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SONGS FOR THE SABBATHX. THE WORKS OF CREATION. I PRMAISED the Earth, in beauty seen With garlands gay of various green; I praised the Sea, whose ample field Shone glorious as a silver shield; And Earth-and Ocean seemed to say, “Our beauties are but for to-day.” EARLY PIETY. BY cool Siloam’s shady rill How sweet the lily grows! How sweet the breath beneath the hill Of Sharon’s dewy rose! Lo! such the child whose early feet The paths of peace have trod, Whose secret heart with influence sweet Is upward drawn to God! I praised the Sun, whose chariot rolled On wheels of amber and of gold; I praised the Moon, whose softer eye Gleamed sweetly through the summer sky; And Moon and Sun in answer said, “Our days of light are numbered.” By cool Siloam’s shady rill The lily must decay; The rose that blooms beneath the hill Must shortly fade away. And soon, too soon, the wintry hour Of man’s maturer age Will shake the soul with sorrow’s power And stormy passion’s rage! O God! O good l)byond compare! If thu3 thy meaner works are fair, If thus thy beauties gild the span Of ruined earth and sinful man, How glorious must the mansion be Where thy redeemed shall dwell with thee! I 0 thou, whose infant feet were found Within thy Father’s shrine! Whose years with changeless virtue crow- d Were all alike divine! Dependant on thy bounteous breath, We seek thy grace alone, In childhood, manhood, age, and death, To keep us still thy own! UNTHINKING, idle, wild, and young, I laughed, and talked, and danced and sung; And proud of health, of freedom vain, Dreamed not of sorrow, care, or pain: Concluding, in those hours of glee, That all the world was made for me.

ASKi the bird that soars on high, Midway between earth and sky What he sees, when he is there, Of the world’s receding sphere. He could teach, if he might say, Heavenward as he bends his way, How the wide world lessens fast, In the growing distance lost. Lesser objects lost to view, Great ones are but little now All that once were bright and fair Lose their teints and disappear. Doubt you, then, why they who rise Near and nearer to the skies, See on earth’s diminished sphere. Little that is worth their care? They whose bosoms once could joy In’ the vain world’s vainest toy They whose hearts could sometimes feel E’en the slightest touch of ill From the world by sorrow riven, Gone already half to heaven Look with calmness on a scene, Scarcely now within their ken. Deem not that the heart is chilled, Which, though once with anguish filled, Such emotions all forgot, Smiles and says, ” It matters not.” But when the days of trial came, When sickness shook this trembling frame, When folly’s gay pursuits were o’er, And I could dance and sing no more, It then occurred, how sadl’twould be, Were this world, only, made for me! TWF.w T day, so cool, so calm, so bright, Bridal of earth and sky! The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou, alas! must die. Be wise then, Christian, while you may, For swiftly time is flying; The thoughtless man, that laughs to-day, To-morrow will be dying. THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. GREAT God! what do I see and hear I The end of things created: The Judge of all men do th appear In clouds of glory seated; The trumpet soun(ds, the -raves restore The dead which they contained before. Prepare, my soul, to meet him. HOPE, with uplifted foot, set free from earth, Pants for the place of its ethereal birth, On steelly wing, flies tliroii!h the immense abyss, Pluckls ainlr,‘it!iuq j(ys fiorn bowers of bliss, And crowns the soul while yet a sufferer here, Witli wreaths lithe those angelic spirits wear. THE WORLD.

HEAVEN AND EARTH. LIFE FADING. Sweet rose, in air whose odors wave, And color charms the eye! Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou, alas! must die. Sweet spring, of days and roses made, Whose charms for beauty vie!

Thy days depart, thy roses fade,’ Thou, too, alas! must die. CHRISTIAN

HOPE.

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506 SC -FA IL OF FRAILT~Y OF MIAN. RACHEL WEEPING. 0 WEEP not o’er thy children’s tomb, 0 Rachel, weep not so! The bud is cropped by martyrdom, Tile flower in heaven shall blow I Firstlings of faith! the muiderer’s knife Has missed its deadliest aim! The God for whom they gave their hie, For them to suffer came! Though feeble were their days and few, Baptized in blood and pain, He knows them, whom they never knew, And they shall live again. LIKE. to the falling of a star, Or as the flihits of eagles are, Or like the flesh spring’s gaudy hue, Or silv-: drops of morning dew; Or like a wind that chafes the flood, Or bubbles which on water stood; E’en such is man, whose borrowed light Is straight called in, and paid to-night. The wind blows out, the bubble dies: The spring entombed in autumn lies; The dew dries up, the star is shot; Tle, fliHht is past-and man forgot. Then weep not o’er thy children’s tomb, O Rachel, weep not so!

The bud is cropped by martyrdom, The flower in heaven shall blow’ WHAT is this passing sene? A peevish April day! A little sutn-a little rain And then night sweeps along the plain, And all things fade away: Man (soon discussed) Yields up his trust; .And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust! THE golden palace of my God Towering above the clouds I see: Beyond the cherub’s bright abode, Higher than angel’s thoughts can be. How can I in those courts appear Without a wedding garment on? Conduct me, thou Life-giver there, Conduct me to thy glorious throne! And clothe me with thy robes of light, And lead me through sin’s darksome night, My Savior and my Gcd. And what is beauty’s power? It flourishes an’l dies; Will the coldl earth its silence break, To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek Beneath its surface lies? Mute, mute is all O’er beauty’s fall: Her praise resounds no more, when mantled in her pall. The most beloved on earth Not long survives to-day; So music past is obsolete, And yet’twas sweet,‘twas passing sweet, But now’tis gone away; Thus does the shade, In memory fade, When in forsaklen tomb the form beloved is laid I Then since this world is vain And volatile and fleet, Why should I lay up earthly joy, Where rust corrupts and moths destroy, And cares and sorrows eat? Why fly from ill With anxious skill, When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart lie still? Behold this fair and fertile globe, By him in wisdom planned; ‘Twas he who girded, like a robe, The ocean round the land. Lift to the arch of heaven your eye, Thither his path pursue; His glory, boundless as the sky, O’erwhelms the wondering view. He bows the heavens-the mountains stand A highway for their God; He walks amidst the desert land’Tis Eden where he trod. The forests;n his strength rejoice: Hark! on the evening breeze, As once of old his solemn voice Is heard among the trees. Here on the hills he feeds his herds, His flocks on yonder plains: His praise is warbled by the birds, O-could we catch their strains:Mount with the lark, and bear our song Up to the gates of light; Or, with the nightingale, prolong Our numbers through the night! In every stream his bounty flows, Diffusing joy and wealth; In every breeze his spirit blows The breath of life and health. THE STAR OF THE EAST.

BRrtIHTEST and best of the sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkliness, and lend us thine aid, Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid! Cold on his cradle the dewdrops are shining, Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall, Angels adore him in slumber reclininga, Maker, and Monarch, and Savior of all. Say, snall we yield him, in costly devotion, Odors of Edom, and offerings divine? Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean, Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine? Vainly we offer each ample oblation, Vainly with gifts would his favor secure: Richer by far is the heart’s adoration; Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. Brightest and best of the sons ofthe morning! D: w, on our darrcness, ant l end us thine aid, St’,f tle east, thle horizon a(dorning, Gn i le whIere o ir infnt RPedeemer is laid!

-‘-GS I-‘Oll’. MAN IS VANITY. THE GUIDANCE OF GOD. THE WORKS OF GOD. THF, God of nature and of grace In all his works appears; His goodness through the earth we tmee, His grandeur in the spheres. His blessin-s fall in plenteous showers Upon the lap of earth, That teems with folia-7e, fruit, and flowers, And rings with infant mirth. IfGod bas-made this world so fair Where sin -,tnd death abound, How beautiful, beyond compare, Will paradise be found!

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3A’rH. 50″ THE PROVIDENCE OF GOD. How few and evil are thy days, Oh, man, of woinaai born! Trouble and peril haunt thy ways, -Forth like a flower at morn, The tender infant springs to light: Youth blossoms with the breeze; Age, withering age, is cropped ere night -Man like a shadow flees. Lo the lilies of the field, How their leaves instruction yield! Hark to niature’s lessol given By the cheerful birds of heaven! Every bush and tulted tree Warbles sweet phlilosolhyli; “Mortal, fly fi’om doubt and sorrow; God providethl for the miorrow! And dost thou look on such a one? Will God to judgment call A worm, for what a worm hath done Against the Lord of all?

As fall the waters from the deep, As summer brooks run dry, MIan lieth down in dreamless sleep; -Our life is vanity. ” Say, withl icler cr-imnsoni glows The kingly imI.lltle tlhain the rose? Say, have kinds mroire wholesome tare Than we poor citizens of air! Barns nor lhoarde(d grain have we,* Yet we chaol the meily. Mortsal, fly fiom (oubt andl sorrow, God pros idetli liSr thle mlor-rov! “One there liives whose g uardian eye Guides our humble destiny; One there lives, who, Lord of all, Keeps our featlhers lust they t~tll: Pass we blithely then, the time, Fearless of the snare and lime, Free from doubt and aitlhless sorrow: God provi(letlh for the morrow!” Man lieth down, no more to wake, Till yonder arching sphere Shall with a roll of thunder break, And nature disappear.

-0 hide me till thy wrath be past, Thou, who canst kill or save; Hide me, where hope may anchor fast, In my Redeemer’s grave. THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR

TRIUMPHANT IN DEATH. EMBLEM OF A DEPARTING SAINT. A CLOtD lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snows: Long had I watched the glory moving on, O’er the still radiance of the lake below: rranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow, E’en in its very motion there was rest, While every breath of eve that chanced to blow, Wafted the ti.veller to the beauteous west. Emblem methought, of the departed soul, To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onward to the golden gates of heaven: Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies. Tranquil amidst alarms, It foun d him in the f ield, A veteran slumbering on his arms, Beneath his red-cross shield: His sword was in his hand, Still warm with recent fight; Ready that moment, at command, Through rock and steel to smite. It was a two-ed,ged blade, Of heavenly temper keen: Ar.d double were the wounds it made, Where’er it smote between: ‘Twas death to sin;-‘twas life To all that mourned for sin; It kindled, and it silenced, strife, Made war, and peace, within. Oft with its fiery force, His arm had quelled the foe, And laid, resistless in his course, The alien-armies low. Bent on such glorious toils, The world to him was loss; Yet all his trophies, all his spoils, He hung upon the cross.

SUPERIORITY TO THE WORLD. AH! why should this immortal mind, Enslaved by sense, be thus confined, And never, never rise? Why, thus amused with empty toys, And soothed with visionary joys, Forget her native skies! The mind was formed to mount sublime, Beyond the narrow bounds of time, To everlasting things; But earthly vapors cloud her sight, And hang with cold oppressive weight Upon her drooping wings. The world employs its various snares, Of hopes and pleasures, pains and cares, And chained to earth I lie: When shali my fettered powers be free, An~ leave these seats of vanity, And upward learn to fly! Brioht scenes of bliss, unclouded skies, Invite my soul-O could I rise, Nor leave a thought below! I’d bid farewell to anxious care, And say to every tempting snare, Heaven calls, and I must go. Heaven calls, and can I yet delay A Can aught on earth engage my stay?

Ah, wretched, lingering heart! Cone, Lord, with strength, and life and light, Assist and guide any upward flight, And bid the world depart. SONGS

FOR THE SAB L  MAN’S FRAILTY. ” S.ERVANT of’God! well done; Rest from thy loved ez-rl)loy; The battle fought, tlie victory won, Enter thy Master’s joy.” -The voice at midnight came; He started up to bear, A mortal arrow pierced his frame; He fell-but felt no fear. At midnight came the cry, 11

To meet thy God prepare!” He woke,atid caught his captain’.; eyeThen, strong in faith and prayer, His spirit, with a bound, Burst its encumbering clay, His tent’at sunrise on the ground, A darkened ruin lay.

The pains of death are past, Labor and sorrow cease, And, life’s long warfare closed at last, His soul is ft)und in 1)ace-. Soldier of Christ, well done; Pi-ai,-,e be thy new eml)loy; And wliile eternal a,es run, Rest in thy S,)Y,Dr’g ioy.

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SONGS FOR THE SABBATH. I’ Thou wouldst not let the captive go, Or leave me to my carnal will; Thy love forbade my rest below, Thy patient love pursued me still, And forced me from my sin to part, And tore the idol fiom my heart. FRIEND after friend departs, Who hath not lost a friend?

There is no union here of hearts, That finds not here an end; Were this frail world our final rest, Living or dying, none were blessed. But car I now the loss lament, Or murmur at thy friendly blow? Thy friendly blow my heart hath rent, From every seeming good below; Thrice happy loss which makes me sMy happiness alone in thee I Beyond the flight of time, Beyond the reign of death,There surely is some blessed clime Where life is not a breath; Nor life’s affections, transient fire, Whose sparks fly upward and expire! UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE. WHAT is life?‘tis but a vapor; S oon it van ishes aw ay: Life is like a dying taper: 0, my soul, why wish to stay? Why not spread thy wings and fly Straight to yonder world of joy? There is a world above, Where parting is unknown; A long eternity of love, Formed for the good alone; And faith beholds the dying, here, Translated to that glorious sphere. rhus star by star declines, Till all are passed away; As morning high and higher shines, To pure aind perfect day: Nor sink those stars in empty night, But hide themselves in heaven’s own light. See that g lory, how resplendent! Brighter far than fancy paints, There, in majesty transcendent, Jesus reigns, the King of saints. Spread thy wings, my soul, and fly Straight to yonder world of joy! Joyful crowds, his throne surrounding, Sing with rapture of his love: Through the heavens his praises sounding, Filling all the courts above. Spread thy wings, my soul, and fly Straight to yonder world of joy! RISE, my soul, and stretch thy wings, Thy better portion trace; Rise from transitory things, Toward heaven, thy native place. Sun, and moon, and stars, decay, Time shall soon this earth remove; Rise, my soul, and haste away To seats prepared above.

Go and shar e his people’s glory, ‘Midst the ransomed crowd appear; Thine a joyful, wondrous story: One that angels love to hear. Spread thy wings, my soul and fly Straight to yonder world of joy! Rivers to the ocean run, Nor stay in all their course: Fire ascending seeks the sun, Both speed them to their source. So a soul new-born of God Pants to view his glorious face; Upward tends to his abode, To rest in his embrace. JACOB WRESTLING

WITH THE i,;iGEL COME, 0 thou traveller unknown, Whom still I h old, but can not see’ My company before is gone, And I am left alone with thee; With thee all night I mean to stay, And wrestle till the break of day.

Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn, Press onward to the prize: Soon the Savior will return Triumphant in the skies. Yet a season, and you know Happy entrance will be given, All our sorrows left below And earth exchanged for heaven. I need not tell thee who I am; My misery and sin declare: Thyself hast called me by my name Look on thy hands, and read it thef But who, I ask thee, who art thou I Tell me thy name, and tell me now. In vain thou strugglest to get free, I never will unloose my hold; Art thou the Man that died for me? The secret of thy love unfold: Wrestling, I will not let thee go, Till I thy name, thy nature know. GOD of my life, how good, how wise, Thy judgments on my soul have been! They were but mercies in disguise, The painful remedies of sin: How different now thy ways appear, Most merciful, when most severe! Since first the maze of life I trod, Hast thou not hedged about my way, My worldly vain designs withstood, And robbed my passions of their prey, Withheld the fuel from the fire, And crossed my every foniid desire? What though my shrinking flesh complain, And murmur to contend so long, I rise superior to’my pain: When I am weakl, then I am strong: And when my all of streneth shall fail, I shall with the God man prevail. How oft didst thou my soul withhold, And baffle my pursuit of fame, And mortify my lust of gold, And blast me in my surest aim; iv;.thdraw my animal delight, And starve any grovelling appetite I 5OiS HEAVEN. LONGING FOR HEAVEN. PART FIRST. GOD’S PREVENTING

GRACIE. Wilt thou not yet to me reveal Thy new unutterable name! Tell me, I still beseech thee, tell I To know it now, resolved I am: Wrestling, I will not let thee go, Till I thy name, thy nature know.

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SONGS FOR THE SABBATH. THE HEAVENLY JFRUSALEM. YIELD to me now, for I am weak * But confident in self despair: Speak to my heart, in blessings speak; Be conquered by my instant prayer: Speak, or thou nev er hence shall move, And tell me if thy name be Love. When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls And pearly gates behold? Thy bulwarks, with salvation strong, And streets of shining gold? ‘Tis Love!‘tis Love! Thou diedst for me; I hear thy whisper in my heart: The morning breaks, the shadows flee; Pure, Universal Love, thou art; To me, to all, thy bowels move; Thy nature and thy name is Love. My prayer hath power with God; the grace Unspeakable I now receive; Through faith I see thee face to face; I see thee face to face, and live; In vain I have not wept and strove; Thy nature and thy name is Love. 0 when, thou city of ny God, Shall I thy courts ascend, Where congregations ne’er break up, And sabbaths have no end? There happier bowers th an Eden’s bloom, Nor sin nor sorrow know; Blessed seats!

through rude and stormy scenes I onward press to you. Why should I shrink at pain and wo? Or feel, at death, dismay? I’ve Canaan’s goodly land in view, And realms of endless day. I know thee, Savior, who thou ait, Jesus, the feeble sinner’s friend: Nor wilt thou with the night depart, But stay and love me to the end: Thy mercies never shall remove; Thy nature and thy name is Love. The Sun of Righteousness on me Hath risen, with healing on his wings; Withered my nature’s strength; from thee My soul its life and succor brings; My help is all laid up above; Thy nature and thy name is Love. Contented now, upon my thigh I halt, till life’s short journey end; All helplessness, all weakness, I On Thee alone for strength depend; Nor have I power from thee to move: Thy nature and thy name is Love.

SELF-EXAMINATION. AT evening to myself I say, My soul, where hast thou gleaned to-day, Thiy labors hlow bestowed? What hast thou rightly sai d or done? What grace attainedi, or knowledge won, In following after God? Lame as I am, I take the prey; Hell, earth, and sin, with ease o’ercome; I leap for joy, pursue my way, knd, as a bounding hart, fly home; Through all eternity to prove, Thy nature and thy name is Love. BY thy birth and early ye(ars, By thy human griefs and fears; By thy fasting and distress; In the lonely wvil(erness; By thy victory, ill the hour Of the subtle tempter’s power  Jesus! look with pitying eye, Hear our solemn litany. & FATHER

LEAVING HIS FAMILY TO GOD. AMID the anguish ond the strife, That shrinking nature fears, Look gently down, great Source of life, And dry death’s starting tears! Serene, like Jacob, we would die, And “gather up our feet;” Would chide the lingering hours, and fly Our Savior God to meet.

Our dearest comforts we could leave. Witsl glory in our eyes: Would wipe the tears of those that grieve, And poinit them to the skies. Our trembling lips, if thou art nigh, When life’s sad hours are few, With joy shall say ” Behold we die, But God shal be with you.” By thine hour of dark despair; By thine agony of prayer; By the purple robe of scorn; By thy wounds, thy crown of thorn, Cross and passion, pangs and cries; By thy perfect sacrificeJesus! look with pitying eye, Hear our solemn litany. OEx how beneath the moonbeam’s smile Yon little billow heaves its breast, And foams and sparkles for awhile, And murmuring then subsides to rest. By thy deep expiring groan; By the sealed sepulchral stone; By thy triumph o’er the grave; By thy power from death to saver Mighty God! ascended Lord! To thy throne in heaven restored Prince and Savior! hear the cry Of our solemn litany. Thus man, the sport of bliss and care, Rises on time’s eventful sea, And having swelled a moment there, Thus melts into eternity.

.1 509 PART SECOND. JERUSALF,M! my happy home! Name ever dear to i-ne!

When shall my labors have an end, In joy, and peace, and thee? Apostles, martyrs, prophets, there, Around mv Savior stand; And soon my friends in Christ below Will join the glorious band. Jerusalem! my happy home! My soul still pants for tbee; Then shall my labors have an end, When I tb-y joys shall see. LITANY. By the sympathy that wept O’er the grave where Lazarus slel)t; By thy bitter tears that flowed Over Salem’s lost abode; By the troubled sigh that tol!t Treason lurked within thy foI(IJesus! look with pitying eye, Hear our solemn litany. A REFLECTION AT SEA.

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510 SOG FO H S WI[AT ARE MEETINGS, HERE, BUT PARTINGS? WHAT are meetings, here, but partings i Vhat are ecstasies, but smartings? Unions what, but separations? What attachments, but vexations I Every smile but brings its tear, Love its ache, and hope its fear; All that’s sweet must bitter prove; All we hold most dear-remove? Foes may harm us; but the dearest, Ever, here, are the severest: Sorrows wound us; but we borrow l’rom delight the keenest sorrow: ‘Tis to love our farewells owe All their emphasis of wo; Most it ch arm s that m ost annoys; Joys are griefs, and griefs are joys! BLESSED is the man whose softening heamt Feels all another’s pain; To whom the supplicating eye Was never raised in vain: Whose breast expands with generous warmth, A stranger’s woes to feel; And bleeds in pity o’er the wound He wants the power to heal. Heavenward rise!-‘tis Heaven, in kindness Mars our bliss, to heal our blindness: Hope from vanity to sever; (.XIfering joys that bloom for ever, In that amaranthine clime, Far above the tears of time, Where nor fear nor hope intrude, Lost in pure beatitude! He spreads his kind, supporting arms, To every child of grief; His secret bounty largely flows, And brings unasked relief. To gentle offices of love His feet are never slow; He views, through mercy’s melting eye, A brother in a foe. Peace from the bosom of his God, My peace to him I give; And when he kneels before the throne, His trembling soul shall live. To him protection shall be shown, And m ercy from above Descend on those who thus fulfil The perfect law of love. COME, let us anew, Our journey pursue, Roll round with the year, And never stand still, Till the Master appear. His adorable will Let us gladly fulfill, And our talents improve By the patience of hope, And the labor of love.

Our life is a dream, Our time as a stream Glides swiftly away; And the fugitive moment Refuses to stay. TIME was, is past; thou canst not it recall: Time is, thou hast; empl% the portion smallU Timefuture is not; and may never be: Time present is the only time for thee. The arrow is flown, The moment is gone; The millenial year Rushes on to our view, And eternity’s here. FRAILTY OF MAN. LET others boast how strong they be, Nor death nor danger fear; But we’ll confess, 0 Lord, to thee, What feeble things we are. O that each in the day, Of his coming may say, “I have fought my way through; I ha ve fin ished the work Thiou didst give me to do.” Fresh as the grass our bodies stand, And flourish bright and gay; A blasting wind sweeps o’er the land, And fades the grass away. 0 that each from his Lord, May receive the glad word: “Well and faithfully done! Enter into my j oy, And sit down on my throne!” Our life contains a thousand springs, And dies if one go wrong; Strange! that a harp of thousand strings Should keep in tune so long. ‘Tis God who made and keeps our frame, In God alone we’ll trust; Salvation to the Almighty Name That reared us from the dust. Swisr as the arrow cuts its way Through the soft yielding air: Or as the sun’s more subtle ray, Or lightning’s sudden glare; Or as an eagle to the prey, Or shuttle through the loomSv haste our fleeting lives away, So pass we to the tomb. The moments fly-a minute’s gone I The minutes fly-an hour is run! The day is fled the night is here!

Thus flies a week-a month-a year. Like airy bubbles, lo! we rise, And dance upon life’s stream; Till soon the air that caused, destroys Th’

attenuated frame. Down the swift stream we glide apace, Anti car}ry death within; Thea break, and scarcely leave a trace, To shiow that wxe have been. A year-alas!. how soon it’s past; Who knows but this may be my last!

A few short years, how soon they’re fled, Anrd we are numbered with the dead. HE SABBA,RH. The man, the wisest of our kind, Who length ot’days bad seen, To birth and death a time -tssigned, But none to life between;Yet O!

what consequences close This transient state below! -Eternal joys: or, losing those, Interminable wo! THE LAW OF LOVE. A NEW YEAR. TIME. THE

BREVITY OF LIFE. MORTNESS OF TIME.

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SONGS FOR T’HE SABBA’i’H. INNOCENT EARTHLY PLEASURES. FF.w rightly estimate the worth, Of joys that spring and fade on earth; They are not weeds we should despise, They are not fruits of Paradise; But wl:l flowers in the pilgrim’s way That cheer, yet not protract his stay; Which he dare not too fondly clasp, Lest they should perish in his grasp; And yet may view, and wisely love, As proofs and types of joys above. But leaves the greenest will decay,And flowers the brightest fade away, When autumn winds are sweeping, And be the household e’er so fair, The hand of death will soon be there, And turn the scene to weeping. Yet leaves again will clothe the trees, And lilies wave beneath the breeze, When spring comes smiling hither; And friends who parted at the tomb, May yet renew the(lir loveliest bloom, And meet in hearven together. RESIGNATION. WATCHMAN! WHAT

OF THE NIGHT. ON’F prayer I have,-all prayers in one, When I am wholly thine: Thy will, my God, thy will be done, And let that will be mine.

All-wise, almighty, and all-good, In thee I firmly trust: Thy ways, ur.inown or understood, Are merciful and just. Is life with many comforts crowned, Upheld in peace and health, With dear aflections twined around?

-Lord, in my time of wealth, Watchman! tell us of the night; Higher yet that star ascends; Traveller!‘1,essedness and light, Peace and truth, its course portends Watchlnan! will its beams alone Gild the spot that gave them birth? Traveller! ages are its own, And it bursts o’er all the earth.

Watchman! tell us of the night, For the morning seems to dawn: Traveller!

darkness takes its flight, Doubt and terror are withdrawn, Watchman! let thy wanderings cease. Hie thee to thy quiet op(,ene: Traveller! lo! the Prince of peace. Lo! the Son o)f God is come! May I remember, that to thee, Whate’er I have I owe: And back, in gratitude from me, May of all thy b ounties flotw. Thy gifts are only then enjoyed, When used as talents lent; Those talents only well employed, When in thy service spent. Anti though thy wisdom takes away. Shall I arraign thy will? No, let me bless thy name, and say, “The Lord is gracious still.” A pilgrim through the earth I roam, Of nothing long possessed, And all must fall when I go home For this is not my rest. Write but my name upon the roll Of thy redeemed above; Then, heart, and mind, and strength, and soul, Shall love thee for thy love. How pleasing is the voice Of God our hea-venly King Who bids the fiosts retire, And wakes the lovely. spring! Bright suns arise, The mild wind blows, And beauty glows Through earth and skies. The morn, with glory crowned His hand arrays in smiles; He bids the eve decline, Rejoicing o’er the hills: The evening breeze His breath pertumiies: His beauty blooms In flowers and trees. With life he clothes the springThe earth with summer war-ns: He spreads the autumnal feast, And rides on wintry sto msn His gifts divine, Through all appear; And round the year His glories shine.

DEPENDANCE ON GOD. E’EN as the needle, that directs the hour, Touched with the loadstone, by the secret power Of hidden nature, points upon the Pole; E’en so the wavering powers of my soul, touched by the virtue of thy Spirit, flee From what is earth, and point alone to thee. When I have faith to hold thee by the hand, I walk securely, and( methinks I stand More firm than Atlas; but when I forsake The safe protection of thine arm, I quake Like wind-shaked reeds, and have no streiig,th at ail, Bult like, vine, the prop cut down, I fall. OH! sweet as vernal dews that fill The closing buds on Zion’s hill, When evening clouds draw thither,So sweet, so heavenly’tis, to see The members of one family Live peacefully together.

The children like the lily flowers, On wliich descend the suns and showers, Their hues of beauty blending;The parents, likle the willow boughs, (On which tlhe lovelx- foliage rows, Their frieni1v shade extendinu. I I I i 511 ‘ -L WATCHMAN! tell us of the night, What its signs of pron,ise are? Traveller.! o’er 3,on it)ountain’s height, See that glory-beamirig star! Watchman! does its beauteous i-ay Aught of hope or joy foretell? Ti-aveller! yes: it brings the day, Promised day of Israel!

THE SEASONS. FAMILY HARMONY. THE HARMONY OF LOVE. Lord, subdue our selfish will; F,ach to each our tempers suit By thy modulating sliill, Heart to heart, -,is lute to lute. Sweetly on our spii-i,s move; Gently touch ilie trembling strin-S the harmony of loa,e Music for the King of kin,-s!

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SONGS FOR’FI IE New perils p)ast, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven. If on our daily course our mind Be set to hallow all we find, New treasure, still of countless price, God will provide for sacrifice. Old friends, old scenes,. will lovelier be, As more of heaven in each we see; Some softening gleam of love and prayer Shall dawn on every cross and care. As for some dear familiar strain Untired we ask, and ask again, Ever, in its melodiour store, Finding a spell unheard before; Such is the bliss of souls serene, When they have sworn, and steadfast mean, Counting the cost, in all t’ espy Their God, in all t hemselves deny. 0 could we learn that sacrifice, What lights would around us rise!

How would our hearts with wisd6m talk Along life’s dullest, dreariest walk! We need not bid for cloistered cell, Our neighbor and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky: The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask; Room to deny ourselves; a road To bring us, daily, nearer God. WHAT

IS LIFE? OH! what is life?‘Tis like a flower That blossoms-and is gone: It flourishes its little hour, With all its beauty on:4 Death comes-and like a wintry day, It cuts the lovely flower away. Oh!‘what is life?-‘Tis like the bow That glistens in the sky: We love to see its colors glow But while we look they die; Life fails as soon; to-day’tis here To-morrow it may disappear. Lord, what is life?-If spent with thee, In humble praise and prayer, How long or short our life may be, We feel no anxious care: Though life depart, our joys shall last When life and all its joys are past. THE

WAVES. WHEN on the giddy cliff I stand, I see the billows roar, And, breaking on the Coral strand, Whiten with foam the shore. But’tis in vain they strive to break Beyond the bounds decreed; “No farther come,” let God but speak, No farther they proceed. Though furiously their heads they rear, And mingle sea and skies, They smooth as polished glass appear, If i’ Peace, be still,” he cries. CANST thou by s earching find o ut God, The Almighty to perfection trace? And pierce the clouds whose darkness shrouds The brightness of Jehovah’s face? Shall winds and waves their God obey, And I refuse to hear? Shall he that bounds the flowing sea, Not bind me with his fear? Proud, daring man, this thought of thine Proves thee the dupe of Satan’s art: The vain attempt must bring contempt On thy rebellious head and heart. 0 Thou who rulest seas and skies, U>orruption’s flood control; Nor let the waves of passion rise Within my troubled soul.

First try the things thy senses reach, Their nature, power, and essence tell; If here thou fall, canst thou prevail To fEnd out the Unsearchable?

Then I, within thy sacred mound, Shall, in obedience blest, Calm, gently flowing, kiss the bound, And wait eternal rest. Go count the stars and call their names, Sweep with the comet through the sky; Fix thy bold gaze on the sun’s blaze, With an undazzled, tearless eye. go sleep upon the thunder-cloud, Grasp the forked lightning in thy hand; Proceed to find whence comes the wind, And trace its path o’er sea and land. HUES of the rich unfolding morn, That, ere the glorious sun be born, By some soft touch invisible Around his path are taught to swell;Thou rustling breeze so fresh and gay, That danced forth at opening day, And brushing by with joyous wing, Wakenest each little leaf to sing; Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam, By which deep grove and tangled stream Pay, for soft rains in season given, Their tribute to the genial heaven;Why waste your treasures of delight Upon our thankless, joyless sight; Who day by day to sin awake, Seldom of heaven, and you partake? Oh! timely happy, timely wise, Hearts that with rising morn arise! Eyes that the beam celestial view, Which evermore makes all things new! New every morning is the love Our wakening and uprising prove; Through sleep and darkness safely brought, Restored to life, and power, and thought. New mercies each returning day, Hover around us while we pray; Go and unbend the rainbow’s arch, Untwist its robes of various hues; Then view the source, and trace the course, Of rain, hail, vapors, and the dews. Go view the everlasting snows Moistening the axles of the poles; Then boldly probe straight through the globe, And span the line on which it rolls. 512 SABBA‘1,11. GOD UNSEARCHABLE. MORNING. Should thy mind shrink from such attempts, View the least work of Deity; The blades ofgrass thy skill surpass, And thou art baffled by a fly. If every work of God is full Of mysteries we can never scan, His word’tis plain, must then contain Wonders above the powers of man. Before the great Unsearchable With lowliness and love I’ll bend; And gladl.y trace in Jesus face My Go 1, my Savior, and my Fi-iend.

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SONGS FOR THE SIBBATH. PRAYER. PRAYS’:R is the soul’s sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed; The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breasts I no remember, and will ne’er forget, The dying eye!That eye alone was bright, And brighter grew, as nearer death approachedT As I have seen the gentle little flower Look fairest in the silver beam which fell, Reflected from the thunder clou,l that soon (ame down, and o’er the desert scattered far And wide its loveliness. She made a sign I’) bring her babe‘twas brought and by her placed; S:te looked upon its face that neither smiled Nor wept, nor knew who gazed upon it; and laid I1cr hand upon its little’breast, and sought For it, with lookl that seemed to penetrate The heavens, unutterable blessings, such As God to dying parents only granted, For infants left behind them in the world. ” God keep my child!” we heard her say, and heard No more. The Angel of the Covenant Was come, and faithful to his promise stood Prepared to walk with her through death’s dark vale. And now her eyes grew bright, and brighter still, Too bright for ours to look upon, suffused With many tears; and closed without a cloud They set as sets the morning star, which goes Not down behind the darkened west, nor hides Obscured among the tempests of the sky, But melts away into the light of heaven. Prayer is the burden of a sigh The falling of a tear; The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try; Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath, The Christian’s native air, His watchword at the gates of death, He enters heaven with prayer. Prayer is the contrite sinner’s voice, Returning from his ways; While angels in their songs rejoice, And cry, ” Behold he prays.” The saints, in prayer, appear as one, In wvoryd, in deed, and mind, While with the Father and his Son Their fellowship they find. Nor prayer is made on earth alone: The Holy Spirit pleads; And Jesus, on the eternal throne, For mourners intercedes. 0 thou, by whom we come to God, The Life, the Truth, the Way; The path of prayer thyself hast trod. Lord, teach us how to pray. BLESSED BE THY NAME FOR

EVER. BLFSSED be thy name for ever, Thou of life the guard and giver: Thou canst guard thy creatures sleeping; Heal the heart long broke with weeping. God of stillness and of motion, Of the desert and the ocean, Of the mountain, rock, and river, Blessed be thy name tbfor ever. HAPPY the men whose bliss supreme Flows from a source on high, And flows in one perpetual stream, When earthly springs are dry. Contentment makes their little-more; And sweetens good possessed; While faith foretastes the joys in store, And makes them doubly blessed. IfProvidence their comforts shroud, And dark distresses lour; Hope paints its rainbow on the cloud, And grace shines through the shower. Thou who slumberest not nor sleepest, Blessed are they thou kindly keepest; God of evening’s partinig ray, Of midnight’s gloom, and dawning day, That rises from the azure sea, Like breathings of eternity; God of life! that fade shall never, Blessed be thy name for ever! COMMITTING OUR WAYS UNTO THE LORD. COMMIT thou all thy griefs And ways into his hands, To his sure truth and tender care, Who heaven and earth commands: What troubles can their hearts o’erwhelm, Who view a Savior near? Whose Father sits and guides the helm; Whose voice forbids their fear? Let tempests rage, and billows rise, And mortal fir mn ess shrink; Their anchor tbtstens in the skies; Their bark, no storm can sink! Who points the clouds their course, Whom winds and seas obey, He shall direct thy wandering feet, He shall prepare thy way. Put thou thy trust in God, In duty’s path go on; Fix on his word thy steadfast eye, So shall thy work be done: God is their joy and portion st ill, When earthly good retires; And shall their hearts sustain and fill, When earth itself expires. No profit canst thou gain By self-consumitng care: To him commend thy cause, his ear Attends the softest prayer. AH! when did wisdom covet length of days t? Or seek its bliss in pleasure, wealth, or praise t No: wisdom views, with an indifferent eye, All finite joys, all blessings born to die. The soul on earth is an immortal guest, Compelled to starve at an unreal feast; A spark that upward tends by nature’s force, A stream diverted from its parent source; A drop dissevered firom the boundless sea, A moment parted fiom e ternity! A pilgrim panting for a rest to come; An exile anxious for his native home. Give to the winds thy tears, Hope, and be undi sma yed; God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears, God shall lift up thy head. Through waves, and clouds, and storms, He gently clearg thy way: Wait thou his time-thy darkest night Shall end in brightest day.

– -.= -Z MY DYliNG AIOTHER. THE HAPPINESS OF THE GODLY WISDOM.

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.514 J(NS TJ‘‘E ABAh THE WELCOME SABBATH. RETURN, thou wished and welcome guest; Thou day of holiness and rest! Thou best, the dearest of the seven, Emblem and harbinger of heaven! Jerusalem mo u r neth.-Jeremiah. OH, Judah I thy dwellings are sad, Thy children are weeping around, In sackcloth their bosoms are clad As they look on the fanishing ground; In the deserts they maklie them a home, And the mountains awake to their cry; For the frown of Jehovah hath come, And his anger is red in the sky. THE seas are quiet when the winds are o’er So calm are we when passions are no more!

For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things so-certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from her younger eyes, Conceals that emptiness which age descries: The soul’s dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that time has made. Thy tender ones throng at the brink, But the waters are gone from the well; They gaze on the rock. and they think Of the gush of the stream from its cell; How they came to its margin before, And drank in their innocent mirth; Away!

it is sealed, and no more Shall the fountain give freshness to earth.

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home; Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new. The hearts of the mighty are bowed, And the lowly are haggard with care; The voices of mothers are loud, As they shriek the wild note of despair. Oh, Jerusalem! mourn through thy halls, And bend to the dust in thy shame, For the doom that thy spirit appals, Is famine, the sword, and the flame I Is there a time when moments flow, More peacefully than all beside? It is of all the times below, A sabbath eve in summer tide. 0 then the setting sun smiles fair, And all below, and all above The different forms of nature wear One universal garb of love. And then th e peace that Jesus beams, The life of grace, the death of sin, With nature’s placid woods and streams, Is peace without, and peace within. Delightful scene! a world at rest, A God all love, no grief nor fear; A heavenly hope, a peaceful breast, A smile unsullied by a tear. If heaven be ever felt below, A scene so heavenly sure as this May cause a heart on earth to know Some foretaste of celestial bliss. Delightful hour! how soon will night Spread her lark mantle o’er thy reign; And morrow’s quick returning light Must call us to the world again. Yet will there dawn at last a day, A sun that never sets shall rise; Night will not veil his ceaseless ray The heavenly sabbath never dies! MY arms!-Against this Gorgias will I go!

The Dumean Governor shall know How vain, how ineflective, his design While rage his leader and Jehovah mine. Sound an alarm!-Your silver trumpets sound, And call the brave, and only brave, around! Who listeth, follow to the field againJustice and courage is a thousand men! ANGELS EVER BRIGHT

AND FAIR. ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP. ROCKED in the cradle of the deep, I lay me down in peace to sleep; Secure I rest upon the wave, For thou, oh! Lord, hast power to save. I know thou wilt not slight my call For thou dost mark the sparrow’s fal l! And calm and peaceful is my sleep, Rocked in the cradle of the deep. IS THERE AN UNBELIEVER? Is there an unbeliever? Onle man who walks the earth, And madly doubts that Providence Watched o’er him at his birth? He robs mankind for ever Of hopes beyond the tomb; What gives he as a recompense? The brute’s unhallowed doom. In manhood’s loftiest hour, In health, and strength, and pride Oh! lead his steps through valleys green, Where rills mid cowslips glide: Climb nature’s granite tower, Where man hath rarely trod: And will he then, in such a scene, Deny there is a God I And such the trust that st i ll we re mine, Though stormy winds swept o’er the brine. Or though the tempest’s fiery breath Roused from sleep to wreck and death I In ocean cave still safe with thee, The germe of immortality; And calm and peaceful is my sleep, Rocked in the cradle of the deep. MRs. WIL.D Yes-the proud heart will ever Prompt the false tongue s reply I An Omnipresent Providence Still madly he’ll deny. But see the unbeliever Sinking in death’s decay; And hear the cry of penitence! He never leariied to pray! O’ER the desert, vast and dreary, Hagar’s fainting tbotsteps passed; While her soul of life, nigh weary, Shrank beneath the burning blast. As her mournful journey wending, Through that vale of death she strayed, For the child her st eps attending, Thus, the otitcast another prayed! i I I I I i I i i i li i 11 I i I 8 t’,Olt’I’[IE SABBA’ri-I. OH, JUI)Alt! YOUTH AND AGE.

SABBATH EVENING. SOUND AN ALARM! ANGELs ever bri-ht and fair, Take, 0 take me to your care. Speed to your own courts my flight, Clad in robes of virgin white. i i I I l 1. I I , i i i H..-iGAR IN THE DESERT.

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SONGS FOR THE SABBATH. “Lord! the fount is dry and failing, ‘ And my thirst-parched infant tries. “Vainly now, mid tears and wailing, “For its draught-he faints he dies. “Pity, Lord! a mother’s anguish, “Close this pilgrimage of grief; “Let me not behold him languish, ” Nor have power to yield relief. By day along the astonished lands The cloudy pillar glided slow; By night, Arabia’s crimsoned sands Returned the fiery pillar’s glow.

There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answered keen, And Zion’s daughters poured their lays, With priests’ and warriors’ voice between. No portents now our foes amaze, Forsaken Israel wanders lone; Our fathers would not know thy ways, And thou has left them to their own. But present still, though now unseen, When brightly shines the prosperous day, Be thoughts of thee a cloudy screen, To temper the deceitful ray. And oh!

when stoops on Judah’s path, In shade and storm the frequent night, Be thou long-suffering, slow to wrath, A burning and a shining light! Our harps we left by Babel’s streams The tyrant’s jest, the Gentiles’ scorn; No censer round our altar beams, And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn.

But thou hast said, “T1 he blood of goat, The flesh of rams, I will not prize; A contrite heart, an humble thought, Are mine accepted sacrifice.”

SIR WALTER SCorT. THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. ” Cruel was the hand that turned us, “Thus to wander in despair; “Cruel was the hate that spurned us, ”

Lord! in mercy hear my prayer! “Ope the desert’s hidden water “To these vainly-searching eyes; ” T hen s hall Egypt’s wretched daughter “,Bless the aid that Heaven supplies.” FRIENDSHIP WHICH NEVER SHALL FADE. IN the tempest of life when the wave and the gale, Are around and above, if thy footing should fail, If thine eye should grow dim, and thy caution depart, Looki aloft and be firm and be fearless of heart. If the friend who embraced in prosperities glow, With a smile for each joy and a tear for each wo, Sliould betray thee; when sorrow like clouds are arrayed, Look aloft to that friendship which never shall fade. Should they who are dearest-the son of thy heart, The wife of thy bosom, in sorrow depart, Look aloft fiom the darkness and dust of the tomb, To the soil where affection is ever in bloom. .knd O! when death comes in terrors to cast, His fears o’er the future, his pall o’er the past, in that moment of darkness, with hope in thy heart And a smile in thine eye, look aloft and depart. Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks From every host, from every gem; But one alone the Savior speaks, It is the Star of Bethlehem. Once on the raging seas I rode, The storm was loud, the night was dark, The ocean yawned-and rudely blowed The wind that tossed my found’ring bark. A PoOR wayfaring man of grief Hath often crossed me on my way, Who sued so humbly for relief That I could never answer “nay,” I had n ot power to ask his name, Whither he went, or whence he came; Yet there was something in his eye, That won my love, I know not why. Deep horrors then my vitals froze, Death-struck-I ceased the tide to stem; Whe n suddenly a star a rose, It was the Star of Bethlehem. It was my guide, my light, my all; It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm, and danger’s thrall, It led me to the port of peace. Once when my scanty meal was spread, He entered-not a word he spake; Just perishing for want of bread; I gave him all; he blessed it, brake And ate,-but gave me part again Mine was an Angel’s portion then; For while I sped with eager haste, That crust was manna to my taste. spied him where a fountain burst, Clean from a rock-his strength was gone; The heedless water mocked his thirst He heard it-saw it hurrying on; I ran to raise the sufferer up; Thrice from the stream he drained my cup, Dipt, and returned it running o’er; I drank, and never thirsted more. Now safely moored-my perils o’er, I’ll sing, first in night’s diadem, For ever and for evermore, The Star!-the Star of Bethlehem! KIR:KE WHinT. Stripped, wounded, beaten, nigh to death, I found him by the highway side; I roused his pulse-brought back his breath, Revived his spirit, and supplied Wine, oil, refreshment-he was healed I had myself a wound concealed; But from that hour forgot the smart, And peace bound up my broken heart. THE HEAVENLY JERUSALEM. HIGH in yonder realms of light, Far above these lower skies, Fair and exquisitely bright, Heaven’s unfading mansions rise; Built of pure and massy gold, Strong and durable are they; Decked with gems of worth untold, Subjected to no decay!

Glad within these blest abodes, Dwell the raptured saints above, Where no anxious care corrodes; Happy in Emmanuel’s love! One, indeed, like us below, Pilgrims in this vale of tears, Torturin_z pain, and heavy wo, Gloomy dcubts. distressing fears HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID. WHaN Israel of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came Her fatbhr’s God before her moved, An awvful gide il smoke and flame. 515 WHEN marshalled on the nigbtly plain, ,rbe glitt’ring host bestud the sky; One star alone of all the train, Can f-x the sinner’s wandering eye. CHARITY.

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516 SONCS FOR TI1 SABBATH ,‘rIE SABBATRH ,, Earth to earth,” and ” dust to dust,” The solemn priest hath said, So we lay the turf above thee now, And we seal thy narrow bed: But thy spirit, brother, soars away Among the faithful blest, Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest.-MILAN THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. Lo! He comes, with clouds descending, Once for favored sinners slain, Thousand, thousand saints attending, TheyI hSwell the triumphs of his train; Hallelujah! Jesus now shall ever reign!

Every eye shall now behold him, Clothed in awful majesty; Those who set at naught and sold him, Pierced and nailed him to the tree, Deeply wailing, Shall the great Messiah see! Every island, sea, and mountain, All* itHeaven and earth shall flee way; All who hate h’iin must, confounded, Hear the trump proclaim the day, “Come to judgment! Come to judgment! Come away!” Now, redemption, long expected, *rro ieSee in solemn pomp appear!

All his saints, by men rejected, Now shall meet him in the air!

Hallelujah! See the day of God appear! Answer thine own Bride and Spirit!

Hasten, L,ord, the general doom! Promised glory to inherit, Take thy pining exiles home; All creation Travails, groans, and bids thee come. Yea I Amen! Let all adore thee, High on thine exalted throne; Savior! take the power and glory, Claim the kingdom for thine own! O come quickly!

Hallelujah! Come, Lord, Come! THE HOUR OF PRAYER. CHILD, amid the flowers at play, While the red light fades away; Mother, with thine earnest eye, EFather, by the breeze of eve, Called thy harvest work to leave: Pray!-ere yet the dark hours be, Lift the hand and bend the knee. Traveller, in the stranger’s land, Far from thine own household band; Mourner, haunted by the tone Of a voice from this world gone; Captive, in whose narrow cell Sunshine hath not leave to dwell; Sailor, on the darkening sea, Lift the heart and bend the knee. Warrior, that from battle won, Breathest now at set of sun; Woman, o’er the lowly slain, Weeping on his burial plain; Ye that triumph, ye that sigh, Kindred by one holy tee; Heaven’s first star alike ye see Lift the heart and sendl the lknee. HzMA Th ese, alas! f ull w ell they knew, Sad companions of their way; Oft on them the tempest blew, Through the long and cheerless day I Oft their vileness they deplored, Wills perverse and hearts untrue, Grieved they could not love their Lord, Love him as they wished to do. Oft the big unbidden tear, Stealing down the furrowed cheek, T old, in eloque nce s incere, Tales of wo they could not speak; But these days of weeping o’er, P a st this scene of toil and pain, They shall f eel dis tress no more, Never, never, weep again! ‘Mid ors the cho rus of the skies, ‘Mid the angelic lyres above, Hark! thei r song s melodious rise, Songs of praise to Jesus’ loye! Happy spirits! ye are f led, Wh er e n o grief can entrance find; Lulled to rest the aching head, Soothed the anguish of the mind! All is tranquil and serene, Calm and undisturbed repose; There no cloud can intervene, There no angry tempest blows! Every tear is wiped away, : Sighs no more shall heave the breast; Night is lost in endless day Sorrow ill eternal rest.-RAL.ES. THE DAY OF WRATH. THE day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner’s stay?

Whom shall he trust that dreadful day? When shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll; When, louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead. Oh, on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be thou, 0 Christ! the sinner’s stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away! ..... -.... SIR

IrALTER SCOTT. THE BURIAL ANTHEM. BROTHER, thou art gone before us, And thy saintly soul is flown Where tears are wiped from every eye, And sorrow is unknown. From the burthen of the flesh, And from care and fear released, Where the wicked cease from troubling And the weary are at rest.

the toilsome way thou’st travelled o’er, And borne the heavy load, But C~hrist hath taught thy languid feet To reach his blessed abode; Thou’rt sleeping now, like Lazarus Upon his Father’s breast, Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest. Sin can never taint thee now, Nor diouot thy faith assail, Nor thy meek trust in Jesus Christ, And the Holy Spirit fail: And there thou’rt sure to meet the good, Whom on earth thou lovedst best, Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary ale at rest. SONGS 516

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‘RTHE SABBA‘‘it. 517 | And now I my rainbow shall set in the sky, I When tempests are dark to thy terrified eye, I That shall bring consolation to theeI To thousands of thousands that after thee tread . The regions of Itfe to the realms of the dead. WHEN Jordan hushed his waters still, And silence slept on Zion hill; When Bethlehem’s shepherds through the night Watched o’er their flocks by starry light; Hark! from the midnight hills around, A voice of more than mortal sound, In distant hallelujahs~stole, Wild murm’ring o’er the raptured soul then swig.:o verv etartled eye, New str, ..i:iouv light the sky; Heaven nurs. .rt sates to pour Her -pi rits’,e midulgnt nour. On wheels,:t, on wings of flame, The glorious losts of Zion came; High heaven with songs of triumph runig, Wh il e thus they struck their harps and sung. 0 Zion I lift thy raptured eye, I’he long-pected hour is nigh ‘rhe joys of nature rise again, ‘The orince of Salem comes to reign. “It is for a sign that I never again With waters shall cover the earth; And the birds in the arbors shall warble their strain, And the cattle shall browse on the nourishing plain, And give to their progeny birth; And die as they died by the curse that I spoke, When my cov’nant of old by thy father was broke. “And thou, Noah, thou art preserved for thy worth, To repeople the desolate world; To the climes of the south, to the isles of the north, To the east and the west, shall thy children go forth, With the white flags of ocean unfurledTo publish my praises throughout every land, And the judgments of vengeance that come from my han& “And seed-time and harvest shall duly be given To the hopes and the hands of mankind; And summer and winter, and nmorning and even, And the dew-drops of earthl and the light-rays of heaven And the cloud, and the rain, and the wind, While earth on her orbit is destined to run, And give her green breast to the beams of the sun.’” KNox. >e.Vl ercy from ner golden urn >’,-.urs a rich stream to them that mourn; Be,.t:.,t, r’

rinds, with tender care, t r:,. bleedr~ 1bosom of despair. He comes, to cheer the trembling heart, Bids Satan and his host depart; Again the day-star gilds the gloom, Again the bowers of Eden bloom! 0 Zion! lift thy raptured eye, The long expected hour is nigh; The joys of nature rise again, The Prince of Salem comes to reign.-CAMPBELL. NOT to the mount that burned with fire, To darkness, tempest, and the sound Of trumpet waxing higher and higher, Nor voice of words that rent the ground, While Israel heard, with trembling awe, Jehovah thunder forth his law: GOD GLORIFIED IN

ALL HIS WORKS. But to Mount Zion we are come, The city of the living God, Jerusalem, our heavenly home, The courts by angel-legions trod, Where meet, in everlasting love, The church of the first-born above: THE spacious firmament. on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim. Th’ unwearied sun, from day to day, Does his Creator’s praise display, And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand. To God, the Judge of quick an d dead, The perfect spirits of the just, Jesus, our great new-covenant Head, The bic,,d of sprinkling-from the dust, Th, etter things than Abel’s cries, And pleads a %avior’- sacrifice. Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly, to the list’ning earth, Repeats the story of her birth; Oh, he. – en to th e healing voice, That speaks from heaven in tones so mild I To-day are life and death our choice, To-day, through mercy reconciled, Our all to God we yet may give; Aow let us hea;r h” voice and live. MONTGOMER. While all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirmr the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. What though in solemn silence all Move round the dark terrestrial ball, What though nor voice nor minstrel sound Among their radiant orbs be found: THE

EXEMPLARY WIFL. With saints and angels they rejoice, And utter forth their glorious voice; For ever singing as they shine, “The hand that made us is Divine!”-ADDISON. 0 BLEST is he whose arms enfold A consort virtuous as fair! Her price is far above the gold That worldly spirits love to share.

On her, as on a beautenio s isle, Amid life’s dark an~,~.r,,V sea, In all his trouble, all his oil, He rests with deep security. WHEN the floods of the deluge to ocean had rolled, And the green-mantled hills reappeared; When the valleys unfolded their blossoms of gold, And Noah, the patriarch, came forth from his hold, The voice of Jehovah was heardThe voice of Jehovah brought tidings of bliss rTo the world late entombed in the fearful abyss. Even in the night-watch, di,4-‘ Cnd lone, The distaff flls her buf.v hand Her husband in the gates ic Samwn Among the elders of the audi Her household all delight to share The f)(b(l an’, raiinent she bestows Even shtR with wa naent’s ca re Rega-rdls lhcir wealk.ness andl their woes. – The snioke of thine offerin hathl come up on high, Tauti father of nations to be! I I I SON GS l,‘OR THE NATIVITY. THE COMMUNION OF

SAINTS. THE RAINBOW.

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FOR’rile SABBA‘‘H. Her pitying hand supplies the poor, The widowed one, the orphan child, Like birds assembled round her door, When sweeps the winter teinpest wild. Her lips, with love and wisdom fraught, Drop, like the honeycomb, their sweets; The young are by her dictates taught, The mourner her condolence meets. I find thee in the noon of night, And read thy name in every star That drinks its splendor from the light That flows from iiercy’s beaming car: Thy footstool, Lord, each starry gem Composes-not thy diadem. And when the radiant orb of light Hath tipped the mountain tops with gold, Smote with the blaze my weary sight Shrink s from the wonders I behold: That ray ofglory bright and fair, Is but thy living shadow t here. Thine is the silent noon of night, The twilight, eve-the dewy morn; Whate’er is beautiful and bright, Thine hands have fashioned to adorn; Thy glory walks in every sphere, And all things whisper, ” God is here I” lIer lovely babes around her risew Fair scions of a holy stem I!

And deeply shall her bosom prize The blessings she receives from them.

Beauty is vain as summer bloom To which a transient fate is given; But hers awaits a lasting doom In the eternal bowers of heaven.-KN ox. HYMN

BEFORE THE SACRAMENT. BRF.AD of the world, in mercy broken! Wine of the soul, in mercy shed! By whom the words of life were spoken, And in whcse death our sins are dead! Look on the heart by sorrow broken, Look on the tears by sinners shed, And be thy feast to us the token That by thy grace our souls are fed!-HEBER. ‘TWAs early day-and sunlight streamed Soft through a quiet room, That hushed, but not forsaken seemed Still, but with naught of gloom; For then, secure in happy age, Whose hope is from above, A father communed with the page Of heaven’s recorded love. Pure fell the beam and meekly bright, On his gray holy hair, And touched the book with tenderest light As if its sh rine were there; But oh! that patriarch’s aspect shone Witlt something lovelier farA radiance, all the Spirit’s own, Caught not from sun or star. HYMN OF PRAISE. SOURCE of being, source of light, With unfading beauties bright; Thee, when morning greets the skies, Blushing sweet with humid eyes; Thee,. when soft declining day Sinks in purple waves away; Thee, 0 parent, will I sing, To thy feet my tribute bring! Yonder azure vault on high, Yonder blue, low, liquid sky; Earth on its firm basis placed, And with circling waves embraced; All creating power confess, All their mighty Maker bless; Shaking nature with thy nod, Earth and heaven confess their God. Source of light, thou bidst the sun On his burning axles rnn; Stars like dust around him fly, Strew the area of the sky; Fills the queen of solemn night From his vase her orb of light; Lunar lustre, thus we see, ,Solar virtue shines by thee. Father, King, whose heavenly face Shines serene upon our race; Mindful of thy guardian care, Slow to punish, prone to spare; We thy majesty adore, We thy well-known aid implore; Not in vain thy aid we call, Nothing want, for thou art all!WESLEr. Some word of light e’en then had met His calm benignant eye, Some ancient promise, breathing yet Of immortality: Some heart’s deep language when the glow Of quenchless faithI survives, For, every featurec said,” I know That my Redeemer lives.” And silent stood his children by, Hushing their very breath, Before the solemn sanctity Of thought, o’er-sweeping death: Silent-yet did not each young breast With love and reverence melt? Oh! blest be those fair girls-and blest The home where God is felt.-HENMAs. Its dewy morn-its glowing noon Its tranquil eve-its solemn nightPass sweetly; but they pass too soon, And leave me saddened at their flight. Yet sweetly as they glide along, And hallowed though the calm they yield; Transporting though their rapturous song, And heavenly visions seem revealed: A,OVE-below where’er I gaze, Thy guiding finger, Lord, I view. Traced in the midnight planets’ blaze, Or glistening in the mer;iug sew; Whate’ei is beautiful or faii, Is but thine own reflectlod’ere. My soul is desolate and drear, My silent harp untuned remains; Unless, my Savior, th ou art near, To heal my xvoiin(Is and sooth my pains. I hear thee in the stormy wn,,i, That turns the ocean wave to foam; Nor less thy wondrous power I find, When summner airs around me roam; The tempest and( the calm declare Thyself-for thou art everywhere. 0 ever, ever let me hail Thy presence with this day of rest, Then will thy servant nearer fail To deem thy sabbaths doubly blest.-TEASr 51 A DOMESTIC

SCENE. THE SABBATH. LoitD of the sabbath and its li-ht; I hail thy hallowed day of rest; It is my weary soul’s delight, The solace of my care-worn breast. GOD VISIBLE rN HIS WORKS.

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SONGS FOR THE SABBATIH. From thee my daily bread and health, Each comfort-all my spirit’s wealth, Have been derived; my sins alone, And errings I can call my own. WHEN our heads are bowed with wo, When our bitter tears o’erflow; When we mourn the lost, the dear, Gracious So’ of Mary hear! Oh, when to-morrow’s sun shall rise, And light once more shall glad these eyes May I thy blessed Sabbath prove, A day of holy rest and love. May my Redeemer’s praises claim My constant thought; the Spirit’s flame Descend, my accents to inspire, And fill my soul with rapture’s fire. Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn, Thou our mortal griefs hast borne, Thou hast shed the human tear; Gracious son of Alary, hear! And when the night of Death is come, And I must slumber in the tomb, Oh, then, my God, this faint heart cheer, And far dispel the shades of fear, And teach me, in thy strength, to tread The path which leads me to the dead, Assured, when life’s hard toils are o’er, Of rest with thee for evermore!-WALKER. When the heart is sad within, With the thought of all its sin; When the spirit shrinks with fear, Gracious Son of Mary, hear!

CHRIST A PRESENT HELP. WHEN gathering clouds around I view, And days are dark, and friends are few, On Him I lean, who not in vain, Experienced every human pain. He sees my griefs, allays my fears, And counts and treasures up my tears. Thou the shame, the grief, hast known, Though the sins were not thine own, Thou hast deigned their load to bear, Gracious Son of Mary, hear!-HBER. If aught should tempt my soul to stray From heavenly wisdom’s narrow way, T o fly th e gocd I w ould pursu e, Or do the thing I would not do; Still He, who felt temptation’s power, Shall guard me in that dangerous hour. THE REST OF THE GRAVE. How still and peaceful is the grave I l Where, life’s vain tumults past, The appointed house, by Heaven’s decree, Receives us all at last. The wicked there from troubling cease, Their passions rage no more; And there the weary pilgrim rests From all the toils he bore. If wounded love my bosom swell, Despised by those I prized too well; H e shall h is pitying aid bestow, Who felt on earth severer wo; At once betrayed, denied, or fled, By those who shared his daily bread. There rest the prisoners, now released From slavery’s sad abode: No more they hear the oppressor’s voice, Or dread the tyrant’s rod.

When vexing thoughts within me rise, And, sore dismayed, my spirit dies; Yet He who once vouchsafed to bear The sickening anguish of despair, Shall sweetly sooth, shall gently dry, The throbbing heart, the streaming eye.

There, servants, masters, small and great, Partake the same repose; And there, in peace, the ashes mix Of those who once were foes. When, mourning, o’er some stone I bend, Which covers all that was a friend, And from his voice, his hand, his smile, Divides me tbr a little while; Thou Savior, markst the tears I shed, For thou didst weep o’er Lazarus dead.

All, levelled by the hand of Death, Lie sleeping in the tomb; Till God in judgme nt calls them forth, To meet their final doom. And, oh, when I have safely past Through every conflict but the last, Still, still unchanging, watch beside My painful bed for thou hast died-. Then point to realms of cloudless day, And wipe the latest tear away.-GRANr. AGAIrN the week’s dull labors close; The sons of toil from toil repose; And fast the evening gloom descends, While home thie weary peasant wends. This night his eyes, in slumber sweet, Shall droop their lids; to-morrow greet A day of calm content and restTo Labor’s aching limbs how blest! MARY MAGDALENE. THER.E is a tender sadness in that air, While yet devotion lifts the soul above; Mournful though calm, as rainbow-glories prove The parting storm, it marks the past despair! Heedless of gazers, once with flowing hair She dried his tear-besprinkled feet, whose love, Powerful alike to pardon and reprove, Took from her aching heart its load of care, Thenceforth nor time nor pain could e’er efface Her Savior’s pity; through all worldly scorn, To her he had a glory and a grace Which made her humbly love and meekly mourn. Till by his faithful care she reached the placeWhere his redeemed saints above all griefs’ are borne. NozLa Now, ere I seek my peac eful bed, And on the pillow rest my head, Oh, come, my soul, and wide display The mercies of the week and day! From danger who my frame hath kept, While waking and what time I slept? Who hath my every want supplied, And to my footsteps proved a guide? TiO tlou, my Godm!-eto thee belong Incense of praise, and hallowed song; To Thee be all the glory given, Of all my mercies under heaven. 1)19 A PRAYER TO JESUS. When th sullen death-bell tolls For our own departed souls; When our final doom is near, Gracious Son of Mary, hear I Thou hast bowed the dyiii-, head; Thou the blood oflife hast shed; Thou hast filled a mort,-tl bier; Gracious Son ofmary, hear! SATURDAY

NIGHT. I

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2O SONGS FOR THE SABBATH. THE GERMAN WATCHMEN’S SONG. Among the watchmen in Germany, a singular custom prevails, of chanting devotional hymins as weli as songs of a national or amusing character, during the night. Of the former description of pieces, tile following is a specimen, the several stanzas being chanted as the hours of the night are successively announced. HARK! ye neighbors, and hear me tell TrE now strikes on the belfry bell! Ten are the holy commandments given To man below, from GOD in Heaven. I asked a dying sinner, ere the stroke Of ruthless death life’s “golden bowl had broke;” I asked s” What is timne? “Time,” he replied, “I’ve los it, Ah, the treasure!” and he died! I asked the golden sun and silver spheres, Those bright chronometers of days and years; They answered, ” Time is but a meteor’s glare,” And bade me for Eternity prepare. I asked the seasons, in their annual round Which beautify, or desolate the ground; And they replied (no oracle more wis e), “‘Tis folly’s blank, and wisdom’s highest prize.” Hark! ye neiga hbors, and hear me tellELI:VJEN sounds on the belfry bell! Eleven apostles of holy mind, Taught the Gospel to mankind. Human watch, &c. Harkl! ye neighbors, and hear me tellTWELVe resound s from the belfry bell! Twelve disciples to JEsus came, Who suffered rebuke for their SAVIOR’s name, Human watch, &c.

I asked a spirit lost, but, 0 the shriek That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak! It cried, “a particle! a speck! a mite Of endless years, duration infinite!” Hark! ye neighbors, and hear me tellONE has pealed on the belfry bell! One GOD above, one LORD indeed, Who bears us forth in hour of need. Human watch, &c. Of things inanimate, my dial I Consulted, and it made me this reply, “Time is the season I air of living well The path to glory, or the path to hell.” I asked my Bible, and methlinks it said, “Thine is the present hour, the past is fled; Live! live to-day!

to-morrow never yet On any human being rose or set!” I asked old father Time himself at last; But in a moment he flew swiftly past; His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind His noiseless steeds, that left no trace behind. Hark! ye neighbors, and hear me tellTwo resounds from the belfry bell! Two paths betore mankind are free, Neighbors choose the best for thee. Human watch, &c. Hark! ye neighbors, and hear me tell’rHRFE now sounds on the belfry bell! Threefold reigns the Heaven ly Host, FATHER, SON and HOLY GHOST! Human watch, &e. I asked the mighty Angel, who shall stand One foot on sea, and one on solid land; “By heavens, great King, I swear the mystery’b o’erl Time was,” he cried,-” but Time shiall be no miore I” MARSDEN. FROM Greenland’s icy mountains, From India’s coral strand, Where Afric’s sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand; From many an ancient river, From many a balmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error’s chain. I HEAR thee speak of the better land, Thou call’st its children a happy band; Mother! oh, where is that radiant shoreShall we not seek it and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs I “Not there, not there, my child.” What though the spicy breezes Blow soft on Ceylon’s isle, Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile; In vain with lavish kindness, The gifts of God are strown, The heathen, in his blindness, Bows down to wood and stone. Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies, Or midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings, Bear the rich hues of all glorius things? “Not there, not there, my child.” Shall we whose souls are lighted With wisdom from on high, Shall we to man benighted The lamp of life deny? Salvation! oh, salvation,! The joyful sound proclaim, Till each remotest nation Has learnt Messiah’s name. Is it far away in some region old, Where the rivers wander o’er sands of goldWhere the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strandIs it there, sweet mother, that better land? “Not there, not there, my child. Waft, waft, ye winds, his story And you, ye waters, roll; Till like a sea of glory, It spreads from pole to pole! Till o’er our ransomed nature, The Lamb for sinners slain, Rtedeemer, King, Creator, In bliss returns tc reign.-HEBER. “Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy, Dreams can not picture a world so fair, Sorrow and death may not enter there; Time doth not breathe on its fafleles,s bloom, For beyond the clouds, an,l heyonl t’e tomb, It is there, it is there, mj child!”-I-EIIANrs. I I I i I I 520 SONGS FOR THE SABBA,RH. WHAT IS TIME?

ASKED an a-,ed man, a man of cares, Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs 11 Time is the warp of life,” he said, 11 0 tell The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well!” I asked the ancient venerable dead, Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled-. From the cold -rave a hollow murmur flowed, Time sowed the seeds we reap in this abode!” CHORTJS. Human watch from harm can’t ward us, GOD will watch and GOD Will guard us; He, through his eternal might, Grant us all a blessed night. MISSIONARY HYMN.

THE BETTER LAND.

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THE SONGS AND BALLADS OF CHARLES DIBDIN. THE GOOD SHIP THE KITTY. G(o patter to lubbers and swabs, do ye see, ‘Bool danger, and fear, and the like; A tight water-boat and good sea-room give me, And it ent to a little I’ll strike; T’liough the tempest top-gallant masts smack smooth should smite, And shiver each splinter of wood, Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight, And under reefed foresail we’ll scud: Avast!

nor don’t think me a milksop so soft To be taken for trifles aback; For they say there’s a Providence sits up aloft, To keep watch for the life of poor Jack! And from that time, no worse nor norn better, I’ve thought on just nothing but she; Nor could grog nor flip make me forget her, She’s my best bower-anchor-Yo, Yea! When the wind whistled larboard and starboard, And the storm came on weather and lee, The hop)e I with her should be harbored Was my cable and anchor Yo, Yea! And yet, my boys, would you believe me? I returned with no rhino from sea; Mistress Polly would never receive me, So again I heaved anchor-Yo, Yea I heard our good chaplain palaver one day About souls, heaven, mercy, and such; And, my timbers!

what lingo he’d coil and belay, Why,‘twas just all as one as High Dutch: For he said how a sparrow can’t founder, d’ye see, Without orders that come down below; And a many fine things that proved clearly to me That Providence takes us in tow: “For,” says he, “do you mind me, let storms e’er so oft Take the topsails of sailors aback, There’s a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!” AND did not you hear of a jolly young waterman, Who at Blackfriars bridge used for to ply? He feathered his oars with such skill and dexterity, Winning each heart, and delighting each eye. He looked so neat and rowed so steadily, The maidens all flocked to his boat so readily; And he eyed the young 1ogues with so charming an an. That this waterman ne’er was in want of a fare. [ said to our Poll, for, d’ye see, she would cry, When last we weighed anchor for sea”What argufies sniv’ling and piping your eye? Why, what a damned fool you must be! Can’t you see the worlds wide, and there’s room for us all, Both for seamen and lubbers ashore? And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll, You never will hear of me more: What then? all’s a hazard: come, don’t be so soft; Perhaps I may laughing comIe back, Fir, d’ye see, there’s a cherub sits smiling aloft, Tc keep watch for the life of poor Jack!” What sights of fine folks he rowed in his wherry, ‘Twas cleane,d out so nice and so painted withal: He was always first oars when the fine city ladies In a party to Ranelagh went, or Vauxhall. And oftentimes would they be giggling and leering, But’twas all one to Tom their gibing and jeering: For loving or liking he little did care, For this waterman ne’er was in want of a fare. D’ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch All as one as a piece of the ship, And -with her brave the world without offering to flinch, Fram the moment the anchor’s a-trip. As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends, Naught’s a trouble from duty that springs, For my heart is my Poll’s, and my rhino’s my friend’s, And as for my life,‘tis the king’s: Even when my time comes, ne’er believe me so soft As for brief to be taken aback, For the s-,ne little cherub that sits up aloft Will lolok out a goodl berth for poor Jack And yet but to se e how strangely things happen, As he rowed along thinking of nothing at all, He was plied by a damsel so lovely and charming, That she smiled, and so stra-ighbtway in love he did fall And would this young damsel but banish his sorrow, He’d wed her to-nighrlIt, before to-morrow. And how sloul l this wate,‘man (veer know care, When he’.s iiiarric,i andl nevcier ilas want of a tare 7 i I 11 POOR JACK. I SAIL in the good ship the Kitty, With a smart blowing gale and rough sea; Left my Polly, the lads call so pretty, Safe here at an atichor-Yo, Yea!

She blubbered silt tears when we parted, And cried, 11 Now be constant to me!” I told her not to be downhearted, So up went the anchor-Yo, Yea! THE

JOLLY YOUNG WATERMAN.

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,)22THMIRRLBAY FAREWELL AND RETURN. THou’aH hard the valiant soldier’s life, They some sweet moments know; Joy ne’er was yet unmixed with strife, Or happiness with wo. ‘Tis hard, when friend, when children, wife, Reluctant from him part, And fancy paints the mniuffled drum, And plaintive fife, And the loud volley o’er the grave, That sounds sad requiems to the brave; All this he hears, And calms their fears W ith smiles, though horror’s in his heart. liut when the joyful hour shall corne, To bring himn home at last, How sweet his constant wife to greet, His children, friends, And in their circling arms to find amends For all his suflerings past. ‘Tis hard when, desolation spread, Death whirls the rapid cat; And those invaded hear, and dread, The thunder of the war. Al!

then, in!leedl, frien-ids, children, wife, Have ye true cause to fear; Too soon, alas! the muffled drum, The mournful life, And the loud volley o’er the grave, Shall sound sad requiems to the brave, While those alive Faint joy revive, And blend hope’s smile with pity’s tear But when the joyful hour shall come, To bring him home at last, How sweet his constant wife to greet, His children, friends, And in their circling arms to find amends For all his sufferings past! JACK RATLIN was the ablest seaman, None like him could hand, reef, and steer; No dangerous toil but he’d encounter With skill, and in contempt of fear. In fight, a lion: the battle ended, Meek as the bleating lamb he’d prove: Thus Jack had manners, courage, merit; Yet did he sigh-and all for love. The song, the jest, the flowing liquor, For none of these had Jack regard: He, while his mnessmates were carousing, High sitting on the pendant-yard, Would think upon his fair one’s beauties, Swear never from such charms to rove; That truly he’d adore them living, And, dying, sigh-to end his love. The same express the crew commanded Once more to view their native land, Among the rest, brought Jack some tidingsWould it had been his love’s fair hand! Oh, fate!

her death defaced the letter; Instant his pulse forgot to move; With quiv’ring lips, and eyes uplifted, He heaved a sigh-and died for love!

THEl? f arew ell, my trim-built wherry! Oars, and coat, and badge, farewell! Never more at Chelsea ferry Shall your Thomas take a spell. But, to hope and peace a stranger, In the battle’s heat I’ll go, Where, exposed to every danger, Some friendly ball may lay me low. Then, mayhap, when homeward steering With the news, my miessmates come, Even you, the story hear ing, With a sigh may cry-” Poor Tom i” YO, HEAVE, HO! THE boatswain calls, the wind is fair, The anchor heaving, Our sweethearts leaving, We to duty must repair, Where our stalions well we know. Cast off halliards fromn the cleets, Stand by well, clear all the sheets; Come, m y boys, Your handspikes poise, And give one general huzza! Yet sighing, as you pull away, For the tears ashore that flow: To the windlass let us go, With yo, heave, ho! THE BUSY CREW. THE busy crew, their sails unbending, The ship in harbor safe arrived, Jack Oakumin, all his perils ending, Had male the port where Kitty lived. His rigging. no one (lare attack it; Tight fore anIl at, above, below; Long-quartered shoes, check shirt, blue jacke:W With trousers like the driven snow. His honest heart, with pleasure glowing, He flew like lightning to the side; Scarce had he been a boat’s length rowing, Before his Kitty he espied. The anchor coming now apeair, Lest the ship, striving, Be on it driving, That we the tap’ring yards must seek, And back the foretop-sail well we know. A pleasing duty!

From aloft We faintly see those charms, where oft, When returning, With passion burning, We fondly gaze, those eyes that seem, In parting, with biu o tears to strealr. Belt come! lest ours as fast should flow, To thle windlass once more go, With yo, heave, ho! A f lowing pennant gayly fluttered From her neat-made hat of st raw; Red were her cheeks when first she uttered It was “her sailor” that she saw. A,nd now the gazing crew surround her, While, securie fros ry1 alarls, Swift as a hall fronm a iliac-poun ler, They dart into each ot!.er’s arms. litROR LIB THE SIGNAL

TO ENGAGE TH.E signal to engage shall be A whistle and a hollow; Be one and all but firm, like me, And conquest soon will follow. You, Gunnel, keep the helm in hand Thus, thus, boys, steady, steady, Till right ahead you see the land, Then, soon as we are ready, The signal, &e. Keep, boys, a good look-out, d’ye hear! ‘Tis for your country’s honor; Just as you brought your lower tier Broadside to bear upon her, The signal, &e. All hands then, lads, the ship to clear; Load all your guns and mortars; Silent as death th’ attack prepare: And, when you’re all at quarters, The signal, &e. I I I JACK RATLIN. POOR TOM!

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S S, BALLIADS, ET‘‘C. Now the ship’s under weigh, The breeze so willing The canvass filling, The pressed triangle cracks the stay, So taught to haul the sheet we kna,w. And now in trim we gayly sail, The massy beam receives the -ale; While freed from duty, rF his beauty (Left on the less’ning shore afar) A fervent sigh heaves every tar; To thank those tears for him that flow, That from his true-love he should go, With yo, heave, ho! I’ve this here’e, say, now, and mind it, If love, that no hazard can mar, You are seeking, you’ll certainly find it In the kind honest heart of a tar. EACH BULLET HAS ITS COMMISbLI(‘. W.IAT argufies pri(le land ambition? Soon or late deathli will take us in tow: Each bullet has gjt its conirnission, And when our time’s come we must go Then be merir hang,imLi andl sorrow, The halter wa-s imade foir the neck; Hie thlat’s now’live and lusty, to-morrow Perhaps inay )e stretclhed on tihe deck. WHEN LAST FROM THE STRAITrS. WHEN last from the Straits we had fairly cast anchor, I went Bonny Kitty to hail, With quintables stored, for our voyage was a spanker, And bran new was every sail: But I knew well enough how, with words sweet as honey, They trick us poor tars of our gold, And when the sly gipsies have fingered the money, T’he bag they poor Jack give to hold. So I chased her, d’ye see, my lads, under false colors, Swore my riches were all at an end, That I’d sported away all my good-looking dollars, And borrowed my togs of a friend. Ther e se ws little Tom nstock of Dover Got killed, an(d left IPolly in p)ain; Poll cried, but her gr-ief was soon over, And then she grot inarried again.

Then be merry, &c. Jack Junki was ill use( bhT Bet Crocker, Anti so took to guizzling the stuff, Till he tumnble(d in old Davv’s locker, And there he aot liquor enough. Then be merry, &c. O then, had you seen her-no longer “My honey“‘Twas ” Varlet, audacious, and bold, Begone from my sight! now you’ve spent all your money, For Kitty the bag you may hold.”

With that I took out double handfuls of shiners, And scornfully bade her good-by; ‘Twould have done your heart good, had you then seen her fine airs, How she’d leer, and she’d sob, and she’d sigh; But I stood well the broadside; while jewel and honey She called me, I put up the gold, And bearing away, as I sacked all the money, Left the bag for ma’am Kitty to hold. LIFE’S TROUBLED SEA. THIs life is like a troubledcsea, Where, helm a-weather or a-lee, The ship will neither stay nor wear, But drives, of every rock in fear. ITWAS Saturday night, the twinkling staw Shone on the rippling sea; No duty called the jovial tars, The helm was lashed a-lee; The ample can adorned the board Prepared to see it out, Each gave the girl that he adored, And pushed the can about. Cried honest Tom, ml Peg I’ll toast, A frigate neat and trimn, All jolly Portsmouith’s favorite boast; I’d venture lite and lirmb  Sail seven long years, and ne’er see land, With dauntless heart and stout, So tight a vessel to command; Then push the can about. All seamanship in vrain we try, We can not keep her steadily; But just as ~ortune’s wind may blow, The vessel’s tosticated to and fro; Yet, come bnt love on board, Our hearts with pleasure stored, No storm can overwhelm, Still blows in vain The hurricane, While love is at the helm. THE HEART’ OF A TAR. I’ll give, cried little Jack, my Poll, Sailing in comely state, Top-ga’nt sails set, she is so tall, She looks like?. hrst-rate; Ah! wouli she take her Jack in tow, A voyage for life throughout, No better berth I’d wish to know; Then push the can about. YET though I’ve no fortune to offer, I’vt something to put on a par; Come, then, and accept of my proffer, ‘Tis the rind honest heart of a tar. Ne’er let such a trifle as this is, Girls, be to my pleasure a bar, You’ll be rich, though’tis only in kisses, With the kind honest heart of a tar.

Besides, I am none of your ninnies; The next time I come from afar I’ll give you a lapful of guineas, With the kind honest heart of a tar. Your lords, with such fine baby faces, That strut in a garter and star, Have they, under their tambour and laces, The kind honest heart of a tar? I ii I i i i I II I i I I I i i I iI i I I 523 For our prize-iiioney then to the proctut, Take of joy, while’ti., going, our freak; For what argufi,,s callin the doctor When the anchor of life is a-peak? Then be merry, &e. SWEETHEARTS AND W]RVES. I’ll give, cried 1, my charming Nan, Trim, handsome, neat, and tight; %Vith joy so fine a ship to man, She is my heart’s delight! So well she bears the storms of life, I’d sail the world throufrout, Brave ev’ry toil for such a wife: Then push the can about. Thus to describe Poll, Pe-, or Nan. Each his best manner tried, Till, siinimoned by the empty can, They to their li-,immoclis Iiie(]; Yet still (ii-I thev tliei,- viits lieep, Thou li the huge c(,i.n was out, I,‘or, in s(,ft visions, f,ntle sleep Still pushed the can about.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. THE SOLDIER’S GRAVE. Or all sensations pity brings To proudly swell the ample heart, From which the willing sorrow springs, In others’ wo that bears a part; Of all sad sympathy’s delights, The manly dignity of grief, A joy;n mournilng that excites, And gives the anxious mind relief: Of these would you the feeling know, Most gen’rous, noble, greatly brave, That ever taught a heart to glow’Tis the tear that bedews a soldier’s grave. THE wind was hushed, the fleecy wave Scarcely the vessel’s sides could lave, When in the mizen-top his stand Tom Clueline, taking spied the land. Oh, sweet reward for all his toil! Once more he views his native soil Once more he thanks indulgent Fate, That brings him to his bonny Kate. Soft as the sighs of Zephyr flow, Tender and plaintive as her wo, Serene was the attentive eve, That heard Tom’s bonny Kitty grieve. “0 what avails,” cried she, “my pain I He’s swallowed in.the greedy main; Ah, never shall I welcome home, With tender joy, my honest Tom!” Now high upon the faithful shroud, The land awhile that seemed a cloud, While objects from the mist arise, A feast presents Tom’s longing eyes. A riband near his heart which lay, Now see h im on h is hat display, The given sign to show that Fate Had brought him safe to bonny Kate. Near to a cliff, whose heights command A prospect of the shelly strand, While Kitty Fate, and Fortune, blamed, Sudden with rapture she exclaimed, ” But see, oh Heaven! a ship in viewMy Tom appears among the’crew; The pledge he swore to bring safe home Streams in his hat-‘tis honest Tom!” For hard and painful is his lot, Let dangers come, he braves them all; Valiant perhaps to be forgot, Or undistinguished doomed to fall: Yet wrapl)t in conscious worth secure, The world that now forgets his toil He views from a retreat obscure, And quits it with a willing smile. T’hen, trav’ller, one kind drop bestow’Twere graceful pity, nobly brave; Naught ever taught the heart to glow Like the tear that bedews a soldier’s t rave. *Ts. said we vent’rous die-hards, when we leave the shore, Our friends should mourn, Lest we return To bless their sight no more; But this is all a notion Bold Jack can’t understand, Some die upon the ocean, And some upon the land.

Then since’tis clear, Howe’e.r we steer, No man’s life’s under his command; Let tempests howl, And billows roll, And dangers press: Of’

those, in sp)ite, there are some joys Us jolly tars to bless, For Saturi.lay night still comes, my boys, To drinkl to Poll and Bess. What now remains were ea sy tol d; Tom comes, his pockets lined with gold; Now rich enough no more to roam, He serves his native land at home; Recounts each toil, and shows each sear, While Kitty and her constant tar With rev’rence teach to bless their fates Young honest Toms and Bonny Kates.

One seaman hlan-.s the sails, another heaves the log, The purser swops Our pay for slops, The landlord sells us grog: Then each man to his station, To keep life’s ship in trim: What argrufies no ration? The res t i s l all a whim. Cheerly, my hearts! Then pl-ay your parts, Boldly resolved to sink or swim; The mighty surge May ruin urge, And danger press: Of these in spite, &c. BEN BACKSTAY loved the gentle Anna, Constant as purity was she, Her honey words, like succ’ring manna, Cheered him each voyage he made to ses One fatal morning saw them parting, While each other’s sorrow dried, They, by the tear that then was starting, Vowed to be constant till they died. At distance from his Anna’s beauty, While howling winds the sky deform, Ben sighs, and well performs his duty, And braves, for love, the frightful storm. Alas, in vain! The vessel battered, On a rock splitting, opened wide; While, lacerated, torn, and shattered, Ben thought of Anna, sighed, and died. The semblance of each charming feature That Ben had worn around his neck, Where art stood si’ostitute for nature, A tar, his friend, saved from the wreck. In fervent hope, while Anna, burning, Blushed as she wished to be a bride, The portrait came-j oy tur ne d to mourning  She saw, grew pale, sunk down, and died. For all the world just like the ropes aboard a ship Each man’s rigged out, A vessel stout, To take for life a trip. The shrouds, the stays, the braces, Are joys, and hopes, and fears; The halliards, sheets, and traces, Still, as each passion veers, And whim prevails, Direct the sails, As on the sea of life he steers. Then let the storm Heaven’s face deform, And d ine i s press: Of these in spite, &e. RESPLENDENT gleamed the ample moon, Reflected on the glitt’ring lee, The bell proclaimed night’s awful noon, And scarce a ripple shook the sea, When thus for sailors, nature’s care, Wnhat epucation h, dienied, Are of strong sense,‘t bountecous share, By observation well suliplied ~ I i i ‘I I ii i II I I I i i I I 524 Z= BONNY

KATE. SATURDAY NIGHT. BEN BACKSTAY. LITTLE BEN.

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SONGS, BALLADS, ETC. 52b ._… Why, now, that there cruise that we made off the Banks, Where I peppered the foe, and got shot for my thanks, What then? She scon struck; and though crippled Ja shore, And laid up to refit, I had shiners galore, At length live and looking I tried the false niain, And to get more prize-money got shot at again; Thus the good we should cherish, the bad never seek. For death will too soon bring each anchor apeak. While thus, in bold and honest guise, For wisdom moved his tongue, Drawing from reason, comfort’s drop, In truth and fair reflection wise, Right cheerfully sung Little Ben that kept his watch in the main-top. Why should the hardy tar complain? ‘Tis certain true he weathers more, From dangers on the roaring main, Than lazy lubbers do ashore. Ne’er let the noble mind despair, Though roaring seas Iotn mountains high; All things are built with equal care, First-raoe, or wherry, man, or fly. If there’s a Power that never errs, And certainly’tis soFor honest hearts what comforts drop As well as kings and emperors, Why not take in tow Little Ben that keeps his watch in the main-top Then just as it comes take the bad with the good; One man’s spoon’s made of silver, another’s of wood; What’s poison for one man’s another man’s balm, Some are safe in a slorm, and some lost in a calm; Some are rolling in riches, some not worth a sous, T o-day w e eat beef, and to-morrow lobs-scous e; Thus the good we should cherish, the bad never seek For death will too soon bring each anchor apeak THE SOLDIER’S ADIEU. ADIEU, adieu, my only life! My honor calls me from thee; Rememiiber thou’rt a soldlier’s wife, Those tears but ill become thee: What though by duty I am called Where thund’ring can nons rattle, Where Valor’s self might stand appalled, When on the wings of thy dear love To heaven above Thy fervent orisons are flown, The tender prayer Thou putt’st up there Shall call a guardia:....vn To watch ine in the bat,_e My safety thy fair truth shall be, As sword and buckler serving, My life shall be more dear to me, Because of thy preserving; Let perils corrie, let horror threat, ILeot tlhund’ring, cannons rattle, I’ll fearless seelk the conifiict’s heat, Assured, when on the wings of love, To heaven al)ove, &c. Enough; with that benignant smile Some Ikin(ihed gol inspired thee, Who knew thy bcz(m lvoidl or guile, Who wondered, antl admired thee; I go asstreed, ny lilcc, * {Fel! Though thund’ig cain(nons rattle, Though iiiurd’liiag ci,rna-,e stalk in view Wihen, on the wirers of thy true love, To heaven abov-e, &e. What though to distant climes I roam, Far from my darling Nancy’s charms, The sweeter is my welcome home, To blissful moorings in her arms. Perhaps she on that sober moon A lover’s observation takes, And longs that little Ben may soon Relieve that heart which sorely aches. Ne’er fear; that power that never errs, That guards all things belowFor honest hearts what comforts drop As well as kings and emperors, Will surely take in tow Little Ben that keeps his watch in the main-top. OtF us tars’tis reported again andl again That we sail round the worltl, yet know nothing of men; And, if this assertion is made with a view To prove sailors know naught of men’s follies, Itis true. How should Jack practise treachery, disguise, or foul art, In whose honest face you may read his fair heart? Of that maxim still ready example to give, Better death earned with honor than ignobly to live. How can he wholesome Truth’s admonitions defy, On whose manly brow never sat a foul lie? Of the fair-born protector, how Virtue offend? To a foe how be cruel? how ruin a friend? If danger he risk in professional strife, There his honor is safe, thoiugh he venture his life; Of that nmaxim still ready example to give, Better death earned with honor than ignobly to live. But to put it at worst, from fair truth could he swerve, And betray the kind friend he pIretended to serve, While snares laid with craft his fair honor trepan, Man betray him to error, himself but a man: Should repentance and shame to his aid come too late, Wonder not if in battle he rush on his fate; Of that maxim still realy example to give. Better.I.ath (,arned with honor than ignobly to live. SOL i)IER DICK. Wnr, don’t you know me b)y my scars?

I’m soldier Diclk, co,he frorn the w-ars; Where many a head without a lhat Crowds honor’s be(d-e)but what of that? Bent drums, play fifes,‘tis glory calls, What aigufies who stands or falls? Lori] what shol(1 ogre be sorry for? Life’s but the firtune of the war: Then rich or poor, or well, r sick. Still laugh and sing shall so flier ])i,:k. THE ANCHOR APEAK. I as one of they sailors who think’tis no lie, That for every wherefore of rife there’s a why, That fortune’s strange weather, a calm or a squall, Our berths, good or bad, are chalked out for us all; That the stays and the braces of life will be found To be some of’em rotten, and some of’em sound; That the good wc should cherish, the bad never seek, For death will too soon bring each anchor apeak. When astride on the yard the top-lifts they let go, And I comed, like a shot, plump among’em below, Why I cotched at a halliard, and jumped upon deck, And so broke my fall to save breaking my neck; Just like your philosophers, for all their jaw, Who less than a rope gladly catch at a straw; Tihus the g(o l we should cherish, the bad never seek, Ior death will too soon bring each anchor apeak. I i i i i i i i i i THE SAILOR’S ATAXIM. I use(I to look two ways at once  A bullet hit me on the sconce, And dowsed my glim: d’ye think I’d winee Why, Lord, I’ve never squinted since. Beat drums, &c. Some distant keep from war’s alarms, For fear of wooden legs and arms, While others die sate in their beds Who all their lives had wooden heads. Beat drums, &e. Thus gout or fever, sword or shot, Or something-sends us all to pot: That we’re to die, then, do not grieve, But let’s be merrv while we live. Beat druzi-is, &e.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY THE TAR FOR ALL WEATHERS. At sea, as with a dangerous wound, I lay under the surgeons, Two friends each help I wanted found In every emergence: Soon after my sweet friend and wife Into this mess had brought me, These two kind friends who saved my life, In my misfortune sought me: We’re come, cried they, that once again In coat and badge so merry, Your kind old friends, the watermen, May hail you Happy Jerry. I SAILED from the Downs in the Nancy, My jib how she smacked through the breeze I She’s a vessel as tight to my fancy As ever sailed on the salt seas. So adieu to the white cliffs of Dover, Our girls, and our dear native shore! For if some hard rock we should split on, We shall never see them any more. But sailors were born for all weathers, Great guns let it blow high or low, Our duty keepl)s us to our tethers, And where tile gale drives we must go. I’m Peggy, once your soulls desire, To whom you proved a rover, Who since tha t t ime, in tnan’s attire, Have sought you the world over: And I, cried t’other, am that Jack, When boys, you used so badly, Though now the best friend to your back Then prith’e look not sadly. Few words are be t: I seized their hands, My grateful heart grew merryAnd now in love and friendship’s bands I’m once more Happy Jerry.

When we entered the Gut of Gibraltar, I verily thought she’d have sunk, For the wind so began for to alter, She yaw’d just as thof she was drunk.

The squall tore the mainsail to shivers, Helm a-wether the hoarse boatswain cries: Brace the foresail athwart; see she quivers, As through the rough tempest she flies. But sailors, &c. The storm came on thicker and faster, As black just as pitch was the sky, When truly a doleful disaster Befell three poor sailors and I. Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail, By a blast that came furious and hard, Just while we were fuirling the mainsail, Were every soul swept from the yard. But sailors, &c. A DIEU, my gallant sailor, obey thy duty’s call, Though false the sea, there’s truth ashore; Till nature is found changing, thou’rt sure of constant Poll And yet, as now we sever, Ah, much I fear that never Shall I, alas, behold thee more! Poor Ben, Sam, and Dick cried peccavi; As for I, at thl risk of my neck, While they sank down in peace to old Davy, Caught a rope and so-landed on deck. Well what would you have? We were stranded, And out of a fine jollv crew Of three hundred that sailed, never landed But I and, I think, twenty-two. But sailors &c. I Jack kissed her, hitched his trousers, anid hied him to begone, Weighed anchor, and lost si ght of shore: Next day a brisk sou’wester a heavy gale brought on Adieu, cried Jack, fbr ever, For much I fear that never Shall I, sweet Poll, behold you more! Poll heard that to the bottom was sunk her honest tar, And fbr a while l ament ed so re; At length, cried she, I’ll marry; what should I tarry for? I may lead alpes for ever, Jacli’s gone, and never, never Shall I, alas, behold him more! After thus we at sea had miscarried, Another guess way set the wind, For homeward I came, and A.t rrarried To a lass that was comely and kind. But whether for joy or vexation, We know not for what we were bor-, Perhaps I may find a kind station, Perhaps I may touch. at Cape Horn. For sailors, &c. Jack, safe an(l sound returning, sought outhis faithful Poll: Think you, cried,-he, that false I swore? I’m constant still as ever,‘tis nature’s changed, that’s all; And tlhus we part for ever, For never, sailor, never, Shall I behold you more! I WAS the priSe of all the Thames, My name was natty Jerry, The best of sinarts andi flashy dames I’ve carried in my wherry: For then no mnortal soul like me So ineri-ill dilid jo it; I loved my wvife and friend, d’ye see, An, won the prize of Doggelt: In coat anad e, so neat and spruce, I rowe,t, all blithe and merriy, And every waterman (lid use To call me happy Jerry.

If, as you say, that nature like winds can shitt and veer, About ship for: ki nder shore: I heard the trick yoel played me, and so, d’ye see, my dear, To a kind heart for ever I’ve spliced myself-so never Shall [, false Poll, behol(h you more. JACK dances and sings, and is always content, In his vows to his lass he’ll ne’er fail her; His anchor’s a-trip when his money’s all spent And this is the life of a sailor. But times soon chanigeJ-I went to sea; My wife and friend betrayed me, And in my absence treacherously Some pretty frolics played me: Returned, I used them like a man, But still,‘twas so provoking, I never could enjoy the can, Nor even fancy smoking; In tarnished b artle, and coat so queer, No lonzer blithe and merry, 01~ frien,ds noes r,ird m,e woth a sneer, A n. called ir! – at.erry. Alert in his duty, he readily flies Where the winds the tired vessel are flinging; Though sunk to the sea-gods, or tossed to the skies Still Jack is found workling and singing. ‘Longside of an enemy, boldly and brave, He’ll with broadside on broadside regale her; Yet he’ll sih to tho so1′ o’er that eIemon,s grave, [‘%....b)’?s the r,in;ti of a sailtj,?.

i I i i i ii I I i i Ii i i Ii i ii i i i i I I .I TACK AND TACK. HAPPY

JERRY. TRUE-IIEARTED SAILOR.

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SONGS, BALLADS, ETC. 527 Let cannons roar loud, burst their sides let the bombs, Let the winds a dread hurricane rattle; The rough and the pleasant he takes as it comes, And laughs at the storin and the battle. Loud blew the wind, when, leaning on that willow Where the dear name of honest William stood, Poor Nancy saw, tossed by a faithless billow, A ship dashed’gainst a rock that topped the flood: Her tender heart with frantic thrilling. Wild as the storm that howled along the shore, No longer could resist a stroke so killing’Tis he! she cried, nor shall I see him more I Why did he ever trust the fickle ocean? Sorrow’s my portion, Misery and Iatin! Break, my poor heart, For now we part Never to imeet again! Mild was the eve, all nature was smiling, Four tedious years had Nancy passed in grief, When, with her chilIren, the sad hours beguiling, She saw her WVilliamii fly tO he r relief’! Sunk in his arms withl bliss he quickly found her, But soon returned to life, to love, and joy, While her grown young ones anxiously surround her, And now Will clasps his girl, and now his boy. Did I not say, tlhough,,I’tis a fickle ocean, Sorrow-‘s all a notion, Grief all in vatin? My joy l. w sweet, For now we meet Never to part again! In a fostering Power while Jack puts his trust, As Fortune comes, smiling he’ll hail her; Resigned, still, and. manly-since what must be must-‘ And this is the And of a sailor. Though careless and headlong, if danger should press, And ranked’mongst the free list of rovers, Yet he’ll melt into tears at a tale of distress, And p)rove the most constant of lovers. To rancor unknown, to no passion a slave, Nor unmanlv, nor mean, nor a r ailer, He’s gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave And this is a true hearted sailor. SPANKING Jack was so comely, so pleasant, so jolly, Though winds blew great -uns, still he’d whistle and sing,, For Jack loved his friend, and was true to his Molly, And, if honor gives greatness, was great as a king. One night as we drove with two reefs in the main-sail, And the scud came on low’ring upon a lee-shore, Jack went up aloft for to hand the top-g’ant-sail A spray washed him off, and we ne’er saw him more: But grieving’s a folly, Come let us be jolly; If we’ve troubles on sea, boys, we’ve pleasures on shore. Whiffling Tom still of mischief, or fun in the middle, Through life in all weathers at random would jog; He’d dance, and he’d sing, and he’d play on the fiddle, And swig with an air his allowance of grog: ‘.Longside of a Don, in the Terrible frigate, As yard-arm and yard-arm we lay off the shore, It and out wvhiffling Tom did so caper and jig it, That his head was shot of,l; andl we ne’er saw him more: But grieving’s a folly, &c.e. To Poll his course straight steering, He hastens on apace; Poor Jack can’t get a hlea,ring She never sar his falce. From Meg, Do’ll, Sule, annd Kitty, Relief is just as far, Not one has the lasl- pity For a pcor, Shlsevewreclke(l Tar. Bonny Ben was to each jolly mnessmate a brother, He was manly and honest, good-natured and free; If ever one tar was more true than another To his friend and his duty, that sailor was he: Oile day with the davit to weigh the kedgre-anchor, Ben went in the boat on a bold craggy shoreHe overboard tipped, when a shark and a spanker Soon nipped him in two, and we ne’er saw him more: But grieving’s a folly, &c. This, whom he t hot~;lt Loire’s needle, Now his sa.i;1i si That wants to call 1I Ie b)ey-(le To set hi i niri il tIhe stockls. Cried Jack, “This is Itard dealing; The elements -it war Than this had kin(Ter fa-cing They spapred a Siipwr(cked Tar. But all their taunts and feitchics A juidgmnent are on rre; I, for these hardene d wretches! Dear Nancy, sh i te thee. But see, poor Trur assails ine, His m/.stress is n(o,t fat’, He wags his tail and bals ime(, Thoug,h a poor Slipwrecked- Tar.” ‘Twas faithful love that brought )im Oh, lesson for mankited! “‘Tis one,” cried she, ” I taught h, For on my constant mind Thine image, dear, was graven; And now, remov-ed each bar, Mv arms shall be the baven For my poor Shipwrecked Tar.” But what of it all, lads? shall we be downhearted Because that mayhliap we now take our last su,) I Life’s cable must one dlay or other be parted, And Death in safe moorings will bring us all upA But’tis always the way on’t-one scarce finls a bioher Fond as pitch, honest, hearty, and true to the core, Rut by battle, or storm, or some damned thing or other, He’s popped off the hookls, anI we ne’er see him more I But grieving’s a folly, &c. IhLFAK was the morn when William left his Nancy, The fleecy snow firowned on the whitened shore, Cold as the fears that chilled her dreary fancy, While she her sailor from her bosom tore: To his filledl heart a little Nancy pressing, While a ys,ung tar the ample trousers eyed, In need of firmness in this state distressing, Will checked the rising sigh, and fondly cried Ne’er fear the perils of the fickle ocean, Sorrows a notion, Grief all in vain; Sweet lov e, ta-ke heart, F,:r’:.c -I ~,! p. n!St Heaven and my love rewcard’thee: I’m shipwrecked, but I’m rich; All shall with pride regard thlee Thy love shall so bewitch With wonder each fond fancy, That children near -and far 5’kall lisp linc,,ore of’Parc., W~ho.saved( her1 Shipwreck~ed’far.~ I II I I I i i I I I I I I i I II I, I! i I i SONGS, BALLADS, ETC. 527

GREAVING’S A FOLLY. POOR SHIPWRECKFT) TAR. ESCAPF.D with life, in tatters, Behold me safe ashore; Such trifles little matters, IIH soon get togs g,,ilore For Poll swore when we parted No chance her fitith should jar, And Poll’s too tender-lieai-tf-(l To slight a Shil;wrccl%ed Tar. -J3LEAK

WAS THE MORN. II ” – .i ),

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.~~,28 ~ THE MIRROR To mourn their loss who hazard ran: I love to take an honest part, Love beauty, with a spotless heart, By manners love to show the man; To sail through life by honor’s breeze  ‘Twas all along of loving these First made me dote on lovely Nan. TOM TACKLE. TOM TACKLI: was noble, was true to his word; If merit bought titles, Tom might be my lord; How gayly his bark through Life’s ocean would sail I Truth furnished the rigging, and Honor the gale: Yet Tom had a failing, if ever man had, That, good as he was, made him all that was bad; He was paltry and pitiful, scurvy and mean, And the sniv’lingest scoundrel that ever was seen; For so said the girls and the landlords’long shore: Would you know what his fault was?-Tom Tackle was poor! TOM BOWLING. HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling. The darling of our crew; No more he’ll hear the tempest howling, For death has broached him to. His form was of the manliest beauty, His heart was kind and soft, Faithful, below, he did his duty, But now he’s gone aloft. ‘Twas once on a time when we took a galloon, And the crew touched the agent for cash to some tune, Tom a trip took to jail, an old messminate to free, And four thankful prattlers soon sat on his knee. Then Tom was an angel, downright from heaven sent! While they’d hands he his goodness should never repent: Returned from next vroyage, he bemoaned his sad case, To find his dear friiend shut the door in his face! “Why d’yc wonder?” cried one,’ you’re served right, to be sure; Once Tom Tackle was rich-now Tom Tackle is poor!” Tom never from his word departed, His virtues were so rare, His friends were many and true-hearted, His Poll was kind and fair: And then he’d sing so blithe and jolly, Ah, maniy’s the time and oft! But mirth is turned to melancholy, For Tom is gone aloft. I ben’t you see, versed in high maxims and sich; But don’t this same honor concern poor and rich Y If it don’t come from good hearts, I can’t see where from, And hang me, if e’er tar had a good heart’twas Tom. Yet, somehow or’nother, Tom never did right: None knew better the time when to spare or to fight; He, by finding a leak, once preserved crew and ship, Saved the commodore’s life-then he made such rare flip! And yet for all this, no one Tom could endilure; I fancies as how’twas-because he was poor! At last an old shipmate, that Tom might hail land, Who saw that his heart sailed too fast for his hand, In the riding of comfort a mooring to find, Reefed the sails of Tom’s fortune, that shook in the wind: He tave him enough through Life’s ocean to steer, Be the breeze what it might, steady, thlus, or no near; His pittance is daily, and yet Toil imparts What he can to his friends-an(l may all honest hearts, Like Tom Tackle, have what keeps the wolf fro: the door,’ Iu.st enough to be generous-too milch to be poor. WHY, vihat’s that to you, if my eyes I’m a wiping I A tear is a pleasure, d’ye see in its way; LTis nonsense for trifles, 1 own, t o be pip ing; But they that han’t pity, why I pities they. Say s the captain, says he (I sh all never forget it), ” If of courage you’d know, lads, the true from the shanm, ‘Tis a furious lion i n battle, so let it, But, duty appeased,‘tis in miery a lamb.” There was bustling Bob Bounce, for the old one not caring,, Helter stelter, to work, pelt awav, cut and drive; Swearing he, for his part, Nhan no not ion of’ s paring, And as for a foe, why, he’d eat 1-im alive. But when that he found an old prisoner he’d wounded, That once saved his life as noar drowning he swam, Th e lion was tarne(l, and, with pity confounded, He cried ove;- him just all as o ne as a lamb. That mv friend Jack or Tom I shoul res cu e fro m danger, Or lay my life down for each lad in the me,ss, Is nothing at all-‘tis the poor wounded stranger, And the poorer the more I shiall succor distress: For however tlei,- duty boldI tars may delight in, A peril defy, as a bugbear, a flam, Though the lion may feel surly pleasure in fighting, He’ll feel more by comp,assion when turned to a lamb. SWEET is the ship that, under sail, Spreads her white bosom to the gale Sweet, oh! sweet the flowing can; Sweet to poise the I l-)ring oar, That tugs us to our native shore lWhen the boatswain pipes the barge to man Sweet sailing with a fav’ring breeze; But oh! inuch sweeter than all these, Is Jack’s dclizht-his lovely NAan! The nee(l’e, fiitlhful to the north, To show of constancy the worth, A curious lesson teaches man: The needle time may rust, the squall Capsize the binnacle and all, Let seamanship (lo all it can; My love in worth shall higher rise, Nor time shall rust, nor squalls capsize My faith and truth to lovely Nan. When in the bilboes I was penned, For serving9 of a worthless friend, And every creature from ine ran; No ship performing quarantine Was ever so deserted seen, None hailed me, woman, child, nor man; But though false frienlship’s sails were fiurled, Though cut adrift by all the world, I’d all the world in lovely Nan. The heart and the eyes, you see, feel the same motion, And if both shed their drops’tiq a,ll to the same end; And thus’tis that every tight hIll of the ocean Sheds his blood for his country, his tears for his friend. If my maxim’s disease,‘tis disease I shall die on You may snigger and titter, I don’t care a flam I In me let the foe feel the paw of a lion, But, the battle once ended, the heart of a lamb. LIKE gtna’s dreadl volcano see the ample forge, Large heaps upon large heaps of jetty (‘el gorge, While, salain.ander-like, the pond’rous anchor lies Glutted with vivi’t fire through, all its poles that flies; The d(linv ancliorsmiths, to renovate their strength, Stretche’d c-t in death-like sleep are sraring at their length, I I I i l I ;I i i i I I i i i I i i i i iI i i i I i LIBRARY. Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, When He who all commands, Shall give, to call life’s crew together, The word to pipe all hands. Thu.-, Death, who kings and tars despatches, In vain Tom’s life has doffed, For, though his body’s under hatches, His soul has gone aloft.

TRUE COURAGE. LOVF,LY NA.,. II ii i i i i I FORGING TIIE ANCI-IOR. I love mv duty, love my friend, f,,nve tm. tli and merit to deftr.,,],

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LLADS, ETC. 529 While g azing on th e spell-like charms Of this most wonderful of trees, His Nancy rushes Ilo his arms, His children cling about his knees. Increased in love, increased in size, Taugrht from the mother’s tender store, Each little urchin, lisping, cries, ” Love me; ah, love me, evermore!” Waiting the master’s signal wNhen the tackle’s force Shall, like split rocks, the anchor from the fire divorce; While, as old Vulcan’s Cyclopls did the anvil bang, tn deateiling concert sh.all theier pond’rous haminmers clang,, And into syvminetry the mass incongruous beat, To save firom adverse winds and waves the gallant British fleet. N( a, as more vivid and intense each splinter flies, The temper of the fire the sklilful master tries; Arid as the ding, hue assumes a brilliant red, The heated anchor feeds that fire on which it fedl: The huge sledge-hammers round in order they arrange, And waking anchorsmiths await the looked-for change, longing with all their force the ardent mass to smite, Whlien issuing from the fire arrayed in dazzling white; And, as old Vulcan’s Cyclops did the anvil bang, To make in concert rude their pondl’rous hammnners clang, So the misshapen lump to symmetry they beat, To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant British fleet. THIS here’s what I does-I d’ye s ee, fo rms a noti on That our troubles, our sorrows and strife, Are the winds and the billows that foment the ocean, As we work through the passage of life. And for fear on life’s sea lest the vessel should founder, To la-mient, anti to weep, and to wail, Is a pop-gun that tries to outroar a nine-pounder, All the saine as a wlihiff’ in a gale.

Why now I, though hard fortune has pretty near starved me. And my togs are all ragged and queer, Ne’er yet gave the bag- to the friend who had served me, Or caused lruined beauty a tear. The preparations thicken: with forks the fire they goad; And now twelve anchorsmiths the heaving bellows load; While armed from every danger, and in grim array, Anxious as howling demons waiting for their prey: The forge the anchor yields from out its fiery maw, Which, on the anvil prone, the cavern shouts hurraw! And now the scorched beholders want the power to gaze, Faint with its heat, and dazzled with its powerful rays; While, as old Vulcan’s Cyclops did the anvil bang, Tc forge Jove’s thunderbolts, their pond’rous hammers lang; And, t;ll its fire’s extinct, the monstrous mass they beat, To sate from adverse winds and waves the gallant British Aet. Now there t’othler day, when my messmate deceived me, Stole my rhino, mn chest, and our Poll, Do you think in r-evenge, while their treachery grieved me I a court-martial called?-Not at all. This here on the matter was my way of arg’ing’Tis true they han’t left me a cross A vile wife and false friend though are gone by the bargt in So the gain d’ye see’s more than the loss: For though fortune’s a jilt, and has, &c. The heart’s all’ -when that’s built as it should, sound and clever, We go’fore the wind like a fly, But if rotten and crank, you may luff up for ever You’ll always sail in the wind’s eye: With palaver and nonsense I’m not to be paid off, I’m adrift, let it blow then great guns, A gale, a fresh breeze, or the old gemman’s head off, I takes life rough and smooth as it runs: Content, though hard fortune, &e.

IN either eye a lingering tear, His love and duty well to prove, Jack left his wife and children dear, Impelled by honor and by love; And as he loitered, wrapped in care, A sapl ing in his hand he bore, Curiously carved, in letters fair “Love me; ah, love me evermore!” At leisure to behold his worth, Tokens, and rings, and broken gold, He plunged the sapling firm in earth, And o’er and o’er his treasure told; The letters spelt, the kindness traced, And all affection’s precious store, E ac h with th e fa vorit e motto graced ” Love me; ah, love me, evermore!” THE surge hoarsely murm’ring, young Fanny’s grief mock ing, The spray rudely lashing as salt as her tears; The ship’s in the otffing, perpetually rocking, Too faithful a type of her hopes and her fears. “‘Twas here,” she cried out, “that Jack’s vows were sc many, Here I bitterly wept, and I bitterly weep: Her heart-whole he swore to return to his Fanny, Near the trembling pine that nods over the deep. While on t his anxious task employeb d, Tender remembrance all his care, His ears are suddenly annoyed, The boatswain’s whistle cleaves the air, ‘Tis duty calls his nerves are braced, He rushes to the crowded shore, Leaving the sapling in his haste, That bidis himn love for evermore. Ah! mock not my troubles, ye pitiless breakers; Ye winds, do not thus melt my heart with alarms; He is your pride and mine, in my grief then partakers, My sailor in safety waft back to my arms. They are deaf and ungrateful: these woes are too many Here, here, will I die, where I bitterly weep; Some true lover shall write the sad fate of poor Fanny On the trembling pine that hangs over the deep.

Thus, her heart sadly torn with its wild perturbation, No friend but her sorrow, no hope but her grave; Led on by her grief to the last desperation, She ran to the cliff; and plunged into the wave. A tar save’l her life-the fond tale shall please many, Who alifore wept her fate. now no lonzer shall weep: ‘Twas her J.i- k, wio, rf’l,‘irn-., Ht soncht out his Fanny, Near Itpe I:‘ln!)liu’r i:. (‘ t”,it!hi s”v’er the (]eel;.

Escaped from treacherous waves and winds, That three years he had felt at sea, A wondrous miracle he finds The sapling is become a tree! A goodly head that graceful rears, Enlarged the trunk, enlarged the core! And an the rind, enlhtrged, appears ‘ ]rve me; ahi, love me, evermore ” I i i i Amazemcnt seized the admiring crowd; 11 My children,” cried a village seer, ‘ These signs, though mute, declare aloud The hand of Providence is hereWhose hidden, yet whose sure decrees For those its succor who implore, Can still the tempest, level seas, – And crown true love for evermore.”

HONESTY IN TATTERS. LOVE ME EVERMORE. CONSTANCY. The magic branch thus unreclaimed, Far off at sea, no comfort near, His thoughtless haste he loudly blamed With many a sigh and many a tear; Yet why act this unmanly part? The words the precious relic bore, Are they not marked upon my heart? ,‘Love me; ah, love me, evermore I-)

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FTile MIRROR LIBRARY. And I loves a warm heart, and a sweet honest mind, Good as truth, and as lively as fancy; As constant as honor, as tenderness kind; In short, I loves Nature and Nancy. JACK COME HOME. JACK come home, his pockets lined, In search of Poll, his only pleasure, To Pickle Stairs his course inclined, In her fair lap to pour his treasure; But scarce arrived at famed Rag-fair, Whe,e the keen e thethe clodpole fleeces. His whistle turned into a stare At “Come, who’ll buy my water-cresseso” I read in a song about AWenus, I thinks, All rigged out with her Cupids and Graces: And how roses and lilies, carnations and pinks, Was made paint to daub over their faces. They that loves it may take all such art for their pain For mine’tis another guess fancy; Give me the rich health, flesh and blood, and blue veinis That pays the sweet face of my Nancy. He starts and trembles at the sound, Which now is heard, and now obstructed; And now his hopes are all aground, And now’tis to his ear conducted. “Zounds!” cried out Jack, “I know that phL But then, such tog s-they’re all to pieces I Why, it can’t be! my eyes it is’Tis Poll a-bawling water-cresses!” Why, 1 went to the play, where they talked well at least, As to act all their parts they were trying; They were playing at soldiers, and playing at feast, And some they was playing at dying. Let’em hang, drown, or starve, or take poison, d’ye see, All just for their gig and their ifancy; What to them was but jest is right earnest to me, For I live and I’d die for my Nancy. And now she’s in his arms, while he Bids her relate fortune’s reverses; The world finds faithless as the sea, And loads false friends, in troops, with curses. ” They took,” cried she, ” my very bed; The sticks they seized, and sold in pieces; So, to get a bit of honest bread, I cries. who’ll buy my water-cresses?” Let the girls then, like so many Allgerine Turks, Dash away, a fine gay-painted galley, With their jacks, and their pennants, and gingerbread works, All for show, and just nothing for value  False colors throw out, decked by labor and art, To take of pert c oxco mbs the f ancy; They are all for the person, I’m all for the heart In short, I’m for Nature and Nancy. “Still art thou rich, my girl,”

cried Jack, ” And still shalt taste each earthly pleasure; Thou’rt true, though rags are on thy back, And honor, Poll’s a noble treasure. In this gal tog-shop rigg’d so neat, Ill fortune from this moment ceases;” This said, he scattered in the street Basket, and rags, and water-cresses.

ANNA, ANNE, NAN, NANCE, OR NANOY MY love’s a vessel trim and gay, Rigged out with truth and stored by honor As through’ife’s sea she cuts her way, All eyes with rapture gaze upon her: Built every wondering heart to please The lucky shipwrights, Love and Fancy; From stem to stern she moves with ease, And at her launch they called her Nancy. You ask how it comnes that I sing about Nancy For ever, yet find something new; As well may you ask why delight fills the fancy When land first appears to the crew. When, safe from the toils of the perilous ocean, In each thanks of gratitude spring; Feel this, and you’ll have of my joy a faint notion When with rapture of Nancy I sing. You and I nature’s beauties have seen the world over, Yet never knew which to prefer; Then why should you wonder that I am no rover, Since I see all those beauties in her? Why, you’ll find about ships all you’ve known and been hearing, On their different bearings to bring; T’hough they all make their ports, they all vary in steering, So do I when of Nancy I sing. Could a ship round the world, wind and weather permitting, A thousand times go and come back, The ocean’s so spacious,‘twould never be hitting For leagues upon leagues the same tack: So her charms are so numerous, so various, so clever, They produce in my mind such a string, That, my tongue once let loose, I could sing on for ever, And vary the oftener I sing. Shall I tell you the secret? you’ve but to love truly, Own a heart in the right place that’s hung; And just as the prow to the helm answers duly, That heart will lend words to the tongue.

No art do I boast of, no skill I inherit, Then do not of my praises ring; But to love and to nature allow all the merit That taught me of Nancy to sing. IF the good old maxim’s true, That sons of Eve should all be brothers, Tars have it to their hearts in view, For their first good’s the good of others; Nay, Jack such narrow love derides, ‘Midst every dancer still contented, He the whole family provides WVitlh every good that Hleaven invented; LET swabs, with their wows, their palaver, and lies, Sly flattery’s silk sails still be trimming, Swear their Polls be all angels dropped down from the kivur don’ lie-I es en.r I *your allzel.s don’t likde-il 1,Uses wmrnen. I 530 NANCY. When bearing up against life’s gales, So well she stems the dangerous trouble, I call her Anna-as she sails, Her form’s so grand, her air’s so noble. When o’er the trembling wave she flies That plays and sports as she advances, Well said, my Nan! I fondly cries, As my full heart in concert dances. In stuclding-s,,iils before life’s breeze -‘ So sweetly gentle is her motion, ,,he’s Anne-for, as she moves with ea ,9ie seems the queen of all the ocean. But when on Sundays rigged in stays, Like beauty gay, and light as fancy, ,qhc -iviii.-3 my heart a thousand ways; I then delight to call her Nancy. When laying on a tack so neat, The breeze her milk-white bosom fillinlz,, She skims the yielding waves so fleet, I call her Nance, my bosom thrilling. Thus is she precious to my heart, By whate’er name comes o’er my fancy; Gracef’ul or -ay, grand, neat, or smart, (-t knna, Anne, Nan, Nance, or Nancy. BROTHER

JACK. NATURE AND NANCY.

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I, ETC. 531 I, little to their mirth inclined, While tender thoughts rushed on my fancy, And my warm sighs increased the wind, Looked’on the moon, and thought of Nancy! And, leaving caution to the wind, Risks every chance to serve mankind. Away to India. cries the fair; To Beauty’s voice obedient listen! The vessel cuts the yielding air, And muslins wave, and diamonds glisten; Should winter, in its bleak array, With chilling frosts and winds alarm her, Jack points the prow to Hudson’s Bay, And cornel3 furs both deck and warps he; And, gayly leasing care behind, Rainsacks the worl’l to serve nmankin. Next morn a storm came on at fou r, At six the elements in motion Plunged me and three poor sailors more Headlong within the foaming ocean. Poor wretches! they soon found their graes: For me-it may be only fancyBut love seemed to forbid the waves To snatch me from the arms of Nancy! Scarce the foul hurricane had cleared, Scarce winds and waves had ceased to rattle, When a bold enemy appeared, And, dauntless, we prepared for battle. And now, while some loved friend or wife Like lightning rushed on every fancy, To P r ovidence I trusted life, Put up a prayer, and thought of Nancy! WNould cits the rich, voluptuous treat Amnidl the bustle and the hurry, To make the bill of fare complete, Jack brings the turtle and the curry; He fetches tea for maiden aunts, Finery and fashions for our spouses, Feeds, clothes us, and supplies our wants, And even furnishes our houses: What thanks for those then shall we find, Who thus adventure for mankind I At last-‘twas in the month of May The crew, it being lovely weather, At three, A. M., discovered day And England’s clhallky cliffs together. At seven up Channel how we bore, While hopes and fears rushed on my fancy, At twelve I gayly jum p ed ashore, And to my throbbing heart pressed Nancy I Then be the friendly toast we pass, As honest hearts and( Nature’s freemenExcluding daylight from the glass Prosperity to English seamen! On danger’s brink who careless found, For others make their lives a slavery; The very wine that now goes round We owe to their adventurous bravery. Then drink to those, with grateful mind, Who risk their lives to serve mankind. MAYHAP you have heard that as dear as their lives All true-hearted tars love their ships and their wives; To their duty like pitch sticking close till they die, And wlihoc’r wants to know it, I’ll tell’em for why: One through dangers and storms brings me safely ashore, Th’ other welcomes me home when my danger is o’er; Both smoothing the ups and the downs of this life, For my sh;.p’s called the Nancy, and Nancy’s my wife. NAow that war has, in human distress, done its best; Now that, glutted with mischief, fell slaughter’s at rest; Now that smiling content crowns the peasant’s clean board, And the in,dustrious ploughshare takes place of the sword; In this season what care o’er the fancy shal. brood? I hat sighl press for vent, or what tear shall intrude?

Ahl! indulge and reflect on each glorious’ graveA sigh anid a tear to the manes of the brave. When Nancy my wife o’er the lawn scuds so neat And so light, the proud grass scarcely yields to hei feet, So rigged out and so lovely, t’ent easy to trace Which is reddest-her top-knight, her shoes, or her face; While bre reaon the neighbors to se e her forget all their c ares, And aie pleased that she’s mine, though they wish she wa2 theirs.

Marvel not, then, to think of this joy of my lifeI my ship calls the Nancy, for Nancy’s my wife. Now that loud acclamations expand through the air, Andi the brows of the brave are adorned by the fair; Now that bands of musicians so gayly advance, In thie concert to join or enliven the dance; At one grateful idea the tumult shall end, The soft flute the sad cadence alone shall suspend; And, iwhile fancy leads on to the cold hallowed grave, Shall echo a sigh to the manes of the brave. As for Nancy my, vessel, but see her in trim, She seems througa the ocean to fly, and not swim – ‘Fore the wind, like a dolphin, she merrily plays, She goes anyhow well, but she looks best in stays. Scudding, trying, or tacking,‘tis all one to she, Mountain high, or sunk low in the trough of the sea; She has saved me from many hard squeaks for my life, So I called her the Nancy,‘cause Nancy’s my wife. Proud awardi of those heroes for glory who burn, Alike nobly honored the arch and the urn; Surviving, or dying, such fame who achieve, ‘Tis joy to regret, and’tis pleasure to grieve. Thien our rapturous bosoms let gratitude swell, While those sons of renown, who so gloriously fell, Shall firom heaven chee- tlhnse mourners who throng near each grave, knd dry up their tears for the manes of the brave. When so sweet in the dance careless glides my heart’s queen, She sets out, and sets in, far the best on the green; So, of all the grand fleet, my gay vessel’s the flower, She outsails the whole tote by a knot in an hour. Then they both sail so cheerful through life’s varying breeze, All hearts with such pilots must be at their ease; Thus I’ve two good protectors to watch me through life, My good ship the Nancy, and Nancy my wife. ‘TWAS post meridian, half past four, By signal I from Nancy parted, At six she lingered on the shore, With uplift hands and broken-hearted. At seven, while taughtening the forestay, I saw her faint, or else’twas fancy; At eight we all got under weigh, Andl bade a long adieu to Nancy!

Nigh1t came, and now eight bells had rung, W~tfi[! eqsrelets sailo,-‘, aver cheor,.,, (‘n t{,e watch so jovi,tl sum,, With tem,~.‘s l she. can not weary. Then these hands from protecting them who shall debar t sie’er ingratitude lurked in the heart of a tar; A Why, everything female from peril to save, AIs the noblest distinction that honors the brave. iWhile a rag, or a timber, or compass I boast, WcI’ll pratoct th? dear ereqti:res asaint a whole bnst; t<'till Aff:l to both to tle int of;I) lifeit l c t ry g;cl sli,) th Nancy, a.-d Nrncv my w'ife. BALLADS,SONGS THE NANCY. THE

MANES OF THE BRAVE. SAILOR’S JOURNAL.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. THE LADY’S DIARY. WouLD you hear a sad story of wo, That tears from a stone might provoke M ‘Tis concerning a tar, you must know, As honest as e’er biscuit broke: His name was Ben Block, of all men The m,st true, the most kind, the most bravp – But harsh-treated by fortune-for Ben In his prime found a watery grave. His place no one ever knew more; His heart was all kindness and love; Though on duty an eagle he’d soar, His nature had most of the dove. He loved a fair maiden named Kate, His father, to interest a slave, Sent him far from his love, where hard fate Plunged him deep in a watery grave. Tuesda y got scolded did not care; The toast was cold,‘twas past eleven; I dreamt the Captain through the air On Cupid’s wings bore me to heaven. Pouted and dined, dressed, looked divine, Made an excuse got Ma to back it; Went to the play-what joy was mine! Talked loud and laughed with Captain Clackit. A curse on all slanderous tongues! A false friend his mild nature abused, And sweet Kate of the vilest of wrongs To poison Ben’s pleasure accused; That she never had been truly kind; That false were the tokens she gave; That she scorned him, and wished he might find, In the ocean a watery grave. Too sure from this cankerous elf The venom accomplished its end; Ben, all truth and honor himself, S uspect ed no f raud in his friend. On the yard while suspended in air, A loose to his sorrows he gaveTake thy wish, he cried, false, cruel fair, And plunged in a watery grave. Thursday fell sick:-poor soul, she’ll die! Five doctors came, with lengthened faces; Each felt my pulse:-Ah, me i cried 1, Are these my promised loves and graces? Friday, grew worse-cried Ma, in pain, Our day was fair-Heaven, do not black it: Where’s your complaint, love? In my brain. What shall I give you? Captain Clackit. Early next mnorn a nostrum came, Worth all their cordials, balms, and spice A letter-I had been to blame: The Captain’s truth brought on a crisis. Sunday, for fear of more delays, Of a few clothes I made a packet, And, Monday morn, stepped in a chaise, And ran away with Captain Clackit.

SINCE fate of sailors hourly varies, Lest doubts should wound my anxious breast, This pretty bird from the Canaries Jack brought, to set my heart at rest; His life is charmed, and when with sadness, Cried he, his notes he mournful gives, Then cherish care, Indulge despair; But sweetly, if they thrill with gladness, Rejoice, and know your lover lives; Attentive mark! Hark! hark! Rejoice, and know your lover lives.’ MAN, poor forked animal, why art thou vain? Of thy form that so matchless the Deity owns, Where beauty, proportion, and symmetry reign, Adding grace to distinction, and splendor to thrones I While, by folly and fashion, this form so divine Is abused’till all figures fantastic it wears, Till, worn by diseases and bloated by wine, Men, the Deity’s irnage, turn monkeys and bears. A mass of remorse, of reflection, of pain, Man, poor forked animal, why art thou vain? Each hour, while my poor bosom flutters, Relying on my lover’s word, Anxious to hear the song he utters, I listen to my pretty bird; But, thanks to Heaven, never with sadness Has he yet mourned; even now he gives (To silence care, And chase despair) His sprightly notes with joy and gladness; ‘And thus I know my lover lives; Attentive mark! Hark! hark!

‘Tis thus I know my lover lives. Art vain of thy mind? still, the Deity there, Where virtues angelic their natures impress, Pale anguish to chase, sjnooth the brow of despair, And with charity’s hand dry the tear of distress. Wltile this generous mind, on beneficence bent,. Fair gratitude’s height shall in vain strive to climbs And those lavished riches, so liberally meant, ‘Stead of virtue rewarding shall sanctify crime. While philanthropy gives disappointment to gain, Man, poor restless animal, why art thou vain? But see, he’s here! my heart’s contented; Sweet warbler, truly didst thou speak. Dear love, cried Jack,‘twas all invented, Lest thy poor heart my fate might break. Love taught the cheat to cheer thy sadness, And cheats of love true love forgives; This anxious care Healed thy despair; Birds always sing with joy and gladness; Thy love to thee and honor lives; Attentive marl! *Hark! harls! hy Irave to thee’and honor lives. Take the rational mean: If thou’rt proud of thy form, Let health given by temperance glow in thy face; Let simplicity’s hand, as it decks every charm, To decorum add neatness, to decency grace. Then to temper thy mind neither tower nor stoop, Nor with sordidness grovel, nor arrogance ride; Be not niggard nor lavish, a churl nor a dupe, But let prudence the hand of benevolence guide. Thus in form and in heart shall the Deity rieign; Thus reason shall teach. aind thuis man hall ho na:,i i I I I I I i 522 1 BEN BLOCK. LECTUITF,D by Pa and Ma o’er night; Monday, at ten, quite vexed and jealous; Resolved in future to be right, And never listen to the fellows: . Stitched half a wristband, read the text, Received a note from Mrs. Racket I hate that woman-she sat next, All church-time, to sweet Captain Clackit Wednesday came down, no lark so gay; The girl’s quite altered, said my mother; Cried da(l, I recollect the day When, dea,ree, thoii wert such another. Danced, drew a landscape, skimmed a play; In the paper read that widow Flackit To Gretna Green had run awayThe forward minx!-with Captain Clackit. THE CANARY-BIRD. RATIONAL

VANITY.

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S~~~~iN~~~~~~~~, BALLADS, ETC. 5j3~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “A glutton’s satfe moored, head and stern, by the gout, A drunkard’s moo red und er th e table, In straws drowning men will Hope’s anchor find out, While a hair’s a philosopher’s cable: Thus mankind are a ship, life a boisterous main, Of Fate’s billows where all hear the roarings, Where for one calm of pleasure we’ve ten storms of painr Till death brings us all to our moorings.” [ WAs saying to Jack, as we talk’d t’other day About lubbers and snivelling elves, That if people in life did not steer the right way, They had nothing to thank but themselves. Now, when a man’s caught by those mermaids the girls, With their fdatt’ring palaver and smiles, Re runs, while he’s list’ning to their fal de rals, Bump ashore on the Scilly Isles. T’hus in steering in life, as in steering with us, Tr one course in your conduct resort,In foul winds, leaving luff and no near, keep her thus: In honor’s line ready, Whe n fair, keep her s teady, And neither to starboard incline nor to port. As pensive one n ight in m y gar ret I s ate, My last shilling produced on the table; That advent’rer, cried I, might a hist’ry relate,. If to think and to speak it were able. Whether fancy or magic’twas played me the freak. The face seemed with life to be filling, And cried, instantly speaking, or seeming to speak, Pay attention to me thy last shilling. If he’s true in his dealings, life’s wind to defy, And the helm has a trim and right scope, Not luffing, but keeping the ship full and by, He nmay weather the Cape of Good Hope. But if he steers wide in temptation’s high sea, And to pleasure gives too much head way, Hard a-port goes the helm, the ship’s brought by the lee, And she founders in Botany Bay. Thus in, &c. I was once the last coin of the law a sad limb, Who in cheating was ne’er known to falter; ‘Till at length, brought to justice, the law cheated hi’ And he paid me to buy him a halter: A Jack Tar, all his rhino but me at an end, With a pleasure so hearty and willing, Though hungry himself, to a poor distressed friend, Wished it hundreds, and gave his last shilling. In wedlock so many wrong courses are made, They part convoy so oft and so fast, Till so fond they are grown of that same Guinea-trade, Cape Farewell is their anchorage at last. Some men, I must own, to be dubb’d may be born; But this, for the wives, I will say, They seldom or ever bear down for Cape Horn ‘Till the husbands have showed them the way. Thus in, &c. ‘Twas the wife of his messmate, whose glistening eye With pleasure ran o’er as she viewed me; She changed me for bread as her child she heard cry, And at parting with tears she bedewed me. But I’ve other scenes known, riot leading the way, Pale want their poor families chilling; Where rakes, in their revels the piper to pay, Have spurned me, their best friend and last shilling. As to mutinous spirits that through the world roll, If we had’em aboard, Jack, with we, I ney should make No Man’s Land, and skulk through Lubber’s Hole, And at last be laid in the Red sea; But fine honest fellows, to honor so dear, Shall in this world by nothing perplexed, Of False Bay get to windward, bring up in Cape Clea r, And bespeak a snug berth in the next.

Thus in, &c. Though thyself hast been thoughtless, for profligates bal, But to-morrow all care shalt thou bury, When my little history thou offerest for sale; In the interim, spend me and be merry! Never, never, cried I, thou’rt my Mentor, my muse, And, grateful thy dictates fulfilling, I’ll hoard thee in my heart:-thus men counsel refuse, ‘Till the lecture comes from the last shilling. MOORINGS. ‘ I’vE heard,” cried out one, “that you tars tack and tack, And at sea what strange hardships befell you; But I don’t know what’s mooring’s.” “What, don’t you?” said Jack; “Man you ear-tackle, then, and I’ll tell you:‘Suppose you’d a daughter quite beautiful grown, And, in spite of her prayers and itnplorings, Some scoundrel abused her; and you knocked him down, Why, d’ye see, he’d be safe at his moorings. In life’s voyage should you trust a false friend with the helmn, The top-lifts of his heart all akimbo, A tempest of treachery your bark will o’erwhelm, And your moorings will soon be in limbo; But if his heart’s timbers bear up against pelf, And he’s just in his reckoning and scorings, he’ll for you keep a look-out the same as himself, And you’ll find in his friendship safe moorings. e If wedlock’s your port, and your mate, true and kind, In all weathers will stick to her duty, A calm of contentment shall beam in your mind, Safe moored in the haven of beauty; But if some frisky skiff, crank at every joint, That listens to vows and adorings, Shape your course how you will, still you’ll make Cuckold’s P,,int, To lay up a beacon at moorings. Some drank the king and his brave ships, And some the constitution, Some May our foes and all such rips Own English resolution! That fate inight bless some Poll or Bess, And that they soon might hail her: But the standing toast, &c. I SONGS,BALLADS,ETC. 533 EACH HIS OWN PILOT. THE LAST SHILLING.

THE STANDING TOAST. [The last Song written by Mr. Dibdin.] THF, moon on the ocean was dimmed by a ripple, Affording a checkered deli-ht, The gay jolly tars passed the word for the tipple And the toast-for’twas Saturday night: Some sweetheart or wife that he loved as his life, Each drank, while he wished he could hail her; But the standing toast that pleased the most Was-The wind that blows, the ship that goes, And the lass that loves a sailor! Some drank our queen, and some our land, Our glorious land of freedom! Some that our tars might never stand For heroes bmve to lead lem!

That beauty in distress might find Such friends as neler would fail her: But the standing toast, &e.

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TrHE MIRROR LIIBRARY. SONGS IN DIBDIN’S STYLE. THE ORICON OF NAVAL

ARTILLERY. WHEN Vulcan forged the bolts of Jove In Etna’s rearing glow, Neptune petitioned he might prove Their use and power below; But finding in the boundless deep Their thunders did but idly sleep, He with them armed fair Freedom’s hand, To guard from foes her chosen land. BY T.

DIBDIN. In WHO’LL serve with me?” cried the sergeant aloiud, Roll went the drum, and the fife played sweetly. “Here, master sergeant!” said I, from the crowd, “Is a lad who will answer your purpose completely.” My father was a corporal, and well he knew his trade; Of women, wine, and gunpowder, he never was afraid. He’d mnarch, fight, left! right! Front flank! centre rank!’ Storm the trenches, court the wenches, Loved the rattle of a battle; Died in glory, lives in story! And, like him, I found a soldier’s life, if taken smooth and rough, A very merry, heydown-derry, sort of life enough.” “Hold up your head!” cried the sergeant at drill, Roll went the drum, and the fife played loudly. “Turn out your toes, sir!”-Says I, “Sir, I will;” For a nimble-wristed round rattan the sergeant flour ished proudly. My father died when corporal, but I ne’er turned my back, Ti ll p r omoted to a halbert, I was sergeant in a crack. In sword and sash cut a dash; Spurred and booted, next recruited, Hob and Clob, awkward squad, The ben bean m y ratta n! When boys unwilling came to drilling Till made the colonel’s orderly, then who buta so blufli Led a very merry, hey-down-derry, sort of life enough. “Homeward, my lads!” cried the general-’” huzza!” Roll went the drum, and the fife played cheerly; Tro quick time we footed, and sun, all the way, ” Hey, for the pretty girls we all love dearly!” My father lived with jolly boys in bustle, jars, and strife, And, like him, being fond of noise, I mean to take a wife. Soon as miss blushes y-i-s, Rings, gloves, dears, loves, Bells ringing, comrades singing, Honeymoon finished soon; Scolding, sighing, children crying! Yet still a wedded life may prove, if taken smooth and rough, A very merry, hey-down-derry, sort of life enough. Long may she own the glorious right, And when through circling flame She darts her thunder in the fight, May justice guide her aim! And when oppo sed in future wars, Her soldiers brave and gallant tars Shall launch her fires from every hand On every foe to Freedom’s land. DESERTED by the waning moon, When skies proclaim nighlt’s cheerless noon, On tower, fort, or tented ground, The sentry walks his lonely round; And should some footstep haply stray Where caution marks the guarded way: “Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell!” “A friend!”” The word?”” Good-night! All’s well!” Or sailing on the midnight deep, When weary messmates soundly sleep, The careful watch patrols the deck, To guard the ship from foes or wreak, And while his thoughts oft homeward veer, Some well-known voice salutes his ear: “Who goes there? Brother, quickly tell!” ” Above! Below!”-” Good-night! All’s well!” THE sea was rough, the clouds were dark, Far distant every joy, When, forced by fortune to embark, I went a Cabin-Boy. My purse soon filled with foemen’s gold, I hastened back with joy, When, wrecked in sight of port, behold The hapless Cabin-Boy! BY ANDREW CHERRY. LOUD roared the dreadful thunder, The rain a deluge showers; The clouds were rent asunder By lightning’s vivid powers! The night both drear and dark; Ou r poor deluded bhark I Till next day, There she lay, In the Bay of Biscay O!

Now, dashed upon the billow, Her opening timbers creak: Each fears a wat’ry pillow! None stop the dreadful leak!To cling to slipp’ry shrouds Each breathless seaman tries, As she lay, Till the day, In the Bay of Biscay O! Tu.u Cabin-Boy’s over the sea, For his sister and mother weeps he; Till good conduct prevails, and homeward he sails, To land his full pockets with glee. Next a Middy away o’er the wave ‘Tis his fortune in action to sav e His officer’s life, in the heat of the strife. And he lands at home happy and brave. Now an Officer over the main, Fresh laurels on ocean to gain, Till, commanding a prize, his friends see him rise, And a Captain’s commission obtain. The Captain adventures once more, Returning a. bold Commodore; And, hi; wishes to crown, he c-omes up to town With an A lmiral’s flag at the fore. ii i I i i i i i I il I I I I 534 W’HOILL

SERVE I ALL’S WELL. BY T. DIBDIN. THE CABIN-BOY. BY T. DIBDRN. THE BAY OF

BISCAY O! NAVAL PROMOTION. .6 BY T. DIRDIN. At length the %vis,eci-for inorrow imrolSONGS IN DIBD1N’S STYLE. Th dimlwektviwNryt o e,nryt Nor yet, nor y et, nor yet:, Reserve your fire, I do desire. The dismal wreck to view Struck horror to the crew, As she lay, On that day, In the Bay of Biscay O! Tow the elements do rattle; Ihe gods amazed behold the battle. A broadside, my boys t See the blood in purple tide Trickle down her battered side. Winged with fate, the bullets flyConquer, boys, or bravely die. She sinks, she sinks, she sinks, huzzatl To the bottom down she goes I Her yielding timbers sever; Her pitchy seams are rent I When Hea7-n (all bounteous ever) Its bound,ess mniercy sent I A sail in sight appears! We hail her with three cheers! Now we sail With the gale From the Bay of Biscay OU

BLACK-EYED SUSAN. BY JOHN GAY. ALL in the Downs the fleet lay moored, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-eyed Susan came on board Oh!

where shall I my true love find? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, If my sweet William sails among your crew. William, who high upon the yard Rocked with the billows to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard,. He sighed, and cast his eyes below. The cord glides swiftly through his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

Our country is our ship, d’ye see, A gallant vessel, too; And of his fortune proud is he Who’s of our vessel’s crew. Each man, whate’er his station be, When duty’s call commands, Should take his stand, And lend a hand, As the common cause demands. And when our h aughty enem ies Our noble ship assail, Then all true-hearted lads despise What peril may prevail; But, shrinking from the cause we prize, If lubbers skulk below, To the sharks Heave such sparks They assist the common fee. So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast, If chance his mate’s shrill call he hear, Andt drops at once into her nest. The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envry William’s lips those kisses sweet. 0 Susan, Susan, lovely dear! My vows shall ever true remain; Let me kiss off that falling tear We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee! Among ourseives, in peace,‘tis true, We quarrel-make a rout; And, having nothing else to do, We fairly scold it out: But once the enemy in view, Shake hands, we soon are friends; On the deck, Till a wreck, Each the common cause defends. Believe not what the landminen say, Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; They’ll tell thee sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find; Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For thou art present wheresoe’er I go! If to far India’s coast we sail, Tiiy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric’s spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white: rhus every beauteous object that I view Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. mOOSE EVERY SAIL TO THE BREEZE.

Though battle calls me from thy arms, Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms, WiUliam shall to his dear return; Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest pre,_’ous tears should drop from Susan’s eye. The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosoms spread, No longer must she stay on board; They kissed, she sighed, he hung his head. The lessening boat unwilling rows to land; Adieu! she cried, and waved her lily hand. Hoist every sail to th e breeze: Come, shipmates, and join in the song: Let’s drink, while the ship cuts the seass To the gale that may drive her along. STAND TO YOUR GUNS.

STAND to your guns, my hearts of oak, Let not a word on board be spoke; Victory is ours,‘mi(I fire and smoke, Be silent and be ready. Ramn hot,,e the!uns and sponge them well Let us be sure the balls will tell; The cannocn’s roar shall sound their linell: Be atrady, bois, be steady. YoUR

Molly has never been false, she declares, Since last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs, When I swore that I still would continue the same, And gave you the’bacco-box marked with mny name. I 535 OUR COUNTRY IS OUR

SHIP. BY JAMES COBB. BY MICHAEL ARNY.. Loor,iE every sail to the breeze, The course of my vessel improve; I’ve done with the toils of the seas Ye sailors, I’m bound to my love. Since Einma is true as she’s fair, My griefs I fling all to the wind; ‘Tis a pleasing return to my care, My mistress is constant and kind. My sails are all filled to my dear; What t-ropic-bird swifter can move I Who cruel shall hold his career That returns to the nest of his love? WAPPING OLD STAIRS. BY PERCY.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. When I passed a whole fortnight:etween decks with you, Did I e’er give a kiss, Tom, to one of your crew? To be useful and kind to my Thomas I stayed, For his trousers I washed, and his grog too I made.

Though you promised last Sunday to walk in the MaL With Susan fr/n Deptford, and likewise with Sail, In silence I stood, your unkindness to hear, And only upbraided my Tom with a tear. Why should Sall, or should Susan, than me be more prized? For the heart that is true, Tom, should ne’er be despised. T’hen be constant and kind, nor your Molly forsake, &il your trousers I’ll wash, and your grog too I’ll make. While o’er the ship wild waves are beatings We for wives or children mourn: Alas! froim thi ence there’s no retreating; Alas! from hence there’s no return. Still the leak is gaining on.us; Both chain-pumps are choked below; Heaven have mercy here upon us! For only that can save us now. YOUR poets may sing of the pleasures of home, Of the land and a bright sunny sky; Give me the rough ocean, with bosom of foam, And a bark, when in chase, that will fly: Though aloft to the clouds on the billow we soar, And then sink to the valley below, We danger defy’mnid the hurricane’s roar, And reck not how hard it may blo)w! Then, hurrah for the sea, boys! hurrah for the sea I The mariner’s life is the life for me. T’le dear ones we love, when our pockets are lined, Help to spend all our rhino on shore, And when empty, “Up anchor!” we’re sure soon to find A prize that will furnish them more.

All friends we avoid as we roam on the wave: The sail which we welcome’s a foe; And should Death heave us to, there’s a ready-made grave, And down to the bottom we go! Then hurrah for the sea, boys! hurrah for the sea! k mariners life is the life for me! Now once ore on joys awe’re thinking, Since kind Fortune saved our lives; Come, the can, boys! let’s be drinking To our sweethearts and our wives: Fill it up, about ship wheel it, Close to the lips a brimmer join. Where’s the tempest now? who feel it? ltone!

our danger’s drowned in wine.” ON CHARLES DIBDIN’S MONUMENT AT GREENWICH.

BY G. A. STEVENS. C]EASE, rude Boreas, blustering railer! List, ye landsmen, all to me; Messmates, hear a brother sailor Sing the dangers of the sea; From bounding-billows first in motion, When the distant whirlwinds rise, lo the tempest-troubled ocean, Where the seas contend with skies. STOP! shipmate, stop! He can’t be dead, His lay yet lives to memory dear; His spirit, merely shot ahead, Will yet command Jack’s smile and tear! Still in my ear the songs resound That stemmed rebellion at the Fore! Avast! each hope of mirth’s aground, Should Charley be indeed no more! The evening watch, the s oundi ng lead, Will sadly miss old Charley’s line. ” Saturday Night” may go to bed, His sun is set no more to shine! a Sweethearts and Wives,” though we may sibw And toast, at sea, the girls on shore; Yet now’tis quite another thing, Since Charley spins the yarn no more! Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling: “By topsail-sheets and haulyards stand, Down top-gallants, quick, be hauling, Down your staysails, hand, boys, hand! Now it freshens, set the braces, The lee topsail-sheets let go; Luff, boys, luff! don’t make wry faces, Up your topsails nimbly clew.” Now all you, on down beds sporting, Fondly locked in beauty’s arms, Fresh enjoyments, wanton courting, Safe from all but love’s alarms: Round us roars the tempest louder, Think what fears our minds enthral; Harder yet, it yet blows harder; Hark! again the boatswain’s call! ” Jack Rattlin’s” story now who’ll tell? Or chronicle each boatswain brave? The sailor’s lind historian tell With him w-ho sung the;’ Soldier’s Grave ” ” Poor Jack!” ” Tom Bowling!” but belay! Starboard and larboard, aft and fore, Each from his brow may swab the.pray, Since tuneful Charley is no more The capstan, compass, and the log, Will oft his Muse to memory bring; And when all hands wheel round the grog, They’ll drink and blubber as they s,,g. For grog was often Charley’s theme, A double sq,irit then it bore; It sometimes seems to me a dream, That such a spirit is no more. 4 The topsail-yards point to the wind, boys, See all clear to-reef each course; Let the foresheet godon’t mind, boys, Though the whather should prove worst Fore and aft the spritsail-yard get, Reef the mizen, see all clear, hiands up, each preventer-brace set, Man the foreyard! Cheer, lads, chn!“n It smoothed the tempest, cheered the calm., Made each a hero at his gnn; It even proved for foes a balm, Soon as the angry fight was done. Then, shipmate, check that rising sigh He’ s only gone ahead bef ore: For even foremast men m.,ust die, As well as Charley, now no more’. Now the dreadful thunder rolling,Sy Peal on peal, contending, clash; On our heads fierce rain falls pouring,H In our eyes blue lightnings flash: I i li i I II I I’ I i I. I ii I I I II I I i .536

I One wide water all around us, All above us one black sky, Different deaths at once surround is; Hark! what means that dreadful e” I ‘The foremast’s gone!” cries every tongue out, 11 O’er the lee, twelve feet lbove deck; A leak beneath the chest-tree’s sprung out  Call all hands to clear the m-reek. Quick! the lanyards cut to pieces; Come, my hearts, be stout and bold Plumb the well, the leali’Woclr e- as es, Four feet water in the d! HURRAH FOR THE SEA. BY WILLES JOIINSON. O’er the lee-beam is the land, boys! Let the guns o’erboard be thrown To the pump come every hand, boys! See, our rnizen-mast is gone! The leak we’ve found, it can not pour fast; We’ve lightened her a foot or raore; Up and rig a jury foremast: She rigli ts! she rights, boys! we’re off jho-ro THE STORM. BY T. DIDDIN.

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GEMS OF SCOTTISH SONG. He had na been gane a week but only twa, When my father brake his arm, and our cow was stows My mither she fell sick and my Jamie at the sea, [awa’, And auld Robin Gray came a courting me. SCOTLAND has much honour by her female song writers. Some of the richest gems inl her lyric crown are the pro ductions of ladies. And it may be worthy of observa tion that, while the female song writers have, with few exceptions, been of “good family,” the reverse is the l case as regards the male lyrists, the great majority of whom have sprung from the lower classes. Lady Anne Lyndsay, the authoress of this universally admired ballad, was the daughter of the Earl of Balcarras. She was born in ]1750, was married in 1793, and died in 1825. The ballad was written when the authoress was in her 21st year. The interest it created when first made public will best appear from her own pleasing communi. cation made to Sir Walter Scott shortly before her death. I longed,” says Lady Anne, “to sing old Sophy’s air .o different words, and give to its plaintive tones some little history of virtuous distress in humble life, such as might suit it.

While attempting to effect this, in nmy closet, I called to my little sister, now Lady Hardwicke, who was the only person near me,’ I have been writing a ballad, my dear; I am oppressing my heroine with manay nmisfortunes. I have already sent her Jamie to seaand broken her father’s arm-and made her mother fall sick-and given her auld Robin Gray for her lover; but I wish to load her with a fifth sorrow within the four lines, poor thing! Help me to one.‘‘Steal the cow, sister Anne,’ said the little Elizabeth.’ The cow was immediately lifted by me, and the song completed.”

The ballad soon became a great favourite with the public; and a warm dispute arose among the learned whether it was an old or new composition.

A reward of twenty guineas was offered to the person who would ascertain the point past doubt. The secretary to the Antiquarian Society was deputed to wait upon Lady Anne, but he offended her ladyship by trying to entrap the truth from her invtead of putting the request direct. On this subject she facetiously remarks: “The annoyance, however, of this important ambassador from the Antiquaries, was amply repaid to me by the noble exhibition of the’ Ballet of Auld Robin Gray’s Courtship,’ as performed by dancing dogs, under aJ y windows. It proved its popularity from the highest to the lowest, and gave me pleasure while I hugged mn -elf in my obscurity.” The air to which this ballad is tow sung is the composition of the Rev. W. Levees; the old air ta which the words were written is only sung to the first verse, as a recitative, which is now rarely done; and the first verse, accordingly, is very generally omitted. My father urged me sair, though my mither didna speak She looked in my face till my heart was like to break; They gied him my hand, though my heart was on the sea, And Auld Robin Gray is gudeman to me. I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When sitting sae mournfully at my ain door; I saw my Jamie’s wraith, for I couldna think it he, Till he said, I’m come back, love, to marry thee. MAiteCII, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, IAhy, my lads, dinna ye march forward in order? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the blue bonnets are over the border. Many a banner spread, flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story, Mount and make ready then, sons of the mountain glei Fight for your Queen and the old Scottish glory.

WHIEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye a’ at hame, When a’ the weary world to sleep are gane; The waes o’ my heart fa’ in showers from my ee, While my gudeman lies sound by me. Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and the roe )v Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing; , Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow Trumpets are sounding, war-steeds are bounding; Stand to your arms, and march in good order; England shall many a day tell of the bloody fray, When the blue bonnets came over the border Young Jamie lo’ed me weel, and sought me for his bride, But saving crown he had naething else beside; To make the crown a pound, my Jamie went to sea, And the crown and the pound( wser baith for me. I AULD ROBIN GRAY. My father couldna work and my inithor couldna spin, I tolled day and night but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintained ttieni baith, and wi’ tears in his ee, Said, Jenny, for their sakes, will ye marry me? My heart it said nay, I looked for Jamie back; But the wii-id it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck; Ile ship it was -t wreck, why didna Jeni-ly die? And wh do I live to say, wae is me? y – 0 sair did we greet, and muckle did we say; We took but ae kiss, a-rid we tore ourselves away; I wish I were dead, but I am no like to die: And why do I live to say, wae is me? I gang like a gh.,tist, and carcna to spin; I darena think on Jamie, for that would be a sin; But I’ll do my best a gude wife to be, For auld Robin Gray is a kind man to me. BLUE BONNETS OVER THE BORDEIL THis first appeared in the roniaiice of 11 The Mc’na tery,” by SIR WALTER SCOTT, 1820.

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538 THEM O THE ROSE OF ALLANDALE. Is it my wee thing! is it my ain thing!

Is it my true love here that I see! 0 Jamie forgi’e me; your heart’s constant to me; I’ll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee: WoaRi)s by C. JEFFERtYS. Music composed by S. Nel- son. Tse morn was fair, the skies were clear, No breath came o’er the sea, When MNary left her Highland cot, And wan(ecr’d forth with me; Tho’ flowers deck’d the mountain’s side, And fra,,,;rance fill’d the vale, By far thle sweetest flower there, Was the rose of Allandale. CRAZY JANE. ON the authority of Mr. Sinclair I ascrine this song to Mr. Lewis, the author of “The Monk,” &c. He says Mr. Lewis wrote it while on a visit at Inverary Castle that the incident it relates was real; and that tho Duchess of Argyle was the “fair maid” addressed by tho maniiiac. The writer of these remarks remembers a crazy creature, evidently the wreck of beauty, whom he frquently saw during a two years’

residence in that neigh. bourhood. She occasionally carried a bundle of clothes, fancying it to be a baby. It is most touchingly sung by Miss M.

A. Cumming. Where’er I wander’d, east or west, Tlo’ fate bc,‘uT1 to lower, A solace still was she to me, In sorrow’s lonely hour. When tempests lash’d our gallant bark, And rent her shiv’ring sail, One maiden form withstood the storm, ‘Twas the rose of Allandale. And when my fever’d lips were 3arch’d On Afric’s burning sand, She whisper’d hopes of happiness, And tales of distant land: My life had been a wilderness, Unbless’d by fortune’s gale, Had fate not link’d my lot to hers, The Rose of Allandale.

Wiiy, fair maid, in every feature Are such signs of grief expr(-ss’d: Can a wandering, wretched creature With such terror fill thy breast? Do m y phrensied looks alarm hee? Trust me, sweet, thy fears a e vain; Not for kingdoms would I harrm thee; Shun not then poor Crazy Jane. Dost thou weep to see my anguish? Mark me, and avoid my wo: When men flatter, sigh, and languish, Think them false-I found them so ” For I loved, oh! so sincerely, None could ever love againBut the youth I loved so dearly Stole the heart of Crazy Jane. SAW YE MY WEE THING? THE author of this fine ballad was HECTOR MACNIEL. tie was born in 1746, and terminated a life of much vicissitude and bodily suffering, in 1818. He was the author of many popular works, and was looked up to as Scotliaald’s hope in song when Burns died. In the dramatic style of song-writing, of which this is a specimen, he stands unequalled. Fondly my fond heart received him, Which was doom’d to love but one; He sigh’d, he vow’d, and I believed him, He was false, and I, undone! From that hour has reason never Held her empire o’er my brain: Henry fled-with him, forever, Fled the wits of Crazy Jane.

SAw ye my wee thing? Saw ye my ain thing? Saw ye my true love down on yon lea? Cross’d she the meadow yestreen at the gloamin’? Sought she the burnie whar flow’rs the haw tree? Her hair it is lint-white; her skin it is milk-white; Dark is the blue o’ her saft rolli.ng e’e; Red, red her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses: Whar could my wee thing wander frac me?

I saw na your wee thing, I saw na your ain thing, Nor saw I your true love down on yon lea; But I ilet my bonnie thing late in the gloamin’, Down by the burnie whar flow’rs the hliaw tree. Her hair it was lint-white; her skin it was milk-white; Dark was the blue o’ her saft rolling e’e; Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses: Sweet were the kisses that she ga’e to me. THE FLOWER O’ DUNBLANE. THIs popular song, written by TANNAHILL, and set to music by R. A. Smith, was first introduced to the public in the year 18(t8. ” The third stanza,” says Smith, “was not written till several months after the others were finishe(l. The poet,”

hlie adds, “had no particular fair one in his eye at the time, and Jessie was quite an imnaginary personage.” The truth is, Tannahill wrote the words to supplant the old coarse song, calleid ” Bob o’ Dunblane”hence the title. tie never wis in Duoblane, but from hiis favourite lBracs o’

Gleniffer had often doubtless seen the sun go down o’er the lofty Ben Lomond. It was na my w ee thing, i t w a s na my ain thing, It was na my true love Ie met by the tree Proud is her leal heart!i modest her nature!

She never lo’ed okiie till ance she lo’ed me. SIer name it is Mary; she’s frae Castle-Cary: Af t h as she sat, when a bairn, on my knee:’ air a s your face is, war’t fifty times fairer, Young bragger, she ne’er would giwe kisses to thee. It was then your Mary; she’s frae Castle-Cary, It was then your true love I met by the tree; P’roud a,s her heart is, and modest her nature, Sweet were the kisses that she ga’e to me. Sair gloom’d his dark brow, blood-red his cheek grew, Wild flast’d the file frae his red rolling e’e!Ye’s rue sair this morning your boasts and your scorning: Defend ye, fause traitor! fu’ loudly ye lie. THE sun has gone down o’er the lofty Ben LomoTd, And left the red clouds to preside o’er the scene, While lonely I stray, in the calrrm simmer gloamin’, To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o’ Dunblane. How sweet is the brier, wi’ its so ft fauldin’ blossom I And sweet is the I)irk, wi’ its mantle o’ green; Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom, Is lovely young Jessie, the flower o’ Dunblane. _kwa’ wi’ beguiling, cried the youth, smiling: Aft went the bonnet; the li)t-white locks flee; The belted plaid fa’ing, her white bosom shawing, Fair stood the loved maid wi’ thIe dark rolling e’e!

i MIRROR I,IBRARY. Now forlorn and broken-hearted, And with phrensied thoughts beset, On that spot where last we parted, On that spot where first we inet, Still I sing niy love-lorn ditty, Still I slowly pace the plai-.i, Whil,st each pass’r-by, in pily, Cries, 11 God help thee, Crazy Jane!”. She’s modest as onie, and blytlic as she’s bonnie; For uileless simplicity marks her its ain;

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GEMS OF SCO)TTISH SON(‘.T(. Ane far be the villain, divested o’ feeling, Wha’d blight in its bloom the sweet flower o’ Dunblane. Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e’ening, Thou’rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen; Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning, Is charming young Jessie, the flower o’ Dunblane. Hflow lost were my days till I met wi’ my Jessie! The sports o’ the city seemed foolish and vain: I ne’er saw a nymph I could ca’ my dear lassie, Till charm’d wi’ sweet Jessie, the flower o’ Dunblane. Though mine were the station o’ loftiest grandeur, Amidst the profusion I’d lavish in vain, And reckon as naething the height o’ its splenrdour, If wanting sweet Jessie, the flower o’

Dunblane. Row weel, imiy boatic, row wheel, Row wee, li)y nmerry men a’, For there’s dool and tliere’s wae iii Glenfioriclih’s bowers, And tlihere’s grief iii imy father’s ha’. And the skiff it (ldanced light on the merry wee waves, And it fl ew hwer the wa ter sslte blue, And the wind it blew light, and the moon it shone bright, But the boatic ne’er reach’d Allandhu. THIs sweetest of pastoral songs is the production of Jarnes Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd. Mr. Clirehugh’s spirited execution has rendered it a favourite with all classes. Ohon! for fair Ellen, ohlion!

Ohon! for the pride of StrathcoeIn the deep, deep sea, in the salt, salt bree, Lord Reocih, thy Elle n lies low COME all ye jolly shepherds That whistle through the glen, I’ll tell ye of a secret That courtiers dinna ken. What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o’ man can name? ‘Tis to woo a bonnie lassie When the kye come hamne. When the kye come hame, When the kye comne hame, ‘Tween the gla)amin and the mirk, When the kye come hame. ‘Tis not beneath the burgonet, Nor yet ben eath the crown, ‘Tis not on couch of lvelvet, Nor yet on b ed of down: ‘Tis beneath the spread ing birch, I n th e dell without a name, Wi’ a bonnie, bonnie lassie, When the kye come hame. There the blackbird bigs his nest For the mate he loves to see, And up upon the tapmost bough, Oh, a happy bird is he!’ Then he pours his melting ditty, And love’tis a’ the theme, And he’ll woo his bonnie lassie When the kye come ham-e. When the bluart bears a pearl, And the daisy turns a pea, And the bonnie lucken gowan Has fauldit up his e’e, Then the laverock frae the blue lift Draps down, and thinks nae shame To woo his bonnie lassie When the kye come hame. TiWis popt,lar Jacobite song has been subjected to va. rious alterations by diiferent hands, so that few copies read alike. We give here Hogg’s version, in his “Relics.” The tune, “O’er the watter to Charlie,” is older than the ‘45, and it is probable that there was some old song with that burthen before the Jacobilical effusion. COME, boat me ower, come, row me ower, Come, boat me ower to Charlie; I’ll gi’c John Ross another bawbee, To ferry me ower to Charlie. We’ll over the water, and over the sea, We’ll over the water to Charlie; Come weel, come woe, we’ll gather and go, And live and die wi’

Charlie. It’s weel I loTe my Charlie’s name, Though some there be that abhor him; But O, to see Auld Nick gauin hame, And Charlic’s faes before him! I swear by moon and stars sae bricht, And the sun that glances early, If I had twenty thousand lives, I’d gi’e them a’ for Charlie. Then the eye shines sae bright, The hail soul to beguile, There’s love in every whisper, And joy in every senile; O, who would choose a crown, Wi’ its perils and its fame, And miss a bonnie lassie Whe n the kye ome hamer?

TIniis elegant effusion was the production of Mrs. Diagald Stewart, wife of the celebrated philosopher. She was the daughter of the Hon. George Cranstoun, son ol William, Lord Cranstoun; was horn in 1765, and died in 1838. The first four lines of the last stanza were writ. ten by Burns, to suit the music, which requires double verses. See yonder pawky shepherd That lingers on the hill-v His yowes are in the fauld, And his lambs are lying still; Yet he downa gang to rest, For his’lheartis in a flame To meet his bonnie lassie When the kye come hame. &kwa’ wi’ fame and fortune What comfort can they gi’e? Hisdyowes are in the fauld,TuE tears I shed must ever fall: I mourn not for an absent swain; For thoughts may past delights recall, And parted lovers meet again. I weep not for the silent dead. Their toils are past, their sorrows o’er: And those they loved their steps shall tread, And death shall join to part no more. i I i 539 And a’

ttic arts that pi-cy Oii maii’s life, zin(i libertie! Gi’e me the higii(,t joy That t,‘ie lieart o’ man can frame, My bonnie, bonnic lassie, When the kye come hame. RONV WEEL, MY BOA-,rfE. TIIE author of these stanzas is unknown. The m is by R. A. Siiiitti, and is remarkably beautiful COME ALL

YE JOLLY SHEPHERDS. O’ER THE WAI’Elt TO CHARLIE. a I ance had sons, I now ha’e nane; I bred them, toiling sairly; And I wad bear them a’ aain, And lose them a’ for Charlie! THE TEARS I SHED.

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THE MIRRt)R LIBRAI’IY. T‘‘hough boundless oc(eans roll between, If certain that his heart is near, A colnscious transport glads each scene, Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear. E’en when by death’s cold hand removed, We mourn the tenant of the tomb; T’o think that e’eii in death he loved, Can gild the horrors of the gloom. Ol! deck thy hair wi’ the heather bell, The heather bell alone; Leave roses to the Lowland maia, The Lowland maid alone. I’ve seen thee wi’ the gay, gay rose, And wi’ the heather bell,I love you much with both, fair maid; But wear the heather bell. For the heather bell, the heather bell, Which breathes the mountain air, Is far more fit than roses gay To deck thy flowing hair. But bitter, bitter are the tears Of her who slighted love bewails; No hope her dreary prospect cheers, No pleasing melancholy hails. Hers are the pangs of wounded pride, Of blasted hope, of wither’d ioy;: The flatt’ring veil is rent aside, The flamie of love burns to destroy. A way, away, y e roses g ay The heather bell for me; Fair maiden, let me hear thee say, The heather bell for me.

Then twine a wreath o’ the heather bell, The heather bell alone; Nor rose, nor lily, twine ye there, The heather bell alone; For the heather bell, the heather bell, Which breathes the mountain air, Is far more fit than roses gay To deck thy flowing hair. In vain does memory renew The hours once tinged in transport’s dye; The sad reverse soon starts to view, And turns the past to agony. E’en time itself despairs to cure Those pangs to ev’ry feeling due: Ungenerous youth! thy boast how poor, To win a heart-and break it too! No cold approach, no alter’d mien, Just what would make suspicion start; No pause the dire extremes between, He made me blest-and broke my heart. From hope, the wretched’s anchor, torn; Neglected and neglecting all; Frieniidless, forsaken, and forlorn; The tears I shed must ever fall. WRITTEN by ALEXANDER WILSON, of Paisley, the authel of “Watty and Meg,” and the great Ornithologist of America. DARK lowers the night o’er the wide stornmy main, Till mild rosy morning rise cheerful again; Alas! morn returns to revisit the shore; * But Connel returns to his Flora no more. THOU ART GANE AWA’. rIiE author of this song and his Mary were one evening at a ball, when they were paid an unexpected visit by an early friend; to pay him all possible respect, the intended bridegroom gave up his Mary as his partner for the night, when she eloped with the stranger in the morning; which ingratitude on the one part, and falsity on tlie other, left the author to die a mnelancholy death. For see, onl yon mountain the dart cioua I death O’er Connel’s lone cottage, lies low on the heath; While bloody and pale on a far distant shore He lies, to return to his Flora no more. Ye light fleating spirits that glide o’er the steep O, would you but waft me across the wild deep, There fearless I’d mix ill the battle’s loud roar, I’d die with my Connel, and leave him no more. THOU art gane awa’, thou art gane awa’, Thou art gane awa’ frae mu, Mary! No)r friends nor I could make thee stay Thou hast cheated them and me, Mary! Until this hour I never thought That ought could alter thee, Mary; Thou’rt still the mistress of my heart, Think what you will of me, Mary. Whate’er he said or might pretend, That stole the heart of thine, Mary, True love, I’m sure, was ne’er his end, Or nae sic love as mrine, Mary. I spoke sincere, nor flatter’d much, Had no unworthy thoughts, Mary; Ambition, wealth, nor naething such; No, I loved only thee, Mary. LAND O’ THE LEAL. THE author of this touching lyric is unknown. It appeared shortly after the death of Burns, and has been commonly but erroneously attributed to him. Though you’ve been false, yet while I live, I’ll lo’e nae maid but thee, Mary; Let friends forget, as I forgive, Thy wrongs to them and me, Mary; So then, farewell! of this be sure, Since you’ve been false to me, Mary; For all the world I’d not endure Half what I’ve done for thee, Mary Then dry that tearfu’ e’e, Jean, My soul langs to be free, Jean, And angels wait on me To the land o’ the leal. Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, This warld’s care is vain, Jean, We’ll meet and aye be faro In the land o’ the leal. THE HEATHER BELLA Tn,, poetic trifle, though possessing no originality, tither ia music or words, became suddenly a great favourite. It is the production of Dr. Spittal, son of the late ILord Provost of Edinburtgh. I I 540 CONNEL AND FLORA. I’m wearing awa’, Jean, Like snaw when it is thaw, Jean; I’m wearing awa,Jean, To the land o’ the leal. There’s nae sorrow there, Jean, There’s neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair, Jean, In the land o’ the leal.

Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, Your task’s ended now, Jean, And I’ll welcoi-rie you To the land o’ the leal. Our bonnie bairn’s there, Jean, She was baith guld and fair, Jean, And we grudged her right sair To the land o’ the leal.

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A’ iS,. SA.‘O0TTST S C)N (J N. Whenever thy radiant face I see, The cloudls of sorrow depart from me; As the shadows fly From day’s bright eye, Thou lightest life’s sky, My Mary dhu. THE following is a modern version of a ballad by Mr. WILLIAM REID, of Glasgow; somewhat famous as an insrpolator of good verses in old songs. UPON a simmer afternoon, A wee before the sun gade down, My lassie, in a braw new gown, Cam’ o’er the hills to Gowrie. The rose-bud, tinged with morning show’r, Blooms fresh within the sunny bow’r; But Katie was the fairest flower That ever bloom’d in Gowrie. Nae thought had I to do her wrang, But round her waist my arms I flang, And said. My dearie, will ye gang To see the Carse o’ Gowrie?

I’ll tak’ ye to my father’s ha’, In yon green fields beside the shaw; I’ll mak’ you lady o’ them a’, The brawest wife in Gowrie. Sad, sad is my heart, When I sigh, Adieu! Or gaze on thy parting, M ay Ma ry dhu! Then for thee I mourn, Till thy steps return B ids my bosom burn, My Mary dhu.

I think but of thee on the brooin-clad hills, I muse but on thee by the moorland rills In the morning light, In the moonshine bright, Thou art still in my sight, My Mary dhu. Thy voice trembles through me Like the breeze, That ruffles, in gladness, The leafy trees; ‘Tis a wafted tone From heaven’s high throne, Making hearts thine own, My Marv dhl. Be the flowers of’joy ever round thy feet, With colours glowing, and incense sweet; And when thou must away, May life’s rose decay In the west wiid’s sway My Mary dhu! Saft kisses on her lips [ laid, The blush upon her cheeks soon spread, She whisper’d modestly, and said, I’ll gang wi’ thee to Gowrie! The auld folks soon ga’e their consent, Syne for Mess John they quickly sent, Wha ty’d them to their heart’s content, And now she’s Lads Gowrie. THis is a modern version of an old song written by a Mr. DOUGLASS, of Finland, and lately introduced by the Misses Cu”,,ming, in their Scottish Concerts. ‘rlHE HARPER O’ MULLI MAXWELTON braes are bonnie, Where early fa’s the dew, And it’s there that Annie Laurie Gied me her promise true; Gied me her promise true, Which ne’er forgot will be; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I’d lay me down and dee. IN the island of Mull there lived a harper famed for his skill and beloved for his virtues. Rosie, the fairest girl on the island, became his bride. Soon after, when on a visit with her to so,rec friiends at a distance, they were overtaken in a snow-storm, and to save his Rosie’s life he burned his beloved harp. ()n the next day she proved faithless, and the poor harper was left forlorn and distracted. On this story T’rA.N’AIILL composed his song. WHEN Rosie was fuithful, hlow halilpy was I! Still gladsome as sumiiner the timie glided by; I play’d my harp cheery, while fondly I sang Of the charms of my Rosie thie wintter nights lang. But now I’m as waefu’ as wieful’ can be, Come simnier, come winter,‘tis a’ ane to me, For the dark gloom of falsehood sac clouds my sad soul, That cheerless for aye is the Harper of Mull. I wander the glens and the wild woods alane, In their deepest recesses I make my sad mane, My harp’s mournful melody joins in the strain, While sadly I sing of the days that are gane. Though Rosie is faithless, shle’s no the less fair, And the thought of her beauty but feeds my despair; With painful remembrance my bosomn is full, And weary of life is the Harper oi Mull. As slumb’ring I lay by the dark mountain stream, My lovely young Rosie appear’d in my, dream; I thought her still kind, and I ne’er was sae blest, As in fancy I clasp’d the dear nymph to my breast T hou false flee ting vision, too soon thou wHart o’er Thou wak’dst me to tortures unequall’d before; But death’s silent slumbers my griefs soon shall lll, And the green grass wave over the Harper of Mull MARY DHU. LirrEN by D. M. MOIR, the talented and amiable author of Mansie Waugh-the “Delta” of Blackwood’s Magazinie.

SWEET, sweet is the rose-bud Bathed in dew; But sweeter art thou, My Mary dhu. Oh! the skies of night, With their eyes of light, Are not so bright As my Mary dhu. WITHIN A MILE OF EDINBURGH. THIS is an improved version of an old song supposed to have been written by JO,IN D’URFF.Y, towards the close of the 17th century. The air is the composition rOf Mr. E -.541 THE

1,ASS 01 GOWRIE. ANNIE LAURIE. Her brow is like the snaw-drift, Her throat is like the swan, Her face it is the fairest That e’er the sun shone on; That e’er the sun sho,.ie.on, And dark blue is her ele; And for boniiie Annie Laurie I’d lay me down and dee. Like dew on the gowan lying, Is the fa’ o’ her fairy feet; And like winds in summer sighing, Her voice is low and sweet. -Her voice is low and sweet, And she’s a’ the world to me; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I’d lay me down and dee.

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TIVE MIRROR LIBRARY. JAMES HooK, father of the late Theodore Hook. The words here given are from the first volumne of Johnson’s Museum, 1787.

‘TwAs within a mile of Edinburgh town, In the rosy time of the year; Sweet flowers bloomn’d, and the grass was down, And each shepherd woo’d his (lear. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and gay, Kiss’d sweet Jenny, making hay, The lassie blush’d, and frowning, cried, “No, no, it will not do; [ canna, canna, winna, winna, manna buckle too.” Jocky was a wag that never would wed, Though long hie had follow’d the lass: Conttented she earn’d and eat her brown bread, nd merrily tiirnt’d up the grass. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free, Woii her heart right merrily Yet still she blush’d, and frowning, cried, “No, no, it will not do; I canna. canina, winna, winna, manna buckle too.” But wIeIni he vow’d hlie would make her his bride, Though his flocks aLnd herds were not few, Shoe gave himi her hand, and a kiss beside, And vow’d she’d forever be true. Bonnie Jocky, blythe and free, Won her heart right merrily: At church she no more frowning cried, “No, no, it will not do; I canna, canna, winna, winna, mannia buckle too.”

I’LL LO’E THEE, AN NIE. Tins song is the production of ROBE.RT HAMILTON, Esq., late editor of the ” Ladies’ Companion,” now of Boston, author of ”

The Sea Nymph’s Wake,” and other productions, poetry and prose. I’LL lo’e thee Annie, while the dew In siller bells hings on the tree; Or while the burnie’s waves o’ blue Rin wimplin’ to the rowin’ sea. I’ll lo’e thee while the gowan mild Its crimson fringe spreads on the lea; While blooms the heather in the wild Oh! Annie, I’ll be true to thee. I’ll lo’e thee while the lintie sings His sang o’ love on whinny brae; I’ll lo’e thee while the crystal springs Glint in the gowden gleanis o’ day; I’ll lo’e thee while there’s lioht aboon, And stars to stud the breast o’ sky; I’ll lo’e thee till life’s day is done, And bless thee wi’ my latest sigh Tins spirited song is from the pen of a very able lyrist, HuG}i AINSLIE, long a resident in Louisville, Ky., and the author of much good poetry and prose.

CAN ye lo’e, my dear lassie, The hills wild and free, Whar the sang o’ the shepherd Gars a’ ring wi’ glee? Or the steep rocky glens, Where the wild filcons bide? Then on wi’ the tartan, And fy let us ride! BONNIE PRINCE

CHARLIE. WRITTEN by JAMEs HOGG. Composed and arranged for the Piano Forte by N. Gow, jun. CAM’ ye by Athliol, lad wi’ the phlilabeg, Down by the Tumnmel, or banks of the Gary? Saw ye our lads, wi’ their bornnets an’

white cockades, Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Chariie? Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee? Lang liast thou loved and trusted us fairly! Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee? King of the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie I ha’e but ae soin, my brave young Donald; But if I had ten they should follow Glengarry: Health to M’Doiiald and gallant Clan-Ronald, For these are the mcln that will (lie for their Charlie Follow thee, follow thee, &c. Can ye lo’e the burn, lassie, That loups amang linns? Or the bonnie green howmes Where it cannilie rins? Wi’

a cantie bit housie, Sae snug by its side? Then on w,i’ the tartan, And fy let us ride! I’ll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to them; Down by Lord Murray andl Roy of Kildarlie; Brave Mackintosh lie shall fly to the field wi’ them; They are the lads I can trust wi’ niv Charlie. Follow thee, follow the.e, &c. Down through the Lowlands, down wi’ the whigamore, Loyal true Highlanders, do wn with them r arely; Ronald and Donald drive on wi’

the braid claymore, Over the necks of the foes of Prince Charlie. Follow thee, follow thee, &c LOCHABER. WRITTEN by ALLAN RAMSAY to the tune of ”

Lochaber rno more.” The air, at an earlier period, is said to have been called ” King James’s March to Ireland.” FAREWELL to Lochaber, farewell to my Jean, Where heartsome wi’ her I ha’e mony a day been; To Lochaber no more, to Lochaber no more, We’ll maybe return to Lochaber no more. These tears that I shed, they’re a’ for my dear, And no for the dangers attending on weir; Thlough borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore, MNayvbe to) return to,echaber no more! TIls humorous song is the production of SIR ALEXANDErt BOSW’ELL, So?n of the b ograp}.er cf Johnsan, and the 11 I 542 Though hurricanes rise, tboul ise every wind, No tenipest can equal the storm in my mind Thoiiii loudest of thunders on louder waves roar, There’s naething like leavin’ my love on the shore To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain’d; But bv ease tfiat’s inglorious no fame can be gaind And eauty and love’s tl;e reward of the brave; And I maun deserve it before I can crave. Then glory, my Jeanie, maun ple-,d my excuse; Since honour commands me, how can I refuse 7 Without it, I ne’er can have merit for thee; And losing thy farour I’d better not be. I gae then, my lass, to win honour and fame; And if I should chance to come glorious hame, I’ll bring a heart to thee with love running o’er, And then I’ll leave thee and chaber no more . ON WI’ THE TARTAN. Can ye lo’e the knowes, lassie, That ne’er war in rigs? Or the boniiie louiie lee, Were the sweet robin biggs 7 Or the sang o’ the lintie, Whaii wooln’ his bride?

Then on wi’ the tartan, And fy let us ride! JENNY DANG THE WEAVER

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NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE T,is admliirable ball-id is from the pen of a poor school. mistress, named J,AN AOAMS. It has been ascribed to Mr.

Meckle, the translator of the Lusiad, but with faint authority. The sixth stanza, beginning, ”’ The cauld blasts,” was an interpolation of Dr.

Beattie, the celbrated author of the ” Minstrel.” AT Willie’s wedding on the green, The lasses, boninie witches, Were a’ dress’d out in aprons clean, And braw white Sunday matches: Auld Maggie bade the lads tak’ tent, But Jock would not believe her; But soon the fool his folly kent, For Jenny dang the Weaver. And Jenny dang, Jenny dang, Jenny dang the Weaver; But soon the foolee his folly kent, For Jenny dang the Weaver. AND are ye sure the news is true? And are ye sure he’s weel? Is this a tine to think o’ wark? Ye jauds, flirg bye your wheel. Is this a time to think o’ wark, When Coliii’s at the door? Rax me my cloak,-I‘1l to the quay, And see him come ashore. For there’s nae luck about the house, There’s nae pleacl at a’; There’s little pleasure ii, the house, When our gudenman’s awa’. At ilka country dance or reel, Wi’ her he would be bobbing; When she sat down-he sat down, And to her would be gabbing; Where’er she gaed baith butt and ben, The coof would never leave her; Aye kecklin’ like a clocking hen, But Jenny dang the Weaver. Jenny dang, &e. And gif’ to me miy big aonet, My bishops’ satin gown, For I naun tell the baillie’s wife That Colin’s come to town. my rurkey slippersiinaun gae on, My hose o’ pearl blue; ‘Tis a’ to please my ain gudeman, For he’s b;iitlh leal and true.

For therc’s nae luck, &c. Quo’ he, My lass, to speak my mind, In troth I neediia swither; You’ve bonnie een, and if you’re kind, I’ll never seek anither: He humm’d and haw’d, the lass cried Peugh! And bade the coof no deave her; Syne snapt her fingers, lap and leugh, And dang the silly weaver. And Jenny dang, Jenny dang, Jenny dang the Weaver; Sync snapt her fingers, lap and leugh, And dang the silly Weaver. Rise up and mak’ at clean fireside; Put on the mulckle pot; Gi’e little Kate her cotton gown, And Jock his Sunday coat: And mak’ their shoon as blacek as siae, Their hos e as white as snat; It’s a’ to please my ain gii(ieman, For he’s been lang awa’, For there’s nac luck, &e. There’s twa fat hens upon the bauk, They’ve fed this monthi and mair; Mak’ haste and throw their nlecks about, That Collin weal mnay fare; And spread ttle tab)le neat and clean, Gar ilka thing, looli braw; For wha can tell how Coliai fared, When he was far awa’. For tlhere’,s n,ae luck, &c. V SAFT IS THE BLINK O’ THINE E’E. ON the author of this song, JAMES BALLENTYNE, has fallen the mantle of Burns.

He is the author of numinerotis poems in the Scottish dialect, all of distinguished merit. He is also the author of two novels, describing humble Scottish litfe-” The Gaberlunzie,” and the Miller o’ Deanhatiglh;”

a path chosen by himself, and abounding in scenes of pathos and beauty.

Sae true his heart. sac smooth his speech His breath like caller air; His very foot has intmsic ini’t, As he comces up the stair. And will I see his face again? Aind will I lihear hlimii speak? I’mn downright dizzy vwi’ the thought, In troth I’mn likc to grect. For there’ s Rae lutck, &c. O SAFT is the blink o’ thine e’e, lassie, Saft is the blink o’ thine e’e; An’ a boqnie wee sun glimmers on its blue orb As kindly it glints upon me. The ringlets that twine round thy brow, lassie, Are gowden as gowden may be; Like the wee curly dcluds that play round the sun When he’s just gaun to drap in the sea. Thou hast a bonnie wee mou’, lassie, As sweet as a body may pree; An’ fondly I’ll pree that wee hinny mou’, E’en though thou shouldst frown upon me. rhcu hast a lily white hand, lassie, As fair as a body may see; An’ saft is the touch o’ that wee genty hang, At eve when thou partest wi’ me. The cauld blasts o’ the winter wi nd, That tlirl’d tlhrougrh miy hleart, Thley’re a’ blowni by, I ha’e him safe, Till death we’ll never part; Blut what palts parting in my head? It may be far awa’; The present momient is our ain, The neist we never saw. For there’s nae luck, &c. Thy thoughts are sae haly and pure, lassie, Thy heart is sue k ind and sae free; That the bright sun o’ he aven is nae pleased wi’

himsel’, Till he glasses himsel’ in thine e’e. Since Colin’s weel, I’m weel content, I ha’e nae mair to crave; Could I but live to mak’ him blest, I’m blest abonii the lave: And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? I’m downright dizzv wi’ the thought’ In troth, I’rmi like to greet. For there’s nae luck, &c. U, thou art a’ thing to me, lassie, 0 thou art a’ thing to me; What care I although fortune should frown, Gin I gain the blythe blink c thine e’e. GEMS’,)F ‘Co , – — 7 t p;ti-tier in the duel with James Stuart, author of .. “:, , c,! Year. in America.” Boswell wrote many excel-! 1, i-t I,,ocitis, chiefly humorous.

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544 I’m right glad to hear’t, kimmer, I’mn right g lad to hear’t; I ha’e a gude braid claymore, And for his sake I’ll wear’t. Sin’ Charlie he is landed, We ha’e nae mair to fear; Sin’ Charlie he is come, kimmer, We’ll ha’e a jub’lee year. TiIs song was composed by the late DR. AUSTIN, physician at Edinburgh. lie had courted a lady, to whom he was shortly to have been married; but the Duke of Athole having seen her, became so much in love with her, that he made proposals of marriage; which were accepted of, and she jilted the doctor.-Although Dr. Austin says “No cruel fair shall ever move My injured heart again to love,” he afterwards married Miss Anne Sempill, sister of Lord Sempill, by whom he had a large family He died in 1774. Oil, I LO’ED MY LASSIE WEEL. Tmlls excellent lyric is the production of the late ROBERT FRAZER, editor of the Fife Herald, author of a volume of poems, published at Cupar, Fifeshire, for the benefit of his widow. FoR lack of gold she has left me, O, And of all that’s dear she’s bereft me, 0; She me forsook for Athole’s duke, And to endless woe she has left me, O. A star and garter have more art Thai youth, a true and faithful heart; For empty titles we must part For glittering show she has left me, O. No cruel fair shall ever move My injured heart again to love; Through distant climates I must rove, Since Jeany she has left me, O. Ye powers above, I to your care Resign my faithless, lovely fair; Your choicest blessing be her share, Though she has ever left me, O. OH, I lo’ed my lassie wee, H ow weel I canna tellLang, lang ere ithers trow’d, Lang ere I wist mysel’. At the school amang the lave, If I wrestled or I ran, I cared nae for the prize If she saw me when I wan. Oh, I lo’ed my lassie weel, When the gleesome days were gane, Mang a’ the bonnie an’ the gude To match her saw I nane; Thouglh the cauld warl’ o’er me cam’ Wi’ its cumber an’ its toil, My day-tide dool was a’ forgot In her blythe e’enin’

smile. Oh, I lo’ed, nor lo’ed in vain, An’ though mony cam’ to woo, Wha to wo n her wad been fain, Yet to me she- aye was trueShe grat wi’ very joy When our waddin’ day was set, An’ though twal’ gude years sinsyne ha’e Red, She’s my darling lassie Vet. DRAW THE SWORD. WORDS by J. R. PLANCHE.

Music altered and arranged sy G. Herbert Rodwel.. DRAW the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland! Over nmountain and moor hath pass’d the war sign: The pibroch is pealing, pealing, pealing, Who heeds not the summons is niiae son o’ thine. The clans they are gath’ring, gath’ring, gath’ring, Tile clans they are gath’ring by loch and by lea; The banners they are flying, flying, flying, The banners they are flying that lead to victory.

Draw the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland! Charge as ye charged in the days o’ langsyne; Sound to the onset, the onset, the onset, He who but falters is nae son 0o’ thine. HIGHLAND MARY. THESE stanzas are the production of the gifted ion Mrs. NORTON. I WOULD I were the light fern growing Beneath my Highland Mary’s tread, I would I were the green tree throwing Its shadow o’er her gentle head! I would I were a wild-flower springing Where my sweet Mary loves to rest. T h at she m ight pluck me while she’s singng, And place mc oln her snowy breast! I would I were il yonder heaven A silver star, whose soft dim light Would rise to bl)ess each summer even, And watch,ny Mary all the night! I would, beneath these small white fingers, I were the lute her breath has fanned the gentle lute, whose soft notte lingers As loth to leave her fairy hand! Sheath the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland! Sheath the sword, Scotland, for dimm’d is its shine; Thy foemen are fleeing, fleeing, fleeing, And wha kens nae mnercy is nae son o’ thine! The struggle is over, over, over, The struggle is over!-the victory won! There are tears for the fallen, the fallen, the fallen, And glory for all who their duty have done! Sheath the sword, Scotland, Scotland, Scotland! With thv loved thistle new laurels entwine; Time shall ne’er part them, part them, part them, But hand down the garland to each son o’ thine. Ah, happy things! ye may not wandel From Scotland to some darker sky, But ever live unchanging yonder, To happiness and Mary nigh! While I at midnight sadly weeping Upon its deep transparent blue, Can only gaze while all are sleeping, And dream my Mary watches too!

WHAT’S A’ THE STEER, KIMMER? THE following are the words of the favourite duet introduced by the MISSES CUMMING, at their late Scottish Concerts.

The music will soon appear in an edition of their songs preparing for publication.’ WHAT’S a’ the steer, kimmer? What’s a’ the steer? Charlie he is landed, An’, haith, he’ll soon be here. The win’ was at his back, carle, The win’ was at his back; I earena, sill’ he’s come, carle, We were na worth a plack. WHEN I ROVED A YOUNG HIGHLANDER WORDS by LorD BYRON.

Music by J. P. Knight. WHEN I roved a young Highlander o’er the dark heath, W And cl.mb’d thy dark sumtmit, O Moriven, of snow’

TTTI,’,,IITR.ROR LIBRARY. FOR LACK OF GOLD.

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GEMS OF SCOTTISH SONG. l’o s’.ze:.n t}e to-rent tlhat slumber’d beneath, 1Or tile li t of the teimpest that gather’d below; Ut,ltutor’d yi- sci;,i, a str; ncrr to fear, An(! rti a. iho I li:e ni infancy grew, 5No ci’ li t:, S 0Vf eO;c-‘, to mi\!wosaod was (lnayr Neet I s-t;,y sVweet I;,ry,‘twvs centred in you I arre it te,.., mi,h m lily d:,s guid(e, Fmrom molt:!il t llouillnin I bounded along i b.eist-e. Il>. biii-‘ws of Dlee’s rushiiii, ti(le, And hiead t a t. tt:ic the fi, hlander’s song tt evei oe rn.- ieatti-cover’d coulch of rlepose, N, dI-ea-Iit, s:ve of Mlary, were sl)pread to my view; And(i wi,rn to the skies rnv devotions arose, F(r tle tit’t of my prayers was a blessing on you. i i1 ” What can I do but weep and mourn? I fear my lad will ne’er return, Ne’er return to ease my waes, Will ne’er come hamne to Logan braes.” Wi’ that lie clasp’d her in his arms, And said, ” I’m free from war’s alarms, I now ba’e conquer’d a’ my faes;’ We’ll happy live on Logan braes.” Yet ttla(a., d 7;aiie bent th’e imountains once more ShIill ri to: ty si, I i t leir mal-itles of snIow; l,ut *hile.ii s- s oar aboe ne, unchanged as before, 5ill Mlry be th.ere to receive me? ah no! Ai’i(ei0 teicni, ye’illls, where my childhood was bred rhoi swIeet flovwinr Dee, to thy waters adieu! No 1home iii the forest shall shelter my head, Ah, MIary! what hoime could be mine without you? DUNLOP.-Tune, “Comin’ through the re.” ‘ it! d:nnla ask ir-e gill I lo’e thee; Troth, I daurna teci: Dinna ask me ginl I lo’e ye; Ask it o’

yoursel’. ROY’S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH W-AS written by MRS. GRANT, of Carron, on the river Spey. tler maiden iname was Grant, and she afterwards mrnarried Dr. Murray, of Bathl. She was born about 1745,A ,id died about 1814. RoY’s wife of Aldivalloch, Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch, Wat ye how she cheated me, As I cam’ o’er the braes of Balloch? Oh! dinna look sac sair at me, For weel ye ken me true; O, gin ye look sae sair at me, I dattriia look at you. When ye gang to yon braw braw town, And I)oiinier lasses see, O, Jamiiie, diinna, look at them, Lest you should mintid na me. She vow’d, she swore she wad be mine; She said she lo’ed me best of onie; But ah! the fickle, faithless quean, She’s ta’en the carle, and left her Johnnie.

Roy’s wife, &c. For I could never bide the lass, Tlhat ye’d lo’e mair than me; And O, I’m suire, mv heart would break, Gini ye’d prove false to me.

O, she was a cantie quean, Weel could she dance the Highland walloch; How hlppy,, I, had she been mnine, Or I l”,en Ro)y of Aldivallocih. Roy’s wife, &c. Her hair sac fair, her een sac clear, Her wee bit meot’ sae sweet and bonnie; To me she ever will be dcar, Thoughl she’s for ever left her Johnnie. Roy’s wife, & c. Tins poetic gem of the Ettrick Shepherd has bees m to music by Mr. Dectpst(cr, the well-known talented m. poser arid pleasinig vocalist. BIRD of the wilderness, Blythesome anld cumbe.less, Sweet )be thy riatin o’er moorland and lea! Eniblem of happiness, Bless ad is thy d welling-place, Oh! to abide in the desert with thee! ‘T’i: two first stanzas of this song are by JOITN MAYNE, author of the ” Siller Gun,” and other poems of distinction.‘Ibe at,.thor of the other stanzas is unknown. Mayne was a native of Dumfries; was long connected with the Lontdon I,tes. antd died in 1836. The air “Loganti A Nter.” t,) hic the song is sung, is of considerable a Blilt Wjy.her s thou jthtneyide B iht is thy lay an d l oud, Far in the downy cloud; Love gives it energy, love gave it birth; Where on the dewy wing, Where art thou journieying. Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth “By t);‘sstre-am,.s that tini sae deep, Fu’ aftt i g’ec I’ve herded sheep; Herded sheep, or gathler’d slaes, Wi’

my dcar li-,d, oni Logan braes. But wae’s mv heart! thae days are gane, And I, wi’ grief, may herd alane Whilce mn (ear lad nmain face his faes, Far, far irae me, an’ Logan braes. Nae matir at Logan kirk will he Atween the preachiings meet wi’ me; Meet wi’ me, or when it’s mirk, Conr.voy me hame frae Logan kirk. I weel may sing thae days are gane Frae kirk an’

fair I come alane, O’er fell and foun tain s heen, O’er inoor and mountain green, O’er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow’s rim, Musical cherub, h1,; hie thee away. Then when the g l oaming comes, Low in the heatlli(r blooms, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of lowe be! Bird of the w ilderness, Bless’d is thy dwelling-place, Oh! to abide in the desert with thee. ,141 li 1. i ii i i While i-ny dear lad maun face his faes, Far, far 1rae ine, aii’ Logaii braes!” While for her love she thus did sigh, She saw a sodger passing by, Pitssiiig by wi’

scai-let claes, While sair she ,rat oii Lo,,an braes: Says lie,, ” What gars thee greet sae sair, What fills thy heart sie fu’ ol care? Thae sporting lambs liae blytliesome days, An’ plavfu’ skip on Logan braes!” I i 1; l Off, DINNA ASK ME. BIRD OF TIIE WILDERNESS. LOGAN BRAES.

Page 546 view page image i46 THE MIR’ROR LIBRARY. WHAT AILS THIS HEART O’ MINE? The youth, he cried, whlomti I exiled Shall be restored to woo her S he’s at the window nua Ely an hou r, His coming:o discover; And her love look’d up to Ellen’s bower, And she look’d on her lovcr. Tins beautiful lyric is the production of Miss BLAMIRE, whose poems have been lately collected by the erudite Mr.

Mlaxwell, of Edinburgh. WHAT ails this heart o’ mine? What ails this watery e’e? What gars me a’ turn cauld as death When I take leave o’ thee?

When thou art far awa’ Thou’lt dearer grow to me; But change o’ place and change o’ face May gar thy fancy jee. When I gae out at e’en, Or walk at morning air, Ilk rustling bush will seem to say I used to meet thee there.

Then I’ll sit down and cry, And live aneath the tree, And when a leaf fa’s i’ my lap I’ll ca’t a word frae thee. Il11 hie me to the bower That thou wi’ roses tied, And where wi’ mony a blushing bud I strove mysel’ to hide.

I’ll doat on ilka spot Where I ha’e been wi’ thee; And ca’ to mind some kindly word By ilka burn and tree! THIS song has been till of late ascribed to the authoress of Auld Robin Gray; but it is now on good authority attributed to a Mr. GEORGE HALKET, a schoolmaster in tX north of Scotland, who died in 1756. O LOGIE o’ Buchan, O Logie the laird, They hlia’ce ta’en awa’ Jamie, that delved in the yard, Wha play’d on the pipe, and the viol sae sma’; They ha’e ta’en awa’ Janie, the flower o’ them a’.

He said, Think na lang lassie, tho’ I gang awa’; He said, Think na lang lassie, tho’ I gang awa’; For simmer is coming, cauld winter’s awa’, And I’ll come and see thee in spite o’ them a’. Tho’ Sandy has ousan, has gear, and has kye; A house and a hadden, and siller forbye; Yet I’d tak’

mirte ain lad, wi’ his staff in his hand, Before I’d ha’e him, wi’ his houses and land. He said, Think nae lang, &c. WHAT WILL A’ THE LADS DO?

TrIim is another of the Misses Cummings’ duets. The words are by the Ettrick Shepherd. 0, WHAT will a’ the lads do W hen Maggie gangs away? O, what will a’ the lads do, When Maggie gangs away? There’s no a heart in a’

the glen That disna dread the day. 0, what will a’ the lads do When Maggie gangs away? You ng Jock has ta’en the hill for’t A waefu’ wight is he; Poor Harry’s ta’en the bed for’t, An’ laid him do syn to dee; An’ Sandy’s gane unto the kirk, An’ learning fast to pray. And, O, what will the lads do When Maggie gangs away? The young laird o’ the Lang-shaw Has drunk her health in wine; The priest has said-in confidence The lassie was divine: And that is mair in maiden’s praise Than ony priest should say: But, O, what will the lads do When Maggie gangs away? The wailing in our green glen That day will quaver high; ‘Twill. draw the red-breast frae the wooo The laverock frae the sky; The fairies frae their beds o’ dew Will rise and join the lay: An’ hey! what a day’twill be When Maggie gangs away! My daddie looks sulky, my miinnie looks sour, They frown upon Jamie because he is poor: Tho’ I lo’e them as weel as a daughter should do, They’re nae hauf sac dear to me, Jamie, as yow He said, Think nae lang, &c. I sit on my creepie, I spin at my wheel, And think on the laddie that lo’ed me sae weel; He had but ae saxpence, he brak it in twa, And gi’ed me the hauf o’t when he gade awa’. Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa’ Then haste ve back, Jamie, and bide na awa’, The simmer is coming, cauld winter’s awa’, Sace come soon and see me in spite o’ them a’. THE BANKS OF ALLAN

WATER. TInls very popular ballad was written by M. G. Lrwts Esq., author of” The Monk,” “Castle Spectre,” &c. ON the banks of Allan Water, When the sweet spring-time did fall, Was the Miller’s lovely daughter, Fairest of them all! For his b rid e a soldier s ought her, And a winning tongue had he, On the banks of Allan Water None so gay as she! s the banks of Allan Water, When brown Autumn spread his store, there I saw the Miller’s daughter, But she smiled no more; For the Summer, grief had brought her, And the soldier, false was he, )n the banks of Allan Water, None so sad as she! :)n the banks of Allan Water, When the Winter snow fell fast, Sqtill was seen the Miller’s daughter. Ch,:illing islew the blast; EARL MARCH.

THiS is from the classic pen of THO.MAS CAMPBELL, auOm of” The Pleasures of Hope.” EARL March loek’d on his dying child, And smit’it grief to view her I I TFTE MIRROR LIBRARY. f>4 6 But ah! so pale, he knew her n’ot, Though her snille on -him was dwelling, And am I then forgot-forg-t? It broke the heart of Ellen In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, Her clieek is cold as ashes; Nor lovels own kiss shall m,-.ke those eyes To lift their silken lashes. LOGIE 01 BUCHAN. popular w

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GEMS OF’ SCOTTIS[H’SONG. ” There’s nae ither saft e’e can fill me wi’

pleastire, There’s nae ither rose-lip has half o’ its treasure, There’s nae ither bower, love, shall ever receive me, [thee.” Till death break this fond heart-oh, then I maun leav Leave thee, leave thee, &c. The tears o’er her cheeks ran like dew frae red roses What hope to the lover one tear-drop discloses! I kiss’d her, and blest her: at last, to relieve me, She yielded her hand, and sigh’d, “Oh! never leave m&w Leave me, leave me, &c. SOME LOVE TO ROAM. C(,lARLES MACKAY, Esq., the author of this popular lyric, is tlhec author of many excellent poetic and prose producti’,ns.

Thle mnusic is by flenry Russell. SOIE, love to roam o’er the dark sea’s foam, Where the shrill winds whistle free; lut a chosen band in a mountain land, And a life in the woods for me. When morning beams o’er the mountain streams, Oli! merrily forth we go, To follow the stag to his slippery crag, And to chase the bounding roe.-Ho! ho! ho! ho! Some love to roam, &c. JOCK O’ HAZELDEAN. WRITTEN by SIR WALTER SCOTT for Albyn’s Anthole gy, a collection of Highland airs edited by Alex. Campbell. There is an old balled, called Jock o’ Hazelgreen, from which the poet has borrowed several lines. The deer we mark in the forest dark, And the prowling wolf we track; And for right good cheer, in the wild woods here, Oh! wily should a hunter lack? For with steady aim at the bounding game, And hearts that fear no foe, ro the darksoine glade, in the forest shade, Oh! merrily forth we go. Ho! ho! ho! ho! Some love to roam, &c. ” Now let this wilful grief be done, And dry that cheek so pale: Young Frank is chief of Errington, And lord of Langley dale; His step is first in peaceful ha’, His sword in battle keen:” But aye she loot the tears down fa’, For Jock o’ Hazeldean. BONNIE JEANNIE GRAY. TIE first and last stanzas of this popular song were written by W. PAUL, Glasgow, and set to music by ltichard Webster. The second stanza is an interpolation ky William Thom, of Inverury. A chain o’ gold ye shall not lac k, Nor braid to bind your hair, Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair; And you, the foremost o’ them a’, Shall ride our forest queen:” But aye she loot the tears down fa’, For Jock o’ flazeldean. Otl whar was ye sac late yestreen, My bonnie Jeannie Gray? Your mither miss’d you late at e’en, And eke at break o’ day. Your mither look’d sac sour and sad, Your father dull and wae, Oh! whar was ye sae late yestreen, My bonnie Jeannie Gray? I’ve mark’d that lanely look o’ thine, My bonnie Jeannie Gray; I’ve kent your kin:.dly bosom pine, ‘IThis moriie, inonie day. Ha’e hinnied words o’

promise lured Your guileless heart astray? 0! dinna hide your grief frac me, My bonnie Jeannie Gray. Dear sister, sit ye down by me, And let nae body ken; For I ha’e promised late yestreen To wed young Jamie Glen; The melting tear stood in his e’e, What heart could say him nay? As aft he vow’d, through life, I’m thine, My bonnie Jeannie Gray. The kirk was deck’d at morning-tide, The tapers glimmer’d fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight were there: They sought her baith by bower and ha’; The ladye was not seen! She’s o’er the border, and awa’ Wi’ Jock o’ Hazeldean! THis song refers to an incident which occurred during the war of independence. Donald, the lover, accompanied the British troops to America, and perished “on Saratoga’s plain.” The news of his death arrives, and reason forsakes the unhappy Flora. The words are by the author of “Saw ye my wee thing?” The air is very beautiful. Donald was a Captain Stewart, and Flora was a young lady in Athole. LADDIE, OH! LEAVE

ME. DowN whar the burnie rins whimplin’ and cheery, When love’s star was smilin’, I met wi’ my dearie; Ah! vain was its smilin’, she wadna believe me, llut said wi’ a saucy air, “Laddie, Oh! leave me, Leave me, leave me, laddie, Oh! leave me.” WCa N merry hearts were g ay, Careless of aught but play, Poor Flora slipt away, Sadd’ning to Mora. Loose flow’d her yellow hair, Quick heaved her bosom bare; And thus to the troubled air She vented her sorrow: “I’ve lo’ed thee o’er truly t- seek a new dearie, I’ve lo’ed thee o’er fondly, through life e’er to weary, I’ve lo’ed thee o’er lang, love, at last to deceive thee. Ir,k caildly or kindly, buit bid me not leave thee.” I,eave thee, leave thee, &c. I. 547 But the Miller’s lovely.

daughter, Both from cold aii4?care was free! On the banks of Allan’Water, There a corpse lay she! ” WHY weep ye by the tide, ladye Why weep ye by the tide? I’ll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye shall be his bride; And ye shall be his bride, ladye, Sae comely to be seen:” Btit aye she loot the tears down fal, For Jock o’ flazeldean. DONALD AND FLORA. ,, Loud howls the northern blast, Bleak is the dreary waste, Haste then, 0 Donald, haste, Haste to thv Flor,!

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548 ~ I v l ve secen the niorni:l w4ti gold the hills adorning, S And loud temnpest storllilg before middle day; I’ve seen T’weed’s silver streaims, glittering in the sunny beams, Grow drumlie and dark as they roll’d on their way. 0 fickle fortune, why tilis cruel sporting, Why thus perplex us poor sons of a day? Nae mair thy frowns will fear me, nae inair hby smileq. will c heer me, Since the Flowers of thie Forest are a’ we(le away. Twice twelve lont m onths are o’er, Since on a foreign shore You promised to fight no more But meet me in Mora. ” Come then, O come away.’

Donald! no longer stay! Where can my rover stray From his loved Flora? Ah!

sure he ne’er could be False to his vows and me! Heavens! Is’t not yonder he Comes bounding o’er Mora?” THE BONNIE HOUSE O’ AIRLY. ALL who have lizard Mr. Clirehu,h’s inimitable execution of this old ballad will be pleased to possess the words. There are ilifferet readings of the ballad, all of which are very ioperfect; it is here rendered as sung by Mr.

Clirelhughl. Never, O wretched fair! (Sigh’d the sad messenger,) Never shall Donald snair Meet his loved Flora! Cold as yon inountain’s snow, Donald, thy love, lies low! He sent me to sooth thy wo, Weeping in Mora!

W,Vell fought his valiant men On Saratoga’s plain; Thrice fled the hostile train From British glory. But, though his foes did fleec Sad was the loss to thee; Every fresh victory Drown’d 11s in sorrow. IT fell Oil a d;.y, eI honiie simmer day, pViMhen the C(tiin waived green and yellow, There fell o.t a gre‘‘at di.spute Bctw( cei Art,,,le( anti Airly! Argy-(le hli ti’(,t a hundre(d o’ his men, Bt tho d, ll irii l (; n,and inairly, An’ It”::,,’

I ) I liec back o’ DunIkeld, ‘I’o pl! 1’.’ “!.’,n:: ie house o’ Airly Lady Ogilvie 1lO,’,l d l’r thie hiigh castle wa’, An’ ah! but she si;’ (!

-:,iil. When she saw Arg) inn aii’;” hii; u,ern Conie to plunder the locir:;ii house o’ Airly. “Here, take this love-wrought plaid, (Donald, expirirng,, said,) Give it to yon dear maid, Drooping in Mora. Tell her, 0, Allan, tell Donald thus bravely fell; And in his last farewell, Thought on his Flora.” Coiie down, come down, L:itly’)gilvie, hlie cried, Come down and kiss me fixirly, Or I swear by the sword I hold in nly hand, That I wilna leave a stan’in’ staiie on Airly! I’ll no comne d(own, ye fause Argyle, Until y,e,s-peakl mair fairlv; Nor would I kiss tihe proud Argyle Tho’ he leave na a stin’in’ stane on Airly! Mute stood the trembling fair, Speechless with wild despair: Striking her bosom bare, She sigh’d, poor Flora! Ah! Donald, ah! well-a-day! Was all the fond heart could say, And the sound died away Forever on Mora! For if my 1)brave lord was here this night, As he’s this night wi’ Charlie. There’s no a Campbell in a’ Argyle Dare tread on the hoinnie green o’ Airly! lie has ta’eo her by the middle sac sma’, But he has nae ta’en her fairly; All’ he’s le.d her tl) t.o a highl hill tap Where she saw the burnin’ o’ Airly. THE FLOWERS OF THE

FOREST. Ma. COCKBUP.N, tlhe author of this song, was daughter of Mr.

Rutherford, of Fairnielie, in Roxbutrghshire. She was born in 17-, married to a Mr. Cockburn, Advocate, Edinburgh, in 173], and died in 1794. The song refers to the disastrous battle of Flodden, fought in 1513, where King James IV., of Scotland, and the flower of his nobility, were slain.

“; The Forest” was the iname given to a particular district of country noted for its fine archers, who, almost to a manl, perished on the field, and the song laments their loss-” The flowers of tI!ie forest are a’ wede away.” There is another song written labout the same time, to the same air, and upon the same subject. It begins, ” I’ve seen the lilting, at our yowe-mi!king.” The author was Mniss Jane Elliot, daughter of Sir Gilbert Elliot, of Minlto. The air to which these songs are sung has been recently discovered in an old mnanuscript, written in 1620, and is nmuch superior in its original simplici1y to the sets of the air now in use. [‘vE seen the smiling of Fortune beguiling, I’ve tasted her pleasures and found them decay; Sweet was her blessing, and kind her caressing, But now they are fled, they are fled far away. I’ve seen the forest adorned the foremost, Wi’ flowers o’ the fairest, baith pleasant and gay; ,ae bonny was the.r blooming, their scent tile air per fuming, But n)w they are wither’d, and a’ wede away. I TfTlE ATTI-IIRC)!! iii I ‘I’AK YEIZ AULD CLOAI;I- ABOUT

YE. b.,Ila(i liad fotiiid its way into Eii,,,,Iaiid early’in the I-eig,i ol’ Qiieeii Elizabetit. as we find it quoted y ; llak,I)(,tre, in tti(!

tra,,,cdy of Otliello. Its authorship a uii’iinowri. liavit, b,(ii liaiided (!(,wn by oral conimunicaItion, lik,Iinaiiy ot.h(r fi,.ic old Scottish billa(li. I,, winter-, wliet) tli, rai,j rain’d cauld, And fi-o,,3t.in,,l,Ii;iw oil Ikt hill, And Bureas, w;’ liis i-],.sts sae baii](1, Was tlircitt’ii’ii’ (,,ur k i to kill: ,riien B(ll, iiin, w-lit I,-,‘es n-ae strife, She said to nic i-‘1,,lit liistilic, Get up,,,udeiiiaii, s,tve (,,rumniie’s life, And talk’ yei auld (,Ioik about ye. My Cruii.,ii-i(  is it cow, Aiid she is c(ine )Ct,ood Aft has sti(

%v,,t tii( mou And I aiii laitli tli,it slif , should tyne; ( ,‘et up, gudeni,,tn, it is fu’ t.iine, The sun sllitics frae the lift sac hie; Sloth never iiiade t gi-aciotis end; Gae, tak’ your cloak about ye.

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G O O toISI~ SONGW..549 THERE LIVES A YOUNG LASSIE. TIis song has recently been introduced to an Amencan audience by the Misses Cumming and will no doublt become a favourite. The words are ly JOIIN IMLAH. TIHERE lives a young lassie Far down in yon glen; And I lo’e that lassie As nae ane may ken! O! a saint’s faith may vary, But faithful I’ll be; For weel I lo’e Mary, An’ Mary lo’es me. My cloak was ance a gude grey cloak, When it was fittingg for my wear; But now it’s scantly north a groat, For I have worn’t this thretty year: Let’s spend the gear that we ha’e won, VNc little kecl the day we’ll die; Then I’ll be proud, since I have sworn To hla’e a new cloak about me. In days when our King Robert rang, His trews they cost but half a croun, He said they were a groat ower dear, And ca’d the tailor thief and loon: He was the king that wore a croun, And thou the man of laigh degree: It’s pride puts a’ the country doun; Sae tak’ vour auld cloak about ye. Ilka land has its air lauch,H Ilk kind o’ corn lias its ain hool; I think the world is a’ garne wrang, When ilka wife her man wad rule: Do ye no see Rob, Jock, and HRb, As they arc girded gallanitlie, While I sit huyklin i’ the aese? I’ll ha’e a new cloak about me. Gudeman, I wat its thretty year Sin’ we did ane anither ken; And we ha’e had atween us twa Of lads and bonnie lassies ten: Now they are women grown and men, I wish and pray weel may they be; It you would prove a good husband, E’en tak’ your auld cloak about ye. Bell, my wife, she lo’es nae strife, But she would rule me, if she can; And to maintain an easy life, I aft mauni yield, though I’m gudeman: Nocht’s to be gain’d at woman’s hand, Unless ye gi’e her a’ the plea; TI’hen I’ll leave aff where I began, And tak’ my auld cloak about me. BONNIE MARY HAY. WAs written bv ARCITIBALID

CRAwKFORD, a native of Ayr. The music was composed by R. A. Smith. BONNIE

Mary Hay, I will lo’c thiee yet; For thy eye is the slae, and thy hair is the jet, The snaw is thv skin, and the rose is thy cheek. Oh! bonnie Mary Hay, I will lo’e thee yet. TIF first stanza of this song is attributed to the Rev. teln Cluiie; the remainiti,g, are the composition of Hecu)r Maciel. Thrie air bears a striking resemblance to thie Irish tune “My lodA ing is on the cold ground,” but the etmigr,atioii froiii Scotland to Ireland during the periods of relirious persecution was so great that many of the old( airs have long been faniiliai in both countries. We give only the stanzas that arc genecrally sunIg. I LO’ED ie’er a laddie but ance; He lo’ed ne’er a lassie but mne; He’s willing to mnak’ me his ain; And his ain I am willing to be. He has coft me a rokelay o’ blue, And a pa ir o’

miettens o’ green; The price was a kiss o’ my nou’; And I paid hiiml the debt yestreen. Bonni e Mary Hay, it’s lialiday to me, When thou art coothie, kind, and free: There’s inae clouids in the lift, nor storms in the sky, My boinniie Mary Hay, when thou art nigh. Bonnie Mary Hay, tho naunnmam say me nay; But come to the bow’r I’v the hawthorn brae, But come to the bow’r, an’ I’ll tell ye a’ what’s true, How, Mary! I can n-c’cr lo’e anc but you. Let ithers brag wecl o’ th(, r gear, Their land, and their lordly degree; I carena for aught but mny dear, For he’s ilka thing lordly to me: Our laird has bwith honours and wealth, Yet see how he’s dwiining wi’ care; Now we, thougli we’ve naething but health, Are cantie and leal evermair. SAW YE JOHNNY COMIN’. BOTII words and mnusic of this song are old, and thei authors unknown. O Marion! the heart that is true, Has sonretlii, fnair costly than gear; Ilk e’cni it las i;:thing to rue 

Ilk morn it hs nactlehiiig to fear. Ye lasses wh11 l(-)‘e to tormnent Your woes. wi f:,ise scorn and strife, Play your p:;r,k: I a.c gi’en ivy consent And ti.s.ig]it I an. Jai-nie’s for life. i i i I i sco,r,l,is GE-,NIS OF Red, red as the rowan Her smiling wee mou’; An’ white as the gowan Her breast and her brow! Wi’ a foot o’ a fairy She links o’er the lea; O! weet I lo’e Mary, An’ Mary lo’es me. ,‘hc sings sweet as onie Wee bird of the air, She’s blithe as she’s bonnie, She’s guid as she’s fair; Like a lammic sae airy And artless is she; 0! weel -1 lo’e Mary, And Mary lo’es me! Where yoi tall forest timmer, An’ lowly broom bower, To the siiiisfiiiie o’ simmer Spread verdure an’ flower; There, when night clouds the carv, Beside her I’ll be; For weel I lo’e Mary, And Mary lo’es me. I LOED NE’ER A LADDIE BUT ANE. BonD’e Mary Ilay, will you gaiig, wi’ nic, When the sun’s in tlip, to the hawthorn tree? To the hawthorn tree in the bonnic berry den? And I’ll tell you, Mai-y,jow I lo’e you then. SAW ye Johnny c(aniii’, quo’ she, ,Saw 3,c Johnny comin’; Saw -c Jolinnv comii-i’, quo’ she, Saw ye Jo!iiiiiy e-oniin; Saw ye Jol)iiiiy coinin’, quo’ she, Saw ye Johnny comin’; NNI-i’ his blue bonnet on his head, Arid lils doggie riiiiiii-i’, quo’ she, And his do,gie in,iin’?

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550 THF MIRROR TAIBRARY. Fee him, father, fee him, quo’ she, Fee him, father, fee him; Fee him, father, fee him, quo’ she, Fee him, father, fee him; For he is a gallant lad, And a wecl.doin’; And a’ the wark about the house, Gaes wi’ me when I see him, quo’ she, Wi’ me when I see hitn. 0 ye are the bonniest m)aiden, The flower o’ the wvest kintrie; Will ye gang to the hielands, Lizzy Lindsay, My pride and my darling to be? ro gang to the Highlands wi’ you, sir, I dinna ken how that may be; For I ken nae the land that ye live in, Nor ken I the, lad I’m gaun wi’. ‘ Lizzy, lass, ye maun ken little, If sace be ye dinna ken me; M4y name is Lord Rona ld MacDonald, A chieftain o’ high degree. I’ve goud and I’ve gear, tizzy Lindsay, And a heart that lo’es only thee; They a’ shalil be tlliine, fizzy Lindsay, Gill ye my loved darling will be. She has kilted her coats o’ green satin, She has kilted them TIp to the knee, And she’s aff and awa’ wi’ Lord Ronald, His bride and his darling to be. What will I do wi’

him, quo’ he, What will I do wi’ him? He’s ne’er a sark upon his back, And I ha’e nane to gi’e him. I ha’e twa sarks into my kist, And ane o’ them I’ll gi’e him; And for a merk o’ mair fee Dinna stand wi’ him, quo’ she, Dinna stand wi’ him. For weel do I lo’e him, quo’ she, Weel do I lo’e him; For weel do I lo’e him, quo’ she, Weel do I lo’e him. 0 fee him, father, fee him, quo’ she, Fee him, father, fee him; He’ll hand the pleudgh, thrash in the barn, And crack wi’ me at e’en, quo’ she, And crack wi’ me at e’en. SCOTLAND YET. WRirTEN by the Rev. H. S. RIDDEL. Set to musice o Peter MacLeod. GAE bring my gude auld harp ance mair, Gae bring it firm and fast For I maun sing anither sang, Ere a’ my glee be past. And trow ye as I sing, my lads, The burden o’t shall be, Auld Scotland’s hiowes, and Scotland’s snowe, And Scotland’s hills for me! I’ll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi’ a’ the honours three. The heath waves wild upon her hills., And, foaming frae the fells, tter fountains sing o’ freedon still, As they dance down the dells; And weel I lo’e the land, my lads, That’s girded by the sea; Then Scotlad’s dales, and Scotland’s vales, And Scotlaiid’s hills for me! I’ll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi’ a’ the honours three. THIs highly humorous and popular song is ascribed to SlI5s FERRIER, the accomplished authoress of” Destiny,” ” Marriage,” and “Inheritance,”-three novels of distinguished merit. THE Laird o’ Cockpen, he’s proud an’ he’s great; His mind is ta’en up wi’ the things o’ the state: He wanted a wife his braw house to keep; But favour wi’ wooin’ was fashious to seek Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell. At his table-head he thought she’d look well; M’Clishl’s ae daughter o’ Claverse-ha’ Lee, A pennyless lass wi’ a lang pedigree. His wig was weel pouther’d, as guid as when new, His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue; He put on a ring, a sword, and cock’d hat And wha could refuse the Laird wi’ a’ that? He took the grey mare, and rade cannilie And rapped at the yett o’

Claverse-ha’ Lee, “Gae tell mistress Jean to come speedily ben: She’s wanted to speak wi’ the Laird o’ Cockpen.” Mistress Jean she was makin’

the elder-flower wine; “And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?” She put aff her apron, and on her silk gown, Her match wi’ red ribbons, and gaed awa’ down. Her thistle waves upon the fields Where Wallace bore his blade, That gave her foemen’s dearest bluid To dve her auld grey plaid; And looking to the lift, nyly lads, He sang this doughty glee, Auld Scotiarld’s riglit, and Scotland’s might, And Scotland’s hills for me!

Then drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi’ a’ the honours three. And when she cam’ be-,, he boned fu’ low; And what was his errand ie soon let her know.

Amazed was the Laird when the lady said, Na, And wi’ a laigh curtsie she turned awa’. Dunifounder’d he was, but nae sigh did he gi’e; He mounted his mare, and rade cannilie; And aften he thought, as lie gaed through the glen, “She’s daft to refuse the Laird o’ Cockpen.” They tell o’ lands wi’

brighter skies, Where freedom’s voice ne’er rangGi’e me the hills where Ossian dwelt, And Coila’s Minstrel sang; For I’ve nae skill o’ lands, my lads, That ken nia to be free. Then Scotlali(i’s right, and Scotland’s might, And Scotland’s hills for me! We’ll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi’

a’ the hoinours three. LIZZY LINDSAY. THis is a new version of a very old ballai It has b ee n recentlvy introduced by..the Misses Cumming, an d become a favourite with the public. WILL ye gang wi’ me. Lizzy ILindsay, Will ye gang to the Highlands wi’ me? Will ye gang w-‘ me, Lizzy Lindsay, MIy bride and lmly darling to be? Tiis is one of the best songs which has been in modern times adde4l to the National Lyrics of Scotland. The words are fromnt the pen of R. GILFII,.JAN, a poet of no neanI celebrity; and the air is by P. MlcLEol), Esq. of Ediinburgh Ii is supposed to be sunig by an-emigranit in the East Il,dies. I I I I i 1 1 THE MIRROR T,IBRAf”,Y.

560 I . I 0 THE LAIRD O’ COCKPEN. 0 WIIY LEFT I MY ITAMF.

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GEMS OF SCOTTISH[I SONG. O WHY left I my hame, why did I cross the deep, O why left I the land where my forefathers sleep! I sigh for Scotia’s shore, and I gaze across the sea, But I canna get a blink o’ my ain kintrie. The palm-tree waveth high, and fair the myrtle springs, And to the Indian maid the bulbul sweetly sings; But I dinna see the broom with its tassels orpthe lea, Nor heal the linties’ sang o’ my ain kiintrie. O here nae sabbath bell awakes the sabbath morn, Nor song of reapers heard amang the yellow corn; For the tyrant’s voice is heard and the wail o’ slaverie, But the sun of freedom shines in my ain kintrie. IT is of WILLIAM LAIDLAW, the author of this song, and the valued friend and steward of Sir W. Scott, that the following touching anecdote is related. Scott, on his return from Naples during his last illness, recognised few or none of his friends or relatives, and lay apparently in. sensible; but seeing Laidlaw near him, at his bed-side, his eyes brightened up as he said-” Is that you, Willie?

I ken I’m lihanme noo.” It is strange that hie who wrote so well should have written so little-this is the only song the author has written. JEAN

LINN. Tils admirable ballad is the production of W. WILSON, E’sq., of Poughkeepsie. It was published many years ago ill all Edinburgh literary publication, and was very highly appreciated as an excellent imitation of the old ballad style. O lnAtD nia your noddle sae hie my doo, O haud na your noddle sae hie; I’he time that has been, may be yet again seen, Sae look iia sae lightly on me, my doo. O geck na at hamne, hoddin gray Jean Linn, O geek na at hame, hoddin gray; Your gutcher and mnine. wad hae thocht themselves fine, In siccan attire, bonny May. ‘TwAs when the wan leaf frae the birk-tree was fa’in’, And Miartinmas dowie had wound up tile year, That Lacy row’d up her wee kist wi’ her a’ in’t, And left her auld maister and neebours sae dear: For Lucy had served i’ the glen a’ the simmer; She cam ther ae fore the flower bloom’d on the pea An orphan was she, and they had been gude till her Oh, that was the thing brocht the tear to her e’e. Ye mind wliheni we won in whin glen, Jean Linn?. YE minid when wE won in whin glen? Your daddy, douse carle, was cottar to mine, Andi our herd was your bonny sell, then, Jean Linn. She gaed by the stable where Jamie was stannin’; Richt sair was his kind heart, the flittin’ to see: ‘ Fare ye weel, Lucy!’ quo’ Jamie, and ran in; The gatherin’ tears trickled fast frae his e’e. As down the burn-side she gaed slow wi’ her flittin’, ‘ Fare ye weel, Lucy!’ was ilka bird’s s ang; She heard the craw sayin’t, high on the tree sittin’, And Robin was chirpii’t the brown leaves amang O then you were a’ thing to me, Jean Linn, O then you weie a’

thing to me; An’ the hours scour’d by, like birds thro’ the sky, When tenting the owsen wi’ thee, Jean Linn. I twil’d you a bower by the burn, Jean Linn, I twin’d you a bower by the burn; But dreamt na the hour, as we sat in the bow’r, Tlat fortune wad tak sic a turn, Jean Linn. You busk noo in satins fll’ braw, Jean Linn, You busk noo in satins fu’ braw; Your daddie’s a laird, mine’s in the kirk yard, And I’m your ptir ploughman, Jock Law, Jean Linn. ‘ O, what is’t that pits my puir heart in a flutter 7

And what gars the tears come sae fast to my o’e I If I wasna ettled to be ony better, Then what gars me wish oiiy better to be? I’m just like a lammie that loses its mither; Nae mither or friend the puir larmie can see; I fear I hae tint my puir heart a’thegither, Nae wonder the tear fa’s sae fast frae my e’e. Wi’ the rest o’ my claes I hae row’d up the ribbon, The bonny blue ribbon that Jamie gae me; Ycstreen, when he gae me’t, and saw I was sabbin’, I’ll never forget thile wae blink o’ his e’e. Though now he said naething but’ Fare ye weel, Lucy‘4 It made me I neither could speak, hear, nor see: He could liae say mair but just,’ Fare ye weel, Lucy’ Yet that I will mind till the day that I dee. THIS is the product. n of a true son of genius-WILUaAH THOM, a poor weaver, in Inverury, a small village illn the north of Scotland. The lamb likes the gowan wi’ dew when its droukit; The hare likes the brake and the braird on the lea; But Lucy likes Jamie;-she turn’d and she lookit, She thoclit the dear place she wad never mair see. Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheerless! And weel may he greet on the bank o’ the burn.! For bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless, Lies caiild in her grave, and will never return!

Wiip,,,- a’ ither bairnies are hush’d to their hame, By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand-dame, Wha stands last an’ lanely, an’ sairly forfairn?

‘Tis the puir dowie laddie-the mitherless bairn! The initherless bairiie creeps to his lane bed, Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head; His wee hackit heelies are hard as the airll, Au’ lithless the lair o’ the mitherless bairn! THE LONELY AULD WIFE. THIs affecting lyric is the production of JULIAN COLL MERi. The music is by Mr. IOEMI’STER, and has be much admired. .Aneath his cauld brow, siccaii dreams hover there, O’ hands that wont kindly to kaim his dark hair! But mornin’ brings clutches, a’

reckless an’ stern, Tiiat lo’e na the locks o’ the mitherless bairn! The sister wha sang o’er his saftly rock’d bed, Now rests in the i1-ools whlare their mammie is laid; While the father toils sair his wee bannock to earn, &n’ kens na the wrangs o’ his mritherless bairn. BESIDE the old hearth she hath cherish’d for life, Silent and sad sits the lonely auld wife; Time hath left many a trace on her brow, But grief hath not troubled her spirit till p.w I I 551 Her spirit that pass’d in yon hour of his birth, Still watches his loiie lorn waiidlrings on earth, Recording in heaven the blessings they earn, Wha couthilie deal wi’ the mitherlm baim I Oh! speak hini na h-,.trshly-he trembles the while, He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile: In the dark hour o’ anguish, the heartless shall learm, That God deals the blow for the mitherless baiml LUCY’S FLITTINI. ‘riiere’s a hope for every wo, and a balin for every pain, But the first days of otir heart conic ne’er back again; There’s a track upon the deep, and a path across the sea, But the weary ne’er return to their ain kintrie. THE MITHERLESS BAIRN.

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M5 T-L MI-~jP LIP)RARY There are tears in her eyes, that are dim with age, And she looketh iin vain on the holy page; But she canna see aught but an old oak chair, That vacant and lonely is standing there. Long ago, when her bosom was swelling wi’ pride, The lonely auld wife was a gay youlng bride; And the rose on her cheek wore its richest bloonm When she gave her hand to the joy ous groon. Faded and worn is her beauty now,B Gray are the hairs on her wrlnkled brow; Silent she sits by the auld hearth staiieSad are her thougflhts-shc is thece alan.c! IMY AIN FIRESIDE. Tifis is another of the admirable duets introduced b5 the Miss:s CUNI.NIIN,G, and is a very great favourite with T the public.‘I’he words arc a modern version of a song L wri tten by Hlanilton, thle friend on’ Alln Ramisay; tihe , music is arranged by the,Mis:-;es Cu!iminig. O On, I hae seen great ashes, and sat i,, gir-etat ha’s, But a sig,llt sac deliglttlfil T trow I ne’er spied, ~Vhenshe ave hr had to he jyous room M ang lords and man r lieddies a’ eover’d w~i’ braws; ! As the Ibomic blyttic blink o’ my3 aill fireside; ! My;li~a fireside, imiy ain fires _a ri,r o t h Oh,,cweet i.; th hli, k o’ aiie’ ain fireside. Ance milir, Heaveii be lr;iscd’, round rny ain lieartsome A Vi’ the fiiends o’ my youth 1 e.rdially mingle, [ingle, Nae forms to caoa.q al to seem w1n e or gl ad, I may laughlI w,h!len I’mff mierry, ain,d siqh when’in sad. Nae. fal.qtlood to dread, nae malice to fear, But truithi to delight me, adi frie:,dslip to cheer; O’ a’ roads t(:o I)leastire th)at ever were tried, There’s iianie hall so sweet as alie’s ain fireside. lier gtudemani is go.le to Iiis drca:il(,ss rest, And the lonely auld wife lha,th a trotubled breast; Yet not for the world wvould -hlie banrish away ‘rhe chair he hath sat in for im.any a day. She speaketh not, save with a trenmibling breath, But hopeth, and waiteth, and prayeth for death; For joyless and dark are the days o’ her life, When the gudeman is gone frae the lonely auld wife. GLOSSARY OF THE LESS FAMILIAR

WORDS. l’The highi parts of undulating land Goodwife or friend. Know.

Clothes-chest. Comb. To triA ) iglltly Loath. Ileavens. Lake. Low. To laugh. To leap. Looken. Lark. True. 12ascal. Leaps. Cascades. Stolen.

Fortune. WVhat remains Lady’s cap. Gloves. Much. Dust. Oark. Head. Sheep.

A coin of little value. Plougl. An exclamatioin signifying di* taste for any thing. To taste. ‘ro stretclh. An ornlatimeiit for the bosom Scar-cely. Shirt. Soldier. Shoes. Stir or bustle. Believed. Go astray.

Engagement. Ghost. Stout fellow. To wither or die atway Dwelt. Knew. War.

Ashes.’ Boast. Children.. Kind of head-dress. Kitchen and parlour. Bowing.

A coin, the value of a cent. Rivulet. Builds. Fine looking. A flower that grows in corn. Bank. Sheep-pen. Fool. A hen hatching. Fresh. Broadsword.

Carefully. Sky. Converse. Lively. Kindly. Garden wall Muddy. Fatigued.

Wet. Pushed. Deafen. Darenot. Black. Grief. To try. Troublesome. Glad.

Distressed. Talking. Glanced. Golden. Weeped. Riches Scorn. Sire. lHoney.

Rich undulating land. Outer skin of seeds. Hilching. The hollows of und sating and. To cackle as a her,. Cows. Aese, Brag, Bairns, Biggonet, Butt, Ben, e Bobbing, Bawbee, Burnie, Biggs, Braw, Bluart, Bauk, Bucht, Coof, Clockin’ hen, Caller, Clagmore, Cannilie, Cary, Crack. Cantie, Couthilie, Dyke, Drumlie, Dowie, Droukit, Dang, Deave, Downa, Dhu, Dool, Ettleld, Fashious, Fain, Forfairn, Gabbing, Glint, Gowden, Grat, Gear, Geck, Gutcher, Hinny, Howmes, Hool, Huyklin, Howes, Kackling, Kye, Knowres, Kinimer, Ke~, Kist, Kaita, Linzks, Larthe, Lift, Lauch, Laigh, Leugh, Lap, Lucken, Lave-ock Leal, Lotutie, Loups, Linns, Lifted, Luick, Lave, Mlutch, flittenis, Mul,clcle, Mools, Mirk, Noddle, Owsen, Plack, Pleugh, Peugh, Pree, Rax, Roke lay, Scantly, Sark, Sodger, Shoon, Steer, Trow’d, Tyne, Tr-yste, Wr-aith, Wight, Wede, Won, Wi8t, Weir, I I TIIE AIIRRI-)R

I,]PRARY. ‘%52

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THE SONGS AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS OF BARRY CORNWALL. KING DEATH. THE sea!

the sea! the open sea I The blue, the fresh, the ever free! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth’s wide regions round; It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies; Or like a cradled creature lies. I’m on the sea! I’m on the sea! I am where I would ever be, With the blue above, and the blue below, And silence wheresoe’er I go: If a storm should come, and awake the deep, What matter? I shall ride and sleep. KING Death was a rare old fellow! He sat where no sun could shine; ~ And he lifted his hand so yellow, And poured out his coal-black wine. Hurrah! for the coal-black wsow. I love, oh! how I love to ride On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide, When every mad wave drowns the moon, Or whistles aloft his o tempest te une, And tells how goeth the world below, And why the sou’west blasts do blow. The Scholar left all his learning; The Poet his fancied woes; And the Beauty her bloom returning, Like life to the fading rose. Hurrah! for the coal-black wiO! All came to the royal old fellow, Who laugh’d till his eyes dropp’d brine, As he gave them his hand so yellow, And pledged them in Death’s black wine. Hurrah! hurrah! Hurrah!

for the coal black-wint,! I never was on the dull tame shore, But I loved the great sea more and more, And backward flew to her billowy breast, Like a bird that seeketh its mother’s nest; And a mother she was, and is to me; For I was born on the open sea! THE COMMON LOT. The waves were white, and red the morn, In the noisy hour when I was born; And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled, And the dolphins bared their backs of gold; And never was heard such an outcry wild As welcomed to life the ocean-child! I’ve lived since then, in calm and strife, Full fifty summers a sailor’s life, With wealth to spen, and a power to range, But never have sought, nor sighed for change; And Death, whenever he cemes to me, Shall come on the wild unbounded sea I No pangs, nor passionate grief, Nor anger raging hot, No ills shall ever harm her more; She goes unto the silent shore, Where pain is not. INDIAN LOVE. TRLL me not that thou dost love me, Though it thrill me wvith delight: Thou ar t l ike the stars, above me; I, the lowly earth at night. Weep’st thou that none should mourn For thee, and thy sad lot? Peace, peace! and know that few e’er grieve When Death, the tyrant, doth unweave Life’s little knot. Hast thou (thou from kings descended) Loved the Indian cottage-born; And shall she, whom Love befriended, Darken all thy hopeful morn? Go; and, for thy father’s glory, Wed the bloo,d that’s pure and free: ‘Tis enough to 7ild my story That I once was loved by thee I EWen thou scarce wept must fade! It is the common lot, To link our hearts to things that flyTo love without return-and die, And be-forgot! THE SEA. There came to him many a Maiden, Whose eyes had forgot to shine; And Widows, with griefo’erladen, For a draught of his sleepy wine. Huri-ah! for the coal-black wine, Mounm not thy daughter fading! it is the comnion lot That those we love should come and go, And leave us in tb is world of wo: So, murmur not! Her life was short, but fair, Unsullied by a blot; And now she sinks to dreamless rest(A dove, who makes the earth her nest); So, murmur not!

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554 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. THE HOME OF THE ABSENTEE. THE weed mourns on the castle wall, The grass lies on the chamber-floor, And on the hearth, and in the hall, Where merry music danced of yore! And the blood-red wine no longer Runs (how it used to run!) And the shadows within, grown stronger, Look black on the mid-day sun! /ll is gone; save a Voice That nerer did yet rejoice: ‘Tis sweet and tow;‘is sad and lone; .rind it biddeth ist lorve the thing that’s fiown. AWAKE!-The starry midnight Hour Hangs charmed, and pauseth in its flightIn its own sweetness sleeps the flower; And the doves lie hushed in deep delight! .dwake! dwake! Look forth, my love, for Love’s sweet sake I Awake!-Soft dews will soon arise Froyn daisied mead and thorny brake; Then, Sweet, uncloud those eastern eyes, And like the tender morning break! dwake Dawnforth, my love,for Love’s sweet sake! Awake!-Within the musk-rose bower I watch, pale flower of love, for thee: h, come and show the starry Hour What wealth of love thou hid’st from me! – dwake Show all thy lov, for LoIne’s sweet sake! Awake!-Ne’er heed, though listening Night Steal music from thy silver voice; Uncloud thy beauty, rare and bright, And bid the world and me rejoice! .dwake She comes-at last for Love’s sweet sake! The Gardens feed no fruits nor flowers, But childless seem, and in decay; The traitor clock forsakes the hours, And points to times-oh, far away! And the steed no longer neigheth, Nor paws the startled ground; And the dun hound no longer bayeth; But death is in all around! All is gone; save a Voice That anever did yet rejoice: ‘Tis sweet and low;‘is sad and lone; .Aad it biddeth uis love the thing that’s flown. The Lord of all the lone domain, An undeserving master flies, And leaves a land where he might reign, For alien hearts and stranger skies: And the peasant disdains the story, He loved to recount of yore; And the Name, that was once a glory, Is heard in the land no more! .ll is gone; save a Voice That never did yet rejoice: ‘Tis sweet and low;‘itis sad and lone; 22nd it biddeth us love the thing that’s flown. THE ONSET.-A BATTLE SONG. SOUND an alarum! The foe is come. I hear the tramp-the neigh-the hum, The cry, and the blow of his daring drum Huzzah! Sound! The blast of our-trumpet blown Shall carry dismay into hearts of stone, What! shall we shake at a foe unknown?

Huzzah Have we not sinews as strong as they? Have we not hearts that ne’er gaze way I Have we not GOD on our side to’.ay? Huzzz4h! Look!

They are staggered on yon black heatsr Steady awhile, and hold your breath I Now is your time, men-down like death! Huzzah Stand by each other and front your foes! Fight, while a drop of the red blood flows Fight, as ye fought for the old red rose I Huzzah! Sound! Bid your terrible trumpets bray I Blow, till their brazen throats give way I Sound to the battle! Sound, I say! Huzzah!-Huzza. PAST TIMES. OLD Acquaintance, shall the nights You and I once talked together, Be forgot like common thingsLike some dreary night that brings Naught, save foul weather? We were young, when you and I Talked of goldlen things togetherOf love and rhyme, of books and men: Ah! our hearts were buoyant then As the wild-goose feather! Twenty years have fled, we know, Bringing care and changing weather; But hath the heart no backward flights, That we again may see those nights, And laugh together? Jove’s eagle, soaring to the sun, Renews teter n ethe past year’s mouldering feather: Ah, why not you and I, then, soar From age to youth-and dream once more Long nights together? COME sing, come sing, of the great Sea-sLpg, And the fame that now hangs o-er him, Who once did sweep o’er the vanquish’d deep, And drove the world before him! His deck was a throne, on the ocean lone, And the sea was his park of pleasure, Where he scattered in fear the human deer, And rested-when he had leisure I Come, shout and sing Of the great Sea-Kirg, dAnd aide in the track he B an f He sits at the head Of the mighty dead, On the red right-hand of Odin! He sprang, from birth, like a God on earth, And soared on his victor pinions, And he traversed the sea, as the eagles flee, When they look on their blue dominions. His whole earth life was a conquering strife, And he lived till his beard grew hoary, And he died at last, by his blood-red mast, And now he is lost in glory! So, shiout anid sing, {c. SEr-P-sleep, my Lyre! I Untouched-unsought unstrung! N o one now will e’er inquire If poet to the e ever sung; Nor if his spirit clung To thy witching wire!Bid thy soul of music sleep, As winds lie on the charmed deep, When the mistress Moon doth chide The tempest or the murmuring tide I ‘Tis well to be a thing forgot!

Oblivion is a happy lot! ‘Tis well that neither Love nor Wo, Nor sad sweet thoughts of ” long ago,” Should’waken again thy self-consiirring fire!

lTherefore, therefore, sleep my l yre I i i I i I A SERENADE. I I I I I! 1 i THE SEA-KING. TO MY LYRE.

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SONGS OF BARRY CORNWALL. THE EXILE’S FAREWELL. FAREWELL Old England’s shores! Farewell her rugged men! Now, sailors, strain your oats. I ne’er will look again. I’ve lived I’ve sought-I’ve seen Oh, things I love too well, Upon those shores of green: So, England! long farewell! Fftrouug’

HIDE me, 0 twilight air! Hide me from thought, from care, From all things, foul or fair, Until to-morrow! To-night I strive no more.; No more my soul shall soar; Come, Sleep, and shut the door ‘Gainst Pain and Sorrow I If I must see through dreams, Be mine Elysian gleams, Be mine by morning streams To watch and wander! So may my spirit east (Serpent-like) off the past, And my free soul at last Have’leave to ponder! I go; what matter where! The Exile, when he flies, Thinks not of other air, Dreams not of alien) skies: He seeks but to depart From the land he loves too wellFrom thoughts that smite his heart: So, England! long farewell! Farewell! And shouldst thou’scape control, Ponder on love, sweet Soul, On joy-the end-the goal Of all endeavor! But if earth’s pains will rise, (As damps will seek the skies), Then, Night, seal thou mine eyes, In sleep, for ever! THE HUNTER’S SONG. RIsE! Sleep no more!‘Tis a noble morn; The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn, And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound, Under the steaming, steaming ground. Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by, And leave us alone in the clear gray sky! Our horses are ready and steady-So, ho! I’m gone, like a dart from the Tartar’s bow.

Hark, hark! Who calleth the maiden Morn From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn I The horn, the horn! The merry sweet ring of the hunter’s horn. Now-through the copse, where the fox is found, And over the stream, at a mighty bound, And over the high lands, and over the low, O’er furrows, o’er meadows, the hunters go! Away! as a hawk flies full at its prey, So flieth the hunter, away-away! From the burst at the cover till set of sun, When the red fox dies and-the day is done! Hark, hark! What sound on the wind is borne W ‘Tis the conquering voice of the hunter’s horn! Th e horn, the h orn! The merry b ad voice of the hm7dter’s horn.

O’er lands and the lonely main, A lonelier man, I roam, To seek some balm for pain Perhaps to find a home: I go; but time nor tite, Nor all that tongue may tell, Shall e’er from thee divide My heart: and so, farewell!

Old England! fare thee wull. OH, there never was yet so fai r a thing, By racing river’or bubbling spring, Nothing that ever so gayly grew Up from the ground when the skies were blue, Nothing so brave, nothing so free As thou, my wild wild Cherry-tree! Jove! how it danced in the gusty breeze!

Jove! how it frolicked among the trees! Dashing the pride of the poplar down, Stripping the thorn of his hoary crown! Oak or ash-what matter to thee? ‘Twas the same to my wild wild Cherry-tree. Never at rest, like one th at’s young Abroad to the winds its arms it flung, Shaking its bright and crowned head, Whilst I stole up for its berries redBeautiful berries!

beautiful tree! Hurrah! for the wild wild Cherry-tree! Back I fly to the days gone by, And I see thy branches against the sky, I see on the grass thy blossoms shed, I see (nay I taste) thy berries red, And I shout-like the tempest loud and free, Hurrah! for the wild wild Cherry-tree I Sound I Sound the horn! To the hunter good What’s the gully deep or the roaring flood? Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds, At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds. Oh I what delight can a mortal lack, When he once is firm on his horse’s back, With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong, And the blast of the horn for his morning sung? Hark, har! Now, hrme! anrd dream till morn, Of the bold sweet sound of the hunter’s horn!

The horin, the horn! Oh, the sound of all sounds is the hunter’s horn!

ONCE there was a little Voice, Merry as the month of May, That did cry “Rejoice! rejoice!” Now-‘tis flown away! Sweet it was, and very clear, Chasing every thought of pain: Summer! shall I ever hear Such a voice again? have pondered all night long, Listening for as soft a sound, But so sweet and clear a song Nevel have I found! COME again! Come again I Sunshine cometh after rain. As a lamp fed newly burneth, Pleasure, who doth fly, returneth, Scattering every cloud of pain. As the year, which dies in showers, Riseth in a world of flowers, Called by many a vernal strain, Come thou for whom tears were falling, And a thousand tongues are calling! Come again, 0 come again! Like the sunshine after rain! 5 i , 5

SONG FOR TWILIGHT. THE WILD CHERRY-TREE. THE L=LE VOICE. THE RECALL. I would give a mine of gold, Coiild I hear that little VoiceCould L as in days of old, At a sound rejoice!

Page 556 view page image u5 TH MIRR iRAY ON A MOTHER AND CHILD SLEEPING. NIGHT gaze, but send no sound! Fond heart, thy fondness keep! Nurse Silence, wray them round!

Breathe low; they sleep, they sleep! Now, from off the ashy stone The chilly midnight cricket crieth, And all merry birds are flown, And our dream of pleasure dieth; Now the once blue laughing sky Saddens into gray, And the f roz en rivers s igh, Pining all away! Nvow, how solemn are the times! The TVintter times! the Night times I No wind! no murmuring showers! No music, soft and deel)! No thoughts, nor dreams of flowers I All hence; they sleep, they sleep! Time’s step is all unheard: Heaven’s stars brigh,,t silence keep: No breath, no sigh, no word! All’s still; they sleep, they sleep! 0 Life! 0 Night! 0 Time! Thus ever round them creep! From pain, from hate, from crime, E’er guard them, gentle Sleep!

DARK-EYED BEAUTY OF THE SOUTH. Yet, be merry; all around Is through one vast change resolving; Even Night, who lately frowned, Is in paler dawn dissolving; Earth will burst her fetters strange, And in spring grow free; All things in the world will change, Save-my love for thee! Sing then, hopeful are all time! Wiinter, Sunmmer, Spring times! DARK-EYED beauty of the South! Mistress of the rosy mouth! Doth thy heart desert its duty?

Doth thy blood belie thy beauty? Art thou false, and art thou cold? Art thou sworn to wed for gold? On thy forehead sitteth pride, Crowned with scorn, and falcon-eyed B But beneath, methinks, thou twinest Silken smiles that seemn divinest. Can such smiles be false and coid L Canst thou wilt thou-wed for gold I Come-all dark and bright, a s skies With the tender starlight hung! Loose the Love from out thine eyes! Loose the Angel from thy tongue! Let them hear Heaven’s own sweet tune, Beautiful Quadroon 1

We, wlo awell on Northern earth, Fill the frozen air with mirthSoar upon the wings of laughter, (Though we droop the moment after): But, through all our regions cold, None will sell their hearts for gold. glQE WAS NOT

FAIR NOR FULL OF GRACE. SHE was not fair, nor full of grace, Nor crowned with thought or aught beside; Nor wealth had she, of mind or face, To win our love or raise our pride; No lover’s thought her cheek did touch; No poet’s dream was’round her thrown; .And yet we miss her-ah, too much, Now-she hath flown! I s my l ove r on th e sea, Sailing East, or sailing West? Mighty Ocean, gentle be, Rock him into rest! We miss her when the morning calls, As one that mingled in our mirth; We miss her when the evening falls A trifle wanted on the earth! Some fancy, small, or subtle thought, Is checked’ere to its blossom grown; Some chain is broken that we wrought, Now-she hath flown! No solid good, nor hope defined, Is marred now she hath sunk in night; And yet the strong immortal Mind Is stopped in its triumphant flight! Perhaps some grain lost to its sphere Might cast the great Sun from his throne; For all we know is-” She was here,” And-”

She hath flown!” I WOULD I were the bold March-wind, The merry boisterous bold March-wind, Who in the violet’s tender eyes, Casts a kiss-and forward flies! Yet-no! No slight to thee! 0 Constancy! 0 Constancy! I would I were the soft West-wind, The wandersing sighin soft West-wind, Who fondles’round the hyacinth bells, Then takes wing-as story tells! Yet-no!

No slight to thee! 0 Constan?cy! I O Const,ncy A SONG FOR THE SEASONS.

WHEN the merry lark doth gild With his song the summer hours, And their nests the swallows build In the roofs a.d tops of towers, And the golden broom-flower burns All about the waste, And the maiden May returns With a pretty haste Thet%, how merry are the times! The Sumnmner times’ the Siting times! No; rather will I be the breeze, That blows straight on in Indian seas; Or scents, which, in the rose’s heart, Live and love-and te’ter depart! Ixove -Lor e-for aye to thee! 0 Coistaency! 0 Cosistit n-.!

II i I i I I i I 556 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. THE QUADROON. SAY they that all beauty lies In the paler maiden’s hue? Say they that all softness flies, Save froni eyes of April blue? Arise thou, like a night in June, Beautiful Quadroon! Tell them-Beauty (born above) From no shade nor hue doth fly; All she asks is Mind, is Love, And both upon thine aspect lieLike the light upon the moon, Beautiful Quadroon I IS MY LOVER ON THE SEA. Let no angry wind arise, Nor a wave with whitened crests All be gentle as his eyes When he is caressed! Bear him (as the breeze above Bears the bird unto its nest), Here-unto his home of love, And there bid him rest!

CONSTANCY.

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SNWAL,L. 557 Oh, the Night, the A ght! ‘Tis a lovely sighlt, Whatever the clime or time; For sorrow then soareth, And the lover out-poureth His soul in a star-bright rhyme. WHEN winter nights grow long,i And winds without blow cold, We sit in a ring round the warm wood-fire And listen to stories old! And we try to look grave (as maids should be), When the men bring in boughs of the laurel-tree. 0, the Laurel, the evergreen tree! The Poets have laurels-and why not we? How pleasant, when night falls down, And hides the wintry sun, To see them come in to the blazing fire, And know that their work is done; While many bring in, with a laugh or rhyme, Green branches of holly for Christmas time I 0 the Holly, the bright green Holly, It tells (like a tongue) that the times are jolly! A THOUSAND miles from land are we, Tossing about on the roaring sea; Fro m billow to bounding billow cast, Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast; The sails are scattered abroad, like weeds, The strong masts shake like quivering reeds, The mighty cables, and iron chains, The hull, which all earthly strength disdains, They strain and they crack, and hearts like ston2 Their natural hard proud strength disown. Sometimes-in our grave-house, Observe, this happeneth not; But, at times, the evergreen laurel boughs And the holly are all forgot! And then! what then? why, the men laugh low, And hang up a branch of-the Mistletoe! Oh, brave is the Laurel! and brave is the Holly!

But the Mistletoe banisheth melancholy! .dh, nobody knows, nor ever shall kuww Whtat is done-under the Mistletoe! Up and down! Up arM (]own! From the bise cf the wave to the billow’s crown, And amid the flashing and feathery foam The Stormy Perel fit iIs a homeA home, it’ such a place may be, For lier who livets (;n the wide wide sea, On the c:trad’y ice, il thc frozen air, And only seekethl lter rocky lair To warm her young, atid to teach them spring At once o’er the vaves cn their stormy wing! SING!-Who sings To her who weareth a hundred rings? Ah, who is this lady fine? The VINE, boys, the VINE! The mother of mighty Wine. A roamer is she O’er wall and tree, And sometimes. very good company Drink!-Who drinks To her who blusheth and never thinks Ah, who is this maid of thine? The GRAPE, boys, the GRAPE! O, never let her escape Until she be turned to Wine! For better is sh6, Than vine can be; And very, very good company! Dream!-Who dreams Of the God who governs a thousand streams? Ah, who is this Spirit fine?

‘Tis WINE, boys,‘tis WINE! God Bacchus, a friend of mine. O better is he Than grape or tree, And the best of all good company! O’er the Deep! O’er the Deep! Where t!ta whol, na I t’le smrk, and the sword-fish slpem Outflying the blast brad thc -ivlng lain, The Petrel tleleth i.hr t: Ic in vain; For the mariner ecrs t hlhe w arning bird Who bringetli him ieass ( f thle stotrms unheard! Ah! thu.s does the pofi lht, r ~i hoed or ill, Meet hate from thi creatlires he serveth still! Yet he ne’er falters:So P::ti’el! spring Once more o’er the waval es on tlha stormy wing I MY Sword! \1y friend! My noble friend! Champion fearless! Servant true! Whom my fathers without end In their thousand battles drew Come! Let me bare thee to the light! Let me clutch thee in my hand! Oh! how keen, how lilue, how bright, Is my noble, noble brand! Thou wast plucked from st me base mine HBorn’mid stone and stubborn clay; Ahl! who dream t t hat aought divine In that rugged aspect lay? Comze! Once we called and thou didst come Straight from out thy sleep didst start, And the trump and stormy dram Woke at once thy iron heart! OH! the Summer Night Has a smile of light, And she sits on a sapphire throne; While the sweet Winds load her With garlands of odor, From the bud to the rose o’er-blown I But the Autumn Night Has a piercing sight, And a step both strong and free; And a voice for wonder, Like the wrath of the Thunde r, When he shouts to the stormy sea! Thou wast like the lightning, driven By the tempest’s strength at speed I Brazen shields and armor riven Told what thou couldst do, at need. Come! Hark! again the trumpets bray I Hark! where rolls the stormy drum I I am here to lead the way; Servant of my fathers-ome! And the Winter Night Is all cold and white, And she singeth a song of pain; Till the wild bee hummeth, And warm Spring cometh, – When she dies in a dream of rain! I I i SONGS OF BARRY CO THE MISTLETOE. It bringeth sleep To the forests deep, The foi-est-bird to its nest; To Care bright hours, An,]

dreams of flowers, And that balm to the weary-Rest I THE STORMY PETREL. A BACCHA-NALIAN SONG. SONG OF TIIE SOLI)IER TO HIS SWORD. THE NIGHTS.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. TO A NIGHTINGALE, AT MIDDAY. THY voice is sweet-is sad-is clear, And yet, methinks,‘t should flow unseen, Like hidden rivers that we hear Singing among the forests green. Delay, delay! till downy Eve Into her twilight woods hath flown: Too soon, musician, dost thou grieve; Love bloometh best (like thought)-alone. Cease, coase awhile! Thy holy strain Should be among the silence born; Thy heart may then unfold its pain, Leaning upon its bridal thorn. The insect noise, the human folly, Disturb thy grave thoughts with their din; Then, cease awhile, bird Melancholy, And when the fond Night hears-begin! EARTH AND AIR. How bountiful, how wonderful Thou art, sweet Air! And yet, albeit thine odors lie On every gust that mocks the eye, We pass thy gentle blessings by Without a care! How bountiful, how wonderful Thou art, sweet Earth! Thy seasons changing with the sun-A Thy beauty out of darkness won! And yet, whose tongue (when all is done) Will tell thy worth? The poet’s!-He alone doth still Uphold all worth I Then love the poet;-love his themes, His thoughts, half hid in golden dreams, Which make thrice fair the songs and streams Of Air and Earth. Ever do the year’s bright Hours Come, with laughing April, round, And with her walk the grassy ground, When she calleth forth the flowers: ,But no new springs bear To us thoughts half softas .ds the by-gone Hours I PE_.CE! what do tears avail? She lies all dumb and pale, And from her eye The spirit of lovely life is fading And she must die! Why looks the lover wroth? the friend upbraiding Reply, reply! Hat! she not dwelt too long ‘Midst pain, and grief, and wrong?

Then, why not die? Why suffer again her doom of sorrow, And hopeless lie?

Why nurse the trembling dream until tomorrow I Reply, r eply! Death! take her to thine arms, In all her stainless charms, And with her fly To heavenly haunts, where, clad in brightness, The Angels lie! Wilt bear her there, 0 Death I in all her whitens I Repl% reply I HURRAH FOR MERRY

ENGLAND. HURRAH for the Land of England! Firm-set in the subject sea; Where the women are fair, And the men (like air) Are all lovers of liberty! H urrah! f or merry E ngland! Long life, without strife, for England I Hurrah, for the Spirit of England! The merry, the true, the free; Who stretcheth his hand, With a king’s command, All over the circling sea! Hurrah I for mnerry England! Long life, uwithout strife, for EnglaWhd! Let tyrants rush forth on the nations, And strive to chain down the free; But do tho’t stand fast, From the first to the last, For ” THE

RIGHT”-wtieitn.ever it be! 0 merry, 0 merry England! Long life to the Spirit of England! Hurrah, for William of England! Our friend-as a king should be; Who casleth aside Man’s useless pride, And leans on his people free! Hurrah! for the King of England! The boast of merry England! Her King is the boast of England! Her guards are her ships at sea; But her beauty lies In her women’s eyes And her strength in her People free! So, three cheers for merry England! For the Kiag e atw the Freemen of England!

Hurrah! Hurrah! flu.,rah! WHITHER hath the Wood-thrush flown, From our greenwood bowers? Wherefore builds he not again, Where the white-thorn flowers? Bid him come! for on his wings, The sunny year he bringeth; And the heart unlocks its springs, Wheresoe’er he singeth. Lover-like the creature waits, And when Morning soareth, All his little soul of song Tow’rd the dawn he poureth. Sweet one, why art thou not heard Now, where woods are stillest? Oh, come back! and bring with thee Whatsoe’er thou willest:Laughing thoughts, delightful songs, Dreams cf azure hours,.

Something, i.othing all we ask Is to see thee ours! 1: qil 5 THE HAPPY

HOURS. 0, THE Hours! the happy Hours! When there shone the light of Love, . And all the sky was blue above, And the earth was full of flowers I Why should Time and Toti The u*.rth and beauty spoil Of such happy Bours? 0, the Hours I the springtime Hours! When the soul doth forward bend And dream the sweet world hath no end, Neither spot, nor shade, nor showers!

Can we neler resume The love, the li,-,-ht, the blo&m, Of those ve Hours?

PEACE! WHAT DO TEARS AVAIL? THE WOOD-THRUSH. ‘Tis enough that thou shouldst sing For thy own piire ple,-tsure! ‘Tis enough that thoii hast once Sweetened human leisure!

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SOG OF:AR ONAL 5 COUNT BALTHAZAR. “A famous man is Robin Hood: But’ each land’ hath a thief as good; Then let us chant a passing stave In honor of the Hero brave!” WORDBWORTH’S ROB Roy. When the trader is scant of w ords, And your neighbor is rough or shy, And your banker recalls his hoards, Be sure there is danger nigh. O, then’tis time to look forward, lic. COUNT

BALTnHZAR reigns in his strong stone tower, Girt round by his iron men; And his strength, like the terrible Tempest’s power, Sweeps through each Alpine glen! A hunter he is, though a monarch grim He seems on his mountain throne; But he hunts not the stag, nor the ermine slim, Nor the wolf, nor the eagle lone. THE night is closing round, Mother! The shadows are thick and deep! All round me they cling, like an iron ring, And I can not-can not sleep! Ah, Heaven! thy hand, thy hand, Mother! Let me lie on thy nursing breast! They have smitten my brain with a piereing pain: But’tis gone!-and I now shall rest. I culd sleep a long long sleep, Mother! So, seek me a calm cool bed: You may lay me low, in the virgin snow, With a moss-bank for my head. I would lie in the wild wild woods, Mother! Where naught but the bit,Is are known; Where nothing is seen, but the branches green, And flow’rs on the greensw:ard strewn. He breedeth no cattle, he traineth no vine, He hath naught that is bought or sold: Yet his cellars are bursting with brave bright wine, And his coffers are crammed with gold. Whenever he lacketh or kine or corn, He calls to his armed band; And they hunt through the valleys, from night till morn, And beg for him-sword in hand! So he drinks and he revels, till daylight gleams: But-nothing is free from pain! For a Demon e’er watches his blood-red dreams, (Whose laughter is deep As the depths of sleep,) And scares him to life again I So Balthazar lives, and so must he die, However the seasons roll: The visions of guilt must haunt his eye, Ahd the dread of the damn’d, his soul! He arose, like a pillar of fire, whose head Is borne up by the raving blast: He will sink (like the fire), deserted-dead, And be trodden in dust at last! No lovers there witch the ai r, Mother!

Nor mock at the holy sky: One may live and be gay, like a summer day, And at last, like the Summer-die I So-own with the tower, the old stone tower I And, down with the iron men! Let’s summon our hearts, and unfetter our power, And cleanse out the robber’s den! OH!‘tis merry when the stars are bright To sing, as you pace along, Of the things that are dreamt by night, To the motion of some old song; For the fancy of mortals teems, Whether they wake or sleep, With figures that shine like dreams, Then-die in the darkness deep! .Oh! merry are Christmas times, ./nd merry the belfry chimes; But the merriest things That a man e’er sings, .are his Midnight Rhymes. Where lieth their strength? In a vague false fame. Where based? On our fear alone. Then let us build a phantom, and forge us a name, In a foundery of our own! WHY DO’rH THE BOTTLE STAND? WHY doth the bottle stand, boys? Let the glass run silent round! Wine should go, As the blood doth flow, Its course, without pause or sound. Scorn not Wine!-Truth divine! .lnd Co:e’age dwell with noble Wine. Send round the bottle quick, boys! No reason ask, nor pause! Wine should run, Like a circling sun, By its own unquestioned laws. Scorn?not IVine! c. ‘Tis night when the usurers feel That their money is thrice repaid; ‘Tis night when adorers kneel, By scores to the s leeping m aid; ‘Tis night when the author deems That his critics are all at bay, And the gamester regains in dreams T he gold that he lo st by day. Oh! merry are Christmas times, * At night, both the sick and the lame Abandon their world of care; And the creature that droops with shame Forgetteth her old despair! The boy on the raging deep Laughs loud that the skies are clear; And the murderer turns, in sleep, And dreams that a pardon’s near! Oh! merry are Christmas times, Fill to the beaded brims, boys, Let each glass, like a king, be crown’d! Drink”

Joy, and Wealth, A nd a m ighty Health, To ourselves and the world around I” Scorn not }Vine! {c. WHEN FRIENDS LOOK DARK AND COLD. WHEN friends look dark and cold, And maids neither laugh nor sigh, And your enemy proffers his gold, Be sure there is danger nigh. 0, then’tis time to look forward, .nsd btrlr, like the hutn!ed hare; .!rid to) wia.ch, (,s the little bird uatche.e r e‘7el’lite fttico,l is in the air. At night, all wronth are right, And all perils of life grow smooth; Then why cometh the fierce daylight, When fancy is bright as truth? All hearts,‘tween the earth and the moon, Recover their hopes again; Ab-‘tis pity so sweet a tune Shotil(l eager be iarre(l )y pain! }et t,rry’,are Cb’ristmas trmi.et, #,. SONGS OF

BARRY CORNWALL. 559 Whenever a change is wrought, And you know not the reason why, In your own or an old friend’s thought, Be sure there is evil nigh. 0, then Itis time to lookfonvart4 *e.. THE NIGHT IS CLOSING ROU-1D, MOTHER. 0 MIDNIGHT RH V.IIES.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. THE BLOOD HORSE. GAMARRA is a dainty steed, Strong, black, and of a noble breed, Full of fire, and full of bone, With all his line of fathers known; Fin e his on his his nostrils thin, But blown abroad by the pride within I His mane is like a river flowing, And his eyes like embers glowing In the darkness of the night, And his pace as swift as light. Look! how’round his straining throat Grace and shifting beauty float! Sinewy strength is on his reins, And the red blood gallops through his veinRicher, redder, never ran Through the boasting heart of man. He can trace his lineage higher Than the Bourbon dare aspireDouglas, Guzman, or the Guelp), Or O’Brien’s blood itself! GIvE me but thy heart, though cold; I ask no more! Give to others gems and gold; But leave me poor. Give to whom thou wilt thy smiles; Cast o’r others all thy wiles; But let thy tears flow fast and free, For me, with me A Giv’st thou but one look, sweet heart I A word-no more! It is Music’s sweetest part, When lips run o’er! ‘Tis a part I fain would learn, So pr’ythee, here thy lessons turn, And teach me, to the close, All Love’s pleasures-all its woes I SONG IN PRAISE OF SPRING. VHEN the wind blows In the sweet rose-tree, And the cow lows On the fragrant lea, And the stream flows All bright and free, ‘Tis not for thee,‘tis not for me; ‘Tis not for any ote here, I trow: The gentle wind bloweth, The happy cow loweth, The merry streamn floweth, For all below! 0 the Spring! the bountiful Spring! She shineth and smileth on everything. He, who hath no peer, was born Here, upon a red March morn: But his famous fathers dead Were Arabs all, and Arab bred, And the last of that great line Trod like one of a race divine!

And yet-he was but friend to one, Who fed him at the set of sun, By some lone fountain fringed with green: With him, a roving Bedouin, He lived-(none else would he obey Through all the hot Arabian day) And died untamed upon the sands Where Balkh amid the desert stands I Where come the sheep? To the rich man’s moor. Where cometh sleep? To the bed that’s poor.

Peasants must weep, And kings endure; That is a fate that none can cure.

Yet Spring doeth all she can, I trow: She brings the bright hours, She weaves the sweet flowers, She dresseth her bowers, For all below!-O the Spring, sac. A STRANGER came to a rich man’s door, And smiled on his mighty feast; And away his brightest child he bore, And laid her toward the East. He came next spring, with a smile as gay, (At the time the East wind blows), And another bright creature he led away, With a cheek like a burning rose. And he came once more, when the spring was blue, An.

whispered the last to rest, And bore her away-yet nobody knew The name of the fearful guest! BESHAZZAR is King! Belshazzar is Lord! And a thousand dark nobles all bend at his board; Fruits glisten, flow’rs blossom, meats steam, and a flood Of the wvine that man loveth runs redder than blood: Wild dancers are there, and a riot of mirth, And the beauty that mnaddens the passions of earth; And the crowds all shout, Till the vast roofs ring-M Al1 praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king!” *kBring tbrth,”

ericr the Monarch, “the vessels of gold, Which my father tore clown from the temples of old: Bring forth, and we’ll drink, while the trumpets are blown, To the Gods of bright silver, of gold, and of stone: Bring forth!”-ant before him the vessels all shine, And he bows unto Baal, andl hlie drinks the dark wine; While the trumpets bray, And the cymbals ring”lPraise, praise to Belshazzar, Belshliazzar the king I” Note what cometh-look, look!-without menace, or call? Who writes, with the Lightning’s bright hand, on the wall? What pierceth the king, like the point of a dart? What drives the bold blood from his cheek to his heart?

Chaldeans I Magicians! the letters expound!” T’ey are read-and Belshazzar is dead on the ground I Hark!-the Persian is come On a o)nqueror’s wing; And a Mede’s on the throne of Belshazzar the king! t 11 i I i I I I 56() A LOVE SONG. THE STRANGER. BELSHAZZAR. Next year, there was none but the rich man left Lel’t alone in his pride and pain, lvho called on the Stranger, like one beteft, And sought through the land-in vain I He came not; he never was heard nor seen Again (so the story saith); But, wherever his terrible smile had been, Men shuddered, an(I talked of-Death I THE

HEART-BROKEN. GENTLE Mother, do not weave Garlands for my forehead pale Unto hearts that e’er must grieve, What do crwns avail Tell me not of bridal flowers: What are they when life is past? Tell me not of happy hours, When they flee so fast! Bind thy cypress round my heart! Hide me in the mortal pall! Show them, when all hopes depaa, W.%at sad things befall!

I am-4ead, a statue, left Pointing perils.out unknown, Shorn of life, and love-bereft, All- my youth o’erthrowii! .dll olertl)rown I 0

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BARR) CORNWAI,L. SONG OF THE OUTCAST. I WAS born on a winter’s morn, Welcomned to life with hate and scorn, Torn from a filmished mother’s side, Who left me here, with a laugh, and-died; Left me here with the curse of life, To be tossed about in the burning strife, Linked to nothing but shaone and pain, Echoin” nothingi but man’s dis lain; O, that I rnig,llt agtiint be born, With treble my strength of hate and scorn I HE is gone to the wars, and has left me alone, The poor Irish soldier, unfriended, unknown, My husband, my Patrick, The bird of my bosom-though now he is flown! How I mourned for the boy! yet I murmured the my ‘Cause we once were so happy in darlin’ Lismore, Poor Ellen and Patrick! Perhaps he now thinks of poor Ellen no more! A cabin we had, and the cow was hard by, And a slip of a garden that gladden’d the eye: And there was our PatrickNe’er idle while light ever lived in the sky. We married-too young, and it’s likely too poor, Yet no two were so happy in happy Lismore, As Ellen and Patrick; Till they tempted and took him away from our door. He said hlie would bring me, ere Autumn should fall, A linnet or lark that should come at my call Alas! the poor Patrick! He has left me a bird that is sweeter than all. I was born by a sudden shock Born by the blow of a ruffian sire, Given to air, as the blasted rock Gives out the reddening roaring fire. My sire was stone; but mt1y dark blood Ran its round like a fiery flood, Rushing through every tiugling vein, And flaning ever at man’s disdain; Ready to give back, night or morn, Ha,te for hate, and scorn for scorn! They cast me out, in ty liunry need, (A dog, wh,1om nlone (-wotld own, nor feed,) Without a home, without a meal, And bade me go fbrtlh-to slay and steal! What wonder, God! had my hands been red, With the blood of a host in secret shed! But no! I fought on the firee sea-wave, And perilled my life for my plunder brave, And nev-er yet sl-hrank, in nerve or breath, But struck, as the pirate strikes-to death!

‘Twas born in a hovel,‘twas nourished in pain, But it came in my grief, like a light on the brain, (The chil(l of poor Patrick), And taught Ime to hope for bright fortune again. And now-we two wander firom door unto toor, And, sometiumcs we steal back to happy Lismore, An d ask for poor Patrick; And dream of the da)ys when all wars will be o’er. A PHANTASY. F.EED her with the leaves of Love, (Love, the rose, that blossoms here!) Music, gently’round her move! Bind her to the cypress near! Weave her rouand and round, With skeins of silken si oun d I ‘Tis a little stricken deer, Who doth from the hunter fly, And comes here to droop-to die, Ignor-ant of her wound! Sooth her with sad stories, 0 poet, till she sleep! Dreams, come forth with all your glories I Night, breathe soft and deep! Music, round her creep! If she steal away to weep, Seek her out-and, when you find her, Gentle, gentlest Mlusic, wind her Round and round, Round and round, With your bands of softest sound; Such as we, at niight-fall, hear In the wizard forest near, WN’hen the charmed Maiden sings At the hidden springs!

He. DOST thou love wandering? Whither wouldst thou go? Dreamst thou, sweet daughter, of a land more fair? Dost thou not love these aye-blue streams that flow t These spicy forests? and this golden air? She. 0, yes, I love the woods and streams, so gay; And, more than all, 0 father, I love thee; Yet would I fain be wandering-far away, Where suchl things never were, nor e’er shall be. He. Speak, mine own daughter with the sunbright locks I To what pale bIanished region wouldst thou roam. She. 0 father, let us find our frozen rocks! Let’s seek that country of all countries-Home! He. Seest thou these orange flowers? this palm that rear Its heal up toward heaven’s blue and cloudless dome t She. I dream, I dream; mine eyes are hid in tears; My heart is wandering round our ancient home. He. Why, then, we’ll go. Farewell, ye tender skies, Who sheltered us, when we were forced to roam 1 She. On, on! Let’s pass the swallow r..3 he flies! Farewell. kind land! Now, father, iTwv-for Home’ THE EVENING STAR. IrHT. Evening Star, the lover’s star, The beautiful star comes hither! He steereth his barque Through the azure dark, And brings us the bright blue weather-Love! I The beautiful bright blue weather. The birds lie dumb, when the night stars come, And silence broods o’er the covers; But a voice now wakes In the thorny brakes, And sinigeth a song for lovers-Love! A sad sweet song for lovers. LIFE. Wi: are born; we laugh; we weep; We love; we (roop; we die!

Ah! wherefore do we laugh, or weep? .Why do we live, or die? Who knows that secret deep? Alas, not I! Why doth the violet spring Unseen by human eye? Why do the radiant seasons bring Sweet thoughts that quickly fly? Why do our fond hearts cling To things that die? We toil-through pain and wrong; We fight-and fly; We love, we lose; and then, ere long, Stone-dead we lie. 0 l ife! is all thy song ” Endure and-ie?” It singeth a song of gri ef and wrong, A passionate song for others; I Yet its own sweet pain Can never be vain, If it’wakeneth love in others’Lovel It’wake neth love in others. I tl 9 SONGS OF 561 .. A AN IRISH SONG. Allt-KATHLEEN O’MORE.

HOME.-(A DUET.) ii z

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562 TilE MIRROR LIBRARY. It threw boldness on his forehead; Gave firmness to his breath; And he stood like some grim warrior New risen up from death. 0 THE merry vintaze-time! The merry, matchless vintage-time! What can vie Beneath the sky With the merry merry vintage-tiulue? What, though summer birds have fled, Singing to some other clime; We have tongues that music shed Still, and a song for vintage-time! Come!-O’er the hills the mtoon is glancing! Now’s the time for daacinlg, dancing’ Now’s the time, Nowu’s the time, Thle merry merry vintage-time! T hat night, a h orrid whisp er Fell on us where we lav; And we knew our old fine Admiral Was changing into clay; And we heard the wash of waters, Though notlhing, could we see, And a whistle and a plunge Among the billows in our lee!

Till dawn we w,atchled the body In its dead(l and ghastly sleep, Aind TleXt evening at sunset, It was slung into the deep! And never, fromn that moment Save o0ie shudder through the sea, Saw we (or heard) the shark That had followed in our lee I Now’s the happy vintage-time, The happy honor’d vintage-time! E’en great Earth Doth mix in mirth With us, her sons, at vintage-time. Not a storm doth vex her brow, Flooding rain, nor frosty rime; But the sunny Autumn now Laugheth out-“‘Tis vintage-time.”-Come {c.

Praise, then, all the vintage-time, Children of the vintage-time! Girls and boys Who know the joys Of the merry fruitful vintage-time! Leave to Spring the love-sweet flowers; Winter still its song and rhyme; Summner all her balmy hours; Still we’ve our dance at vintage-time!-Come -c. WHIAT sonM doth the cricket s in g? What news, doth the s wallo w bring? What doth laughingn b oyhoo d tell? What calls out the marriage bell? lVhat say all?-Love and Mirth I In the air, and it the earth: Very, very soft and merry Is the natural song of Earth. Mark the Morn, when first she springs Upward on her golden wings; IHark, to the soaring, soaring lark! And the echoing forests hark! What say they?-Love and Mirth, THE RETURN OF THE

ADMIRAL. How gallantly, how merrily, We ride aiong the sea! The morning is all sunshine, The wind is blowing free: The billows are all sparkling, And bounding in the light, Like creatures in whose sunny veinm The blood is running bright. All nature knows our triumph: Strange birds about us sweep; Strange things come up to look at uQ The masters of the deep. In our wake, like any servant, Follows even the bold shark Oh, proud must be our Admiral Of suchi a bonny barque! With the leaves th e apples w restle; In the grass the daisies nestle; And the suin smiles on the wall: Tell us, what’s the cause of all? Mirth and Love-Love and Mirth, g Is it Mirth?

Then why will man Spoil the sweet song all he can? Bid him, rather, aye rejoice, With a kind and a merry voice! Bid him sing ” Love and Mirth!” To the air, agid to the earth, A. Proud, proud, must be our Admiral, (Though he is pale to-day,) Of twice five hundred iron men, Who all his nod obey; Who’ve fought for him, and conqniered Who’ve won, with sweat and gore, Nobility! which he shall have Whene’er he touch the shore. Oh! would I were our Admiral, To order, with a wordTo lose a dozen drops of blood, And straight rise up a lord! I’d shout e’en to yon shark, there, Who follows in our lee, “Some day I’ll make thee carry me, Like lightning through the sea.” The Admiral grew paler, And paler as we flew: till talked he to his officers, And smiled upon his crew; And he looked up at the heavens, And he looked down on the sea, And at last he spied the creature, That kept following in our lee. He shook‘twas but an instant-t For speedily the pride Ran crimson to his heart, Till all chlances he defied: I I i i, i I i I i II I 1.i I I i 562 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. THE VLNTAGE SONG. LOVE AND

MIRTH. iI i I i II, i .I i i! i ii SONG OVER A CBEELD. DRF.AM, Baby, dream! The stars are glowing. flear’st tliou the stream ‘Ti., softly flowing. All -(-iitly glicle the Hours: Above, no tempest lowers: Below, are fi-a!,-rant flowers In silence rowing. Steep, Baby, sleep, ‘Till (lawn to-morrow! Why sboiil(],.qt tbou weep, Who lnowlst not’sorrow? Too soon come,, pains and fo“, Too soon a cause for tears: So, from thy future years No sadness borrow! Dream. Baby, dream! Thine eyelids quiver. Know’st tliou the theme Of yon soft river? It saith, “Be calm, be sure, ITnf-iiling -entle, pu-re: So thv life endtire, Like mine, for ever!”

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SONGS OF BARRY CORNWALL. SONGS OF BARRY CORNWALL. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE

BRIDAL. When the tempest is waking, And billows are breaking, And lightning flashing, And the thick rain dashing, And the winds and the thunders Shout forth the sea-wonders I -Such things may give joy To a dreaming boy: But for me-I will take my stand On Land, on Land! For ever and ever on solid Land! Now, what shady wreath wilt wear, Maiden Maiden?

Bid them bind the veil with care, ‘Round the sunshine of thy hair! Let thy brow be free from scorn; Let thine eye have gentle light On the gentle marriage morn; And so-Good Night! it is now the youth of May, Maiden-Maiden! Chloose thou, then, at blush of day, Buds and blossoms, not too gay; And, behind their veiling sweets, Bashfill be,‘midst all their light, When the tender lover greets: And so-Good Night! Soon To-mo(row will be here, Maiden-Maiden! Then-as hopes aye mix with fears, Mix thou smiles with pearled tears; So shall he who loves thee feel Thrice his first sweet pure delight, And nearer to thy bosom steal; And so-Good Night! PERDITA;. THE nest of the dove is rifled; Alas! alas! The dream of delight is stifled; And all that was Of beauty and hope is broken; But words will flee, Though truest were ever spoken: Alas, f6r me.! His love wvas as fragrant ever, As flowers to bees; His voice like the mournful river; But streams will freeze! Ah! where can I fly, deceived? Ah! where, where rest? I am sick, like the dove bereaved, And have no nest! A DEEP

AND A MIGHTY SHADOW A )DEEP and a mighty shadow Across my heart is thrown, Like a cloud on a stiunmer meadow, Where the Thunder-wind hath blown! The wild-rose, Fancy, dieth, The sweet bird, Memory, flieth, And leaveth me aloneAlone with my hopeless Sorrow: No other mate I know! I strive to awake To-morrow; But the dull words will not flow! I pra7-but my prayers are driven Aside, by the angry Heaven, And weigh me down with wo! I call on the Past, to lend me Its songs, to sooth my pain: I bid the dim lFuture send me A light from its eyes-in vain! Naught comes; but a shrill cry starteth From Hope, as she fast (aeparteth: “I go, and come not again!”

THE WEAVER’S SONG. WEAVE, brothers, weave!-Swiftly throw The shuttle athwart the loom, And show us how brightly your flowers grow, That have beauty but no perfume! Come, show us the rose, with a hundred dyes, The lily, that hath no spot; The violet, deep as your true love’s eyes, And the little forget-me-not. Sing-sin,g, brothers! weave and sing I ‘Tis good both to sing and to weave; ‘Tis better to work than live idle; ‘Tis better to sing than grieve. Weave, brothers, weave!-Weave, and bid The colors of sunset glow! Let grace in each gliding thread be hid! Let beauty about ye blow! Let your skein be long, and your silk be fine, And your hands both firm and sure, And time nor chance shall your work untwine; But all-like a truth-endure. So-sing, brothers, ~c. Weave, brothers, weave!Toil is ours; But toil is the lot of men; One gathers the fruit, one gathers the flowers, One soweth the seed again! There is not a creature, from England’s king, To the peasant that delves the soil, That knows half the pleasures the seasons bring, If he have not his share of toil! Sousing brothers, {c. SLP,EP ON. SLEEP on! The world is vain: All grief, and sin, and pain; If there be a dream of joy, It comes in slumber, pretty boy I So, sweet Sleep! Hang upon his eyelids deep; Show him all that can not be, Ere thou dost flee! Sleep on! Let no bad truth Fall yet upon his youth; Let him see no thing unkind, But live a l ittle longer bl ind I O sweet Sleep! Hang upon his eyelids deep; Show him Love, without his wings, And all fair things! THE LANDSM~NI-‘S SONG. OiHi! who wouldl be bound to the barren Sea, If he could dwell on LandWhere his step is ever both firm and free, Where flowers arise, Like sweet girls’ eyes, And rivulets sing Like birds in spring? For me-I will take my stand On Land, on Land! For ever and ever on solid Land! ve sailed on the riotous roaring sea, With an undaunted band: .t my village home more pleaseth me, With its valley gay Where maidens stray, And its grassy mead Where the white flocks feed: id so-I will take my stand On Land, on Land! F-,r ever and ever on solid Land! (ume swear they coul d die on the salt salt sea, (But have they been loved on Land?) Mane rave of the Ocean in drunken gleeH Of the music born On a gusty morn, i i i l il i I I i i .563 i i I

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY.

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LOVE THE POET, PRETTY ONE! HERMIONE. THou hast beauty bright and fair, Manner noble, aspect free, Eyes that are untouched by care: What then do Are ask from thee? Hermrione, Hermione? Thou hast reason quick and strong, Wit that envious men admire, And a voice, itself a song! What then can we still desire? Hermimice, Hermio ne? Something thou dost want, 0 queen I (As the gold doth ask alloy), Tears, amid thy laughter seen, Pity, mingling with thy joy. This is all we ask from th Hermione, Hermione! He can teach thee how to reap Music from the golden lyre: He can show thee how to steep All thy thoughts in fire. Heed not, though at times he seem Dark and still, and cold as clay: He is shadowed by his dih-eam! But’twill pass away. Then- bright fancies will he weave, Caught fro air and hea oven above: Some will teach thee how to grieve; Others, how-to love! THE OWL.

IN the hollow tree, in the old gray tower, The spectral Owl (loth dwell; Dull, hated, despised, in the sunshine hour, But at dusk-he’s abroad and well! Not a bird of the fi)rest e’er mates with him; All mock him outright, by day: But at night, when the woods grow still and dim, The boldest wvill shrink away! O0, when ie i night falls, and roosts the fowl, Thet, then is the reign of the Horned Owl! And the Owl hath a bride, who is fond and bold, And loveth the wood’s deep gloom; And, with eyes like the shine of the moonstone cold, She awaiteth her ghastly groom! Not a feather she moves, not a carol she sings, As she waits in her tree so still; But when her heart heareth his flapping wings, She hoots out her welcome shrill! O0, wheit the moon shines, and dogs do howl I Then, then is the joy of the Horned Owl! Mourn not for the Owl, nor his gloomy plight i The Owl hath his share of good: If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight, He is Lord in the dark green-wood! Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly mate, They are each unto each a pride: Thrice fond(ler, perhaps, since a strange dark fate Hath rent them from all beside! So, when Lie night falls and dogs do howl, Sing, Ho! for the reign of the Horea Owl! A p s know tio t alway Wh9 are kings by day, But the King of the night is the bold basn 0roa How from sweet to sweet to rove How all evil things to shun: Should I not then whisper, “LoveT Love the poet, pretty one”? LUCY.

Lucy is a golden girl; But a man-a man should woo her I They who seek her shrink aback, When they should, like storms, pursue her. ARl her smiles are hid in light; All her hair is lost in splendor; But she hath th e eyes of Ni ght, And a heart that’s over-tender. Yet, the foolish suiters fly (Is’t excess of dread or duty?) From the starlight of her eye, Leaving to neglect her beauty! Men by fifty seasons taught, Leave her to a young beginner, Who, without a second thought, Whispers, woos, and straight must win her. Lucy is a golden girl! Toast her in a goblet brimming! May the man that wins her wear On his heart the Rose of Women! THE WOOIING SONG. 0

PLEASANT is the fisher’s lire, By the waters streaming; And pleasant is the poet’s life, Ever, ever dreaming; And pleasant is the hunter’s life, O’er the meadows riding; And pleasant is the sailor’s life, On the seas abiding! But, oh! the merry life is wooing, is wooing; Never overtakitng, and always pursuing! The hunter, when the chase is done, Laugheth loud and drinketh; The poet, at the set of sttn, Sigheth deep, and thinketh; The sailor, though from sea withdrawn, Dreams he’s half seas over, The fisher dreameth of the dawn, But, what dh-eams the lover? He dreams that the snerry lifje is wooing, is wooing; Never overtaking, and always puirsuing!

Some think that life is very long, And murmur at the measure; Some think it is a syrei song A short, false, fleeting pleasure; Some sigh it out in gloomy shades,. Thinking naught, nor doing; But we’ll ne’er think it gloomy, Maids! Whi.e there’s lime for wooing. For, sure, tihe ietry life is wooing, is wooin,g; Never Ot, rt(kingi eul lh.(i;tys,sUr.(slitig! I I I I I I THE MIRROR LIBRARY. bt$4 LovF, the poet, pretty one! He unfoldeth knowledge fairLessons of the earth and sun, And of azure air. THE HU.LMBER

FERRY. BOATMAN, hi,her! Furl your sail! Row us o’er the Humber ferry! Furl it close! The blustering gale Seems as he would fain be merry. Pleasant is he, when in fun He blows -tbout the bud or berry; But his mirth we fain would shun Out upon the Humber ferry I Now, b()Id fisher, shall we go With thee o’er the Humber river Hearlst thou how the blast dotli blow See’st thou how thy sail doth shiver Wilt thou dare (dismayed by nau,-ht) Wind and wave, thou bold sea-liver? And shall we, whom Love hath taught, Tremble at the rolling river? Rcjw us fortb! Unfurl thy sail! What care we for tempests blolwing? Let us kiss the blustering gale! Let us breast the waters flowing! Though the cnorth rush cold and loud, Love shall warm nd make us merry; Though the waves all weave a shroiid, We will the ITiin.ber ferry I

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SONGS OF BARRY CORNWALL. SING, MAIDEN, SING! SINt, Maiden, sing Mouths were made for singing; Listen-Songs thou’lt hear Thurough the wide world ringing; Songs from all the birds, Songs from winds and showers, Songs from seas and streams, Even from sweet flowers. SPIRIT of the sumnmer breeze! Wherefore sleep’st thou in the trees? Come, and kiss the maiden rose, That on Marian’s bosom blows! Come, and fawn about her hair! Kiss the fringes of her eyes! Ask her why she looks so fair, When she heedeth not my sighs? Tell her, murmuring summer air, That her beauty’s all untrue; Tell her, she should not seem fair, Unless she be gentle too!

Hearest thou the rain, How it gently falleth? Hearest thou the bird, Who from forest calleth? Hearest thou the bee O’er the sunflower ringing? Tell us, Maiden, now Shouldst thou not be singing? SHE sleeps among her pillows soft, (A dove, now wearied with her flight,) And all around, and all aloft, Hang flutes and folds of virgin white: Her hair out-darkens the dark night, Her glance outshines the starry sky; But now her locks are hidden quite, And closed is her fringed eye! She sleepeth: wherefore doth she start? She sigheth: doth she feel no pain? None, none! the Dream is near her heart: The Spirit of sleep is in her brain. He cometh down like golden rain, Without a wish, without a sound; He cheers the sleeper (ne’er in vain) Like May, when earth is winter-bound. All day within some cave he lies, Dethroned from his nightly swayFar fading when the dawning skies Our souls w ith w akening thoughts array. Two Spirits of might doth man obey; By each he’s wrought, from each he learns. The one is Lord of life by day; The other when starry Night returns. MAUREEN. THEF cottage is here, as of old I remember; The pathway is worn, as it ever hath been; On the turf-piled hearth there still lives a bright ember; But-where is Maureen?

The same pleasant pospect still shineth before me The river-the mountain-the valley of green, And heaven itself (a bright blessing!) is o’er met But-where is Maureen? Lost! Lost!-Like a dream that hath come and departed (Ah, why are the loved and lost ever seen?) She hath fallen-hath flown with a lover falsehearted; So, mourn for Maureen! And She, who so loved her, is slain (the poor mother), Struck dead in a day, by a shadow unseen! And the home we now loved, is the home of another, And-lost is Maureen! THOU’LT take me with thee, my love, my love? Wherever thou’rt forced by fate to move? Over the land, or over the sea?Thou know’st’tis the same delight to me. What say’st thou, dear? Thy bride is here, All ready to live and (lie with thee. Her heart was in the song; It mnuzrnured in the measure; It touched the?tmusic, all aloeg, With a grave sweet pleasure. Sweet Shannon! a momen t by the e let me pon der; A moment look back at the things that have been Then, away to the world where the ruined ones wander, To look for Maureen! I LOVE. Wine! Bold bright Wine! That maketh the Spirit both dance and shiIe! Others may care For water fare, But gime me-W ine! Ancient Wine! Brave old Wine! How it around the heart doth twine! Poets may love The stars above; But I love-Wine! Naught but Wine! Noble Wine, Strong, and sound, and old, and fine. What can scare The devil Despair, Like brave bright wine? O brave Wine! Rare old Wine! Once thou wast deemed a God divine! Bad are the rhymes, And bad the times, That scorn old Wine! So, brave old Wine! Dear old Wine! Morning, Noon, and Night, I’m thine I Wh,atever may be, I’ll stand by thee, Immricrtal Wine!

Thou wilt not leave me behind, behind, To the malice of fortune, harsh and blind? I’ll follow thy call, as a bird would flee, And sing or be mnute as thou biddest me. What say’st thou, dear? To my fond, fond fear? rhou canst not banish thy love from thee! Her heart was in the song; It murmured in the measure; It toilched the music, all along, With a( grave sweet pleasure. What say’st thou, nmy soldier, my love, my pride? Thy ans,wer?

What, was I not born thy bride? From thy cradle e’er cherished for love and thee, Anl dar’st thou now banish or bid me flee? Smil’st thou at my fear? Ah, then, my dear, I know I may love-live die with thee! Ites heart was in the song; It murmuLred in the measure; It touched the nmutsic, all along, [rith a gritVe sweet pleasure. I I I i i Go& MARIAN. A REPOSE.

Hearest thou tbp, breeze Round the rose-bud sighing I And the small sweet rose Love to love replying? So shouldst thou reply, To the prayer we’re bringing; So that bud, thy mouth, Should burst forth in singing! THE

RF.MONSTRANCE. WINE.

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5~66 UNEQUAL LOVE. UNEQUAL LOVE. MII. “W,ailing for liis daemaon lower.”

WILT not eat with me, my bride? Wailt not drink my amorous wines? Dainty meats are by thy side; Mark- how bright the Rhenish shines! Come, be kind.’! What ills betide thee! Iv izot he thou lov’st beside thee I MIRIAM. (RECITATIVE., DAaRKN’ESS and God’s great wrath for many an age Have lain on Israel! 0 what nights of wo! What dreams of long and lonely banishment! Spring comethli round, and Summer sweet returneth Still to our father’s lan(l:-But where are W? Still Siloa murmurs: but we hear her not!

Still the rose opens, and the lilies pale Are born beneath the sun: but we have lost All suns, all seasons-music-fragrance-flowers! Peace-Darkness hbth her share of good, like day t Sleep and the world of dreams belong to her: And, in our long dark exile, we have stars That light us onward, and their beauty shed Alone upon the sons of Israel! Look-where one shines:-‘tis Miriam! Judah’s ohildt Her pride-lher gloiy! Statelier than the palm, Swift as the roe, dowercd with love-she comes! And thus I celebrate her grace in song! Wherefore sigh’st thoi, maiden mine? ust thou totho hhe forest haste? Nothing have I, meats or wine, That the fairy lips may taste? Spettk, love! must I vainily wt,oo thee. I-who gave nmy hea rt mitto thee? Dark one, thou hast bid me press Human lovre upon thy lips; But thou yieldst a cold caress, And thy love is in eclipse! Cold and dim wt hile I a nburating! Ill Love is there no returning? I have loved thee, sought-pursued Won thee from thy charmed springs. 0, that I, instead, had wooed The humblest girl that laughs and sings! From the dust thy beauty idont me; But, sweet Love!-He hath undone me! (AIR.) Oh, fairer tha n e et f the fairest of the flowers! Oh, sweeter than the bud when it blows! Oh, brighter than the summer when it showers Its riches on the red red rose!

Come-Sho;v us that the color of the sky Still lives in thre Hebrew’s eye, Miriam! Oh, show us there is truth in thy story; That thy country is worthy of her fame! Reappear-like the shadow of her glory! Reappear-like the Spirit of her name! Come-Show us all the starriness that lies In the night of the Hebrew’s eyes, Miriam! Look! Loolk! where a Spirit, like the lightning, Comes flashing from her dark deep gaze! Is the tempest e’er more terrible or blighting, in The strength of its storm-bright days?

Quick!-Show us all the terror that may lid In the flash of a Hebrew’s eye, Miri(am! Our pride, our glory-Miriam! SING! WHO MINGLES WITH MY LAYS?

SING! vWho mingles with miy lays? Maiden of the 1)p,imrrrose days! Sing with me, and I will sho)w All that thou in spring sbouldst know, All the names of all the flowers, What to do with primrose hours! Sing! who loves the music tender? Widow, who hath no defender!Orphan!-Scholar!-Mother wild, Who hast loved (and lost) a child! Maiden, dr eaming of to-morro w!

Let us sing and banish sorrow! Comne!-Sweet music hath a smart, Aud a balm for every heart! BABYLON. (RECITATIVE.) PAUSE in this desert! Here, men say, of old Belshazzar reigned, and drank firom cups of gold; Here, to his hideous idols, bowed the slave, And here-God struck him dead! .. * * Where lies his grave? ‘Tis lost!-His brazen gates? his soaring towers, From whose dark tops men watched the starry hours I All to the dust gone down!

The desert bare Scarce yields an echo when we question’i Where?” The lonely herdsman seeks in vain the spot; And the black wandering Arab knows it not. No brick, nor fragment lingereth now, to tell Where Babylon (mighty city!) rose-and( fell I (AIR.) 0 City, vast and old! Where, where is thy grandeur fled? The stream that around thee rolled, Still rolls in its ancient bed! But where, oh, where art Thou gone? Oh, Babylon! Oh, Babylon! Oh, my love has an eye, Like a star in the sky, And breath like the sweets from the hawthorn tree; And his heart is a treasure, Whose worth is past measure; And yet he hath given all-all to me! It crowns me with light In the dead of the night, It brightens my journey by land and sea; And thus, while I wander, I sigh and grow fonder, For m: love ever grows with his love for me Why didst thou depart, Thou sweet bird of my heart? )h, come back to my bosom, and never flee: I never will grieve thee, I’ll never deceive thee, But love thee for ever, as thou lov’st me.

i ROR T,IBRARY. I Sing! who mingles with my song? Soldier in the battle strong! Sing, and thee I’ll music teach, Such as thunders on the beach, When the waves run mad and white, Like a warrior in the fight! I LOVE MY

LOVE, BECAUSE HE LOVES ME. MAN, man loves his steed, For its blood or its breed, For i’ s odor the rose, for its honey the bee, His own haughty beauty From pride or from duty; But I love rDy love, because-lie loves me.

The Giant, when lie dies, Still leaveth his bones behind, ro shriek in the winter skies, A.nd whiten beneath the wind! But where, oh, where art T,4ou gone? Oh, Babylo?z! Oh, Babylon I Thou liv’st! for thy name still glows, A light in the de,,ert sk’; Als the fame of the liero grows Thrice trebled because he (lies! Oh, P)(ibylon! Oh, Babylon!

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SONGS OF BARRY CORNWALL. HER LARGE DARK LUMINOUS EYES ARE ON ME HER large dark luminous eyes are on me! I can not fly-I can not move! The beauty that in boyhood won me Wins me still-to look and love! The tongue that wound its music’round me, And might have charmed aside all pain, Again all bare and weak hath found me, And stings me to the heart again! 0 Beauty, who my soul subdueth! What mnean the lightnings of thine eye? Why is it that thy scorn pursueth My love-yet leaves it not to die? Sweet Music, cease! Bright Eyes, all beaming With light that makes me mad-ah, close!

Give back my colder, calmer dreaming! Give back my dull dark old repose!

KILL THE LOVE THAT WINDS KROUND THEE, Now wherefore dost thou weave Thy falsehoods strange? Sad words may make me grieve, But never change. A snake sleeps in thine eye; It stirs thine heart: Why dost thou vainly sigh? Depart Depart! Thy dreams, when Fortune flew, Did elsewhere range: But love is aliwvays true, And knows no change. More firm in want, in strife, Ay, firm through crime, He looketh down on life, The star of Time!

A DILEMMA. WHrcH is the maidlen I love best? Twenty now are buzzing round me; Three in their milk-white arms have wound me, Gently-yet I feel no rest! One hath showered her black locks o’er me, Ten kneel on the ground before me, Casting forth such beams of blue, That I’m pierced-oh, through and through I Bacchus! Gods! what can I do? Which must I love best? Tell me-(ahli, more gently take me, Sweet one, in thy warmn white arms!) Tell me, which will ne’er forsake me Through all life’s ills and harms? Is it she, whose blood’s retreating From that forehead crowned with pride? Is it she, whose pulse is beating Full against ray unarmed side? What do all these things betide? Strong my doubts grow-strong-and stronger: Quick!

give answer to my call! If ye pause a moment longer, I shall love ye-ALL!

KILL the love that winds around thee With its snake-like death-like twine!

Where’s the guardian steel that bound thee? Where are all thy gifts divine? Where is wisdom? Where is wine? Where’s the sad dark truth of story? Where the Muse’s mighty line? Where the fame that burned before thee I I AM a merry beggar, A beggar I was born, Tossed about the wide world, From evening till morns A plaything of the tempest, A brother of the night, A conquer or, a conjurer, When’tis merry star-light I Oh!

nothing can withstand me, Whenever I do -loop, From the warm heart of the housewife To the chicken in the coop; From the linen of the lady, To the larder of the lknight, All come when I do conjure, In the merry star-light! I pay no tithes to parson, Tho’ I follow like his clerk; For he takes his tenths by daylight, I take mine in the dark; I pay the king no window-tax; From some it may be right, But all l do beneath the blue, Is by merry star-light! I room from lane to common, From city unto town, And I tell a merry story, To gentleman or clown; Each gives me bed or victuals, Or ale that -litters bright, Or-I contrive to borrow them By merry star-light! Oh, the tradesman he is rich, sirs. The farmer well to paass, The soldier he’s a lion, The alherman’s an ass; The courtier he is!ubtle, sirs, And the scholar he is bright; But who, like me, is ever free In the merry star-light? THE LAKE HAS BURST. TI’HE lake has burst!

The lake has burst! Down through the chasms the wild waves flee; They gallop along With a roaring song,, Away to the eager awaiting sea! Down throu.dh the valleys, and over the rocks, And over the forests the flood runs free; And wlherever it dashes, The oaks anl the ashes Shrink, drop, al) are borne to the hungry sea! The cottage of reeds and the tower of stone, Both shaken to ruin, at last agree; And the slave and his master In one wide disaster Are hurried like weeds to the scornful sea! The sea-beast he tosseth his foaming mane; He bellows aloud to the misty sky, And the sleep-buried Thunder Awakens in wonder, And the Lightning opens her piercing eye! There is death above, there is death around, There is death wlhe resover the waters be, There is nothing now doing But ten-rror and ruin, On ~artli, an(d in air, anal the stormy sea! i iI I II i i i I I i i 567 TALK NOT TO ME OF LOVE. TALK not to me of love! The deer that dies Knows inore of love than 1, Who seek the skies. Strive not to bind my soul With chains of clay! I scorn tliy poor c(,ntrol; Away-Away! What is love, but life deformed From its grand original aim? Hero into slave transformed? Worlds lost at a single game? Whose the peril-whose the shamp, Shouldst tliou die in love’s fond slavery I Rise! Earth’s naught without its fame I Rise! Life’s naught without its bravery I THE BEGGARIS

SONG.

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56 TH IRRLBAY THE POET’S SONG TO HIS WIFE. THE BLOODHOUND. ComE, Herod, my hound, from the stranger’s floor! Old friend-we must wander the world once more! For DO one now liveth to welcome us back: So, come! let us speed on our fated track. What matter the region-what matter the weather, So you and I travel, till death, together? And in death?-why, e’en there I may still be found By the side of my beautiful black bloodhound. We’ve traversed the desert, we’ve traversed th e sea, And we’ve trod on the heights where the tagles be; .Seen Tartar, and Arab, and swart Hindoo; (How thou pull’dst down the deer in those skies of blue!) No joy did divide us; no peril could part The man firom his friend of the noble heart; Ay, hisfriend; for where, where shall there ever be found A. friend like his resolute fond bloodhound! What, Herod, old hound! dost remember the day When I fronted the wolves, like a stag at bay? When downward they galloped to where we stood, WVhile I staggered with fear in the dark pine wood? Dost remember their howlings? their horrible speed? God, God! how I prayed for a friend in need! And-he came! Ah!‘twas then, my dear Herod, I found That the best of all friends was my bold bloodhound. Men tell us, dear friend, that the noble hound Must for ever be lost in the worthless ground: Yet, “Courage”” Fidelity”“Love”-(they say) Bear Man, as on wings, to his skies away. Well, Ilerod-go tell them, whatever may be, I’ll hope I may ever’be found by thee. If in sleep-in sleep: if with skies around, May’st thou follow e’en thither, mly dear bloodhound! Some weight of thought, though loath, On thee he leaves; Some lines of care round both Perhaps he weaves; Some fears a soft regret For joys scarce known; Sweet looks we half forget: All else is flown! WRLTI thou be a nun, Sophie?

Nothing but a nun? Is it not a better thingWith thy friends to laugh and sing r To be loved and sought? To b e woo’d and-won? Dost thou love the shadow, Sophie, Better than the sun? T’HE FAREWELL OF THE SOLDIER. I LOVE thee, I love thee, Far better than wine, But the curse is above me; Thou’lt never be mine! As the blade wears the scabbard, The billow the shore, So sorrow doth fret me For evermore. Fair beauty, I leave thee, To conquer my heart; I’ll see thee, I’ll bless thee, And then-depart. Let me take, ere I vanish, One look of thine eyes One smile for remembrance, For life soon flies! -And now for the fortune, That hangeth above; And t o bury in battle, My dream of love! THE NIGHT-SHADE. WHAT SAY THE CLOUDS ON

TIlE HILL AND PLAIN? WHAT say the clouds on the hill and plain? “We come, we go.” What say the springs of the dreaming brain? “We shrink, we flow.”

What say the maids in their changeful hours? ” We laugh, we c-y.” What say the budding and fading flowers? “We live, we die.” Acnd thus all thi?ngs go ranging, Frosi riddle to riddle changing, From day into uight, from life into death, .Ihnd no onie knows wvhy, my song saith. TRArD aside from my starry bloom! I am the nurse who reed the tomb (The tomb, my child) With dainties piled, Until it grows strong as a tempest wild. Trample not on a virgin flower! I am the maid of the midnight hour; I bear sweet sleep To th(,e who weep, And lie on their eyelids dark and deep. Tread not thou on my snaky eyes! I am the worm that the weary prize, The Nile’s soft asp, That they strive to grasp, And one that a queen has loved to clasp! Pity me! I am she whom man Hath hated since ever the world began; I sooth his brain, In the night of pain, 3ut at morning he waketh-and all is vain! A fable is good, and a truth is good, And loss, and gain; And the ebb and the flood, and the black pine wood And the vast bare plain; To wake and to sleep, and to dream of the deep, Are good, say 1; And’tis good to laugh, and’tis good to weep; But whn lknows why? Yet thuts all things go ranging, ~c. We cutmber the earth for a hundlred years; We learn, we tfeh; We fight amid perils, anl h(ol)ces> and fears, Fame’s rock to reach. We boast that our fellows are sages wrought In toil and pain; Yet the common lesson by Nature taught, Dott i vex thh eir brain! Oh! all lhin,gs here go rang ing, I, II I I I 568 THE MIRROR LIBRARY – Hoiv many Suinmers, love, Have I been thine’l How many da-,,,s, thou dove, Hast thou been mine? l’ime, like the winged wind When’t bends the flowers, Hath left no mark behind, To count the hours! Ali! with what thankless heart I mourn and sing! Look, where our cliildr,,n start, Like sudden Spring I With tongues all sweet and low, Like a pleasant rhyme, They tell how much I owe To thee and Time! TO

SOPHIE. .I’m a poor lay-brother, Sophie; Yet, I this may sayThou badst better bear with love, Than dwell here, a prison’d dove, Weeping life away. Oh!-I’d bear lovels paiigs, rather, Fifty times a dav! I

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THE SONGS AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS OF BARRY CORNWALL. PART II. SOFTLY WOO

AWAY HER BREAiH. SOFTLY WOO away her breath, Gentle Death!’ Let her leave thee with no strife, Tender mournful, murmuring Life I She hath seen her hap)py day; She hath had her bud and blossom; Now she pales and shrinks away, Earth, into thy gentle bosom! DAWN, gentle flower, From the morning earth! We will gaze and wonder At thy wondrous birth I She hath done her bidding here, Angels dear! Bear her perfect soul above, Seraph of the skies-sweet Love! Good she was, and fair in youth, And her mind was seen to soar, And her heart was wed to truth; Take her, then for evermore For ever-evermore! HIDDEN THOUGHTS. SOME joys we loudly tell; Some thoughts we,, apart! Fenced round, and bid them dwe il Il inmost heart. Fade, gentle flower! All thy white leaves close; Having shown thy beauty, Time’tis for repose. Day hath no more glory, Though he soars so high; ‘rhine is all man’s story, Live-anid love-a-od die! Close in that heart (their den) The tiger pa.ssions sleep: There, too, shut out from men, Resolve lies (leep. I’E king he reigns on a throne of gold, Fenced round by his “power divine;” The baron he sits in his castle old, Drinking his ripe red wine: But below, below, in his ragged coat, The beggar he tuneth a hungry note; And the spinner is bound to his weary thread, And the debtor Ties down with an aching head. So the world goes! So the stream flows! Yet there is a fellow, whom nobody knows, Vho maketh all free On larnl and sea, .nd forceth the rich like the poor to flee! rHE FISHERMAN.

A PERILOUS life, and sadl as life may be, fIath the lone fisher on the lonely sea, O’er the wild waters laborinig, far firom home, For some bleak pittance e’er coml)elled to roam. Few hearts to cheer him through his dangerous life, And none to aid him in t he staolny strife. Companion of the sea (Ian(d s ilent air, The lonevly fisher thu!s mnlst esver fare; Withoult th(e cotif{rt, tliol;e withi scarce a friend, Ile I(hoLs thr,uglk life andl only sees-its end! the lady lies down in her warm white lawn, And dreamns of her pearled pride; The milkmaid sings to the wild-eyed dawn, Sad songs on the cold hill-side: And the saint he leaves (while he prattles of faith) Good deeds to the sinner, asscandal saith, Ani( the scholar he bowvs to the frce of brass, Aid tihe wise man he worshipls the golden ass! So tite wi.-orld ball *r. i f I ,I 1-1 It I t –

TO A FLOWER. Bloom, gentle flower! Lover of the light, Sought by wind and shower, Fondled by the night! Die, gentle flower, In the silent sun!

So-all pangs are over, All thy tasks are done! THE LEVELLER. There dreanis repose-so fair, So frail, that but to sigh Their names iiiito the air, Woull foi-ce tliet-n die. These give, like violets hid, A perfume to the inindGive sight, as once they did, ,ro poet blind!

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570 1 THE RHINE. Is’T true the false poor beauty flies From thee? ohl,‘tis wel-‘tis right! My loite slall na,w adoirn thinre eyes, Writh biiglitness like the incelouded( night! ‘The poet s hes on hi) r and Rlhoet, His fincie, till tiey beit tn(li d shine: Andrl sia!l 1, iii tl lin-g’i;r1(,A Neglt. ct to elluow7 aul’it cf il Ge? WEV’E sailed through banks of green, Where the wild waves fi-et alld quiver. And we’ve down the Dan ube bee n, The dark deep thundering river! We’ve tiri(sded the E!be and Rhone, The Tyber an d bloowd-died Seine, And have w,Ntatceled where the blue Garonne Goes laughing to ireet the main; But what is so lovely, u t is so gratul, ./s the river that rutnts twroutgh Rhixie-latid? On the Rhine-river were we born, Midst its flowers and famous wines, An(] we know that our country’s morn, With a treble-sweet aspect shines. Let other lands boast their flowers, Let other men dream wild dreams; Let them hope they’ve a land like ours, And a stream, like oral stream of streams; Yet, whatt is half so bright or so granid, .s the river tihal runis through Rhi,te-land?

to.ne to me-dJeaier, ftircr fitr, ‘ wia i whel t mit’s s.i: iles ( li rund thee fawrn Look ofi mLes-Ls the lastl’a,ie Star Looks round up,on the glowirg dawn! Yet, flyn lot! Stan-, and snill, sweect heart, On whllite’er c!alice laav niow- befitll; My love, though es er ood (,elart, Shiall iakec thee detr aitiends for all! I’Trie tr reigls oii higlh, Like hle coustolal sltrs, that quiver ./ad look bright j)‘omn every sky, For ever-.Ibr ever! Are we smit by the blinding sun, That fell on our tender youth? Do we coward-like shrink and shun The thouglit-telling touch of truth? On our heads be, the sin, then, set! We’ll bear alftlle shame divine; But we’ll never disown the debt, That we owe to our noble Rhine!

0, the Rhiie! tile Rhine! the broad and the grad Is the river that rusis through Rhisie-land! I LV.E thee! Oi, the slrifie, the pain, The fiery tinougi,ts that through me roll! I love thee! Look-a gain, again! 0 Stars!

that thou couldIst read my soul: I would thy bright bright eye could pierce The crimson tfol Is that hide my heart; Then wouldst thou find the serpent fierce, That stings me-and will slot depart! SWEET FRIEND, WHERE

SLEEPS THY SONG I SWFEET friend! where sleeps thy song? Al, wherefore lhath it lain so long In idle slumbers! Quick thou, the ancient bondage break, And bid its dreaming soul awake In airy numbers! Bid it burst forth, like Spring, When first the youthful rivers sing That small bright river, That runneth laughing from the earth, And thinketh, in its new-born mirth, To live for ever! Bid it come forth, like Spring, When brooks and trees their music bring, And fields their flowe rs; And we will hearken all, and hoard Thy sweet sweet thoughts, like riches stored, For after hours! Look love upon me, with thine eyes! Yet, no-imen’s evil tongues are nigh: Look pity, then, and with thy sighs Waste music on me-till I die!

Yet, love not! sigh not! Turn (thou must) Thy beauty from me, sweet and kind; ‘Tis fit that I should burn to dust To death: beec,)use-I am not blind! I love thee-and I live! The Moon Who sees me fi’om her calm above, The Wind who weaves her dim soft tune About me, know how much I love!

Naught else, save iNillt and the lonely Hour, E’er heard my l.assion wild and strong: Even thou yet deemst not of thy power, Unless-thou readst aright my song! SONG OF WOOD- NYMPHS. COME here, come here, and dwell In forest deep! Come here, come here, and tell Why thou dost weep! Is it for love (sweet pain!) That b’us thou darest complain Among our pleaant shades, our simmer leave Where naught else grieves? Come here, come here, and iie By whispering stream! Here no one dares to die For love’s sweet dream; But health all seek, and joy, And shun perverse annoy, And race along green paths till close of day, And laugh-alway! Or else, through half the year, On rushy floor, We lie by waters clear, Whi le sky-la rks potir Their songs into the sun! Andl whin briiM/t day is done, We hli~t.:~ lo,oath bells of flowers, or nodding corh And tdream-,-till morn! A BRIDAL

DIRGE. WEAVE no more the marriage chain! All unmated is the lover; Death has ta’en the place of Pain; Love doth call on love in vain; Life anct rears of hope are. over! No more want of marriage bell! No more need of bridal favor! Where is she to wear them wvell? You beside the lover tell!

Gone-with all the love he gave her! Paler than the stone she lies: Colder than the winter’s morning! Wherefore did she thus despise “She with pity i- her eyes) Mother’s care, and lover’s warning? Youth and beauty-shall they not Last beyon.l a brief to-morrow? No: a praye:, ail thel forgot!

This the tres, it loes r lot;A This the siin ot’ haman sorrow! HE MIRITOR

1,IBRAiTlY. TRUE LOVE. Love Jll-‘ow alo7ig, l,;A- t e)itle rive-i-; I l.‘s s!l’il i.1-Y sweetest scitg Fo r e v e i,-,,Ioi, ever! FORBIDDEN LOVE.

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)RNWALL. 571 May your traders grumble wvhen bread is high, And your farmers when bread is low, And your )atlper brats, scarce two feet high, Learn mole than your nobles lknow! May your sick have fot;ggy or frosty weather, And your conkicts all shoh’t throats, And your blood-cover ed bankers e’er hang together, And teimipt ye wvitt. onie-pound notes! SON GS

OF BAR RY CC THE CONVICT’S FAREWELL. A BOAT is rowed along the sea, Full of souls as it may be; Their dress is c(oarse, their hair is shorn, And( every squalid face forlorn Is full of’ sorr,ow, andt hate, and scorn! What is’t?-It is the Convict Boat, That o’er tlir waves is fo)rced to float, Bearing its wicked )ll(len o’er The ocean, to a distant shore: Man scowls upon it; bet the sea (The same with t-tterei as with free) Daneeth beneath it heedlessly! And so writh hunger in your jaNs, And peli il w ilthin yur breast, Anti a bar of ,ol,l, t(, g ard (ouir laws, I’or tlhesie wi( )(Jy tle best Farewell to }:t-ol’ s wt, aril weal! D…l-‘(our i betteris, so bol(l ancl lthlie, May t;y uece W a l. wl-hen they want a meal .1 Parst t o/ro.e it. 7’i2ile! Slowly the boat is borne along; Yet they who row ale hard and strong, And well tiheir cars keep time, To one who sings (and clanks his chain, The better thus to hide his pain) A bitter, banished rhyme! Hie sings: and all his mates in wo 2hant sullen chorus as they go!

LAI>Y, silng o110 moire! Scienc(e all is Oain, Till the heart be touched, la(ly, Anid g’k.e forth its pain. ‘Tis a hilddn lyre, Cherished near the sun; O’er wlihose w%itchinig wire, lady, 1Faer y fingers run. Row us on, a felon band, Farther out to sea, Till we lose all sight of land, And then-we shall be free! Row us ot, and loose our fetters; Yeo! the boat makes way: Let’s say “Good-by” unto our betters. And, hey for a brighter day! Each doth search the heart, To its inmost springs; And when they depart, lady, Then the Spirit sings! THE HIRLAS HORN. FILL high, fill high the Hirlas horn, Rimmed, with sunlight, like the morn! Deep, and vast, and fit to drown All the troubles of a crown; Deep, and vast, and crowned *ith mead, ‘Tis a cup f or kings indeed, Full of courage, full of worth, Making man a god on earth! Warriors, Heroes, Cambrian-born, Drink Sorn the Hirl, s horn! C H OR U S. Row us.fast! Rowu us fast! Trial’s o’er and sentence past: Here’s a whistle jbfor those who tried to blind us, .dTu a curse oi all we leave behind us! Farewell, juries, jailers, friends, (Traitors to the close!) Here the felon’s danger ends. Farewell, bloody foes! Farewell, England! We are quitting Now thy dungeon doors: Take our hlessing, as we’re flitting  “A curse upon thy shliores!” Farewell, England-honest nurse Of all our wants and sins! What to thee’s the felon’s curse M What to thee who wins? Murder thriveth in thy cities, Famine through thine isle: One may cause a dozen ditties, But t’other scarce a smile. Farewell, England-tender soil, Where babes who leave the bleaBt, From morning into midnight toil, That pride may be proudly drest! Where he who’s right and he who swerveth Meet at the goal the same; Where no one hath what he deserveth, Not even in empty fame! So, fare thee well, our country dear!

Our last wish, ere we go, Is-May your heart be never clear From tax, nor tithe, nor wo! May they who sow e’er reap for others, The hundred for the one! May friends grow false, and twin-born brothers Each hate his Mother’s son! May pains and forms still fence the place Where justice must be bought! So he who’s poor must hide his face, And he who thinks his thought! May Mlight o’er Rizht be crowned the winner, The nead still o’er the heart, Andpr! ink the Saint be still so like the Sinner, You’ll not know them apart! Hide with foam the go lde n tip; Make it rich for a prince’s lip! Here’s to the fame of Roderick dead! Bards! why do your harps not shed Music? Come a mighty draft To dead Roderick’s name be quaffed! Tell us all the hero won, All he did, from sun to sun! Bards, anid Heroes, Cambrian-born, Drink-fromn the Hi} las hot.n Fill the horn to Madoc’s name, First in the mighty race of fame, Eagle-hearted, eagle-eyed, All hearts shuddered when he died I Yet, why so? for Tudor rose Like a lion upon our foes;Like the wild storm-smitten ocean, When he puts his strength in motion! Come, brave Spirits, Canmbrian-born, Drink-jfrom the Hirlas horn! Cambrian people-C ambrian mountains,, Back into your wizard fountains (Where the Druid seers are dwelling) Ohout unto the crowned Llewellin! Patriot! Hero! Monarch! Friend! Wreathed with virtues without end! First of men’tween Earth and Sky! The sword an( the shield (of Liberty! Drink,,ll Spisrit Caimbr ian born, Drii,k to i/e good, gr,,at crowned LieweUini Drink-from the hirlas horn! i I I SEC-l’,I:T OF SONG.

Pity comes in tears, 1’roiii her lioine above; Hope, and sometii-nes Fears, lady, And the wizard-Love!

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57 TilLMiRRLBAY AN EPISTLE TO CHARLES LAMB, ON HIS EMNIANCIPATION FROM

CLERKSHIP. So, perhaps, with thee the vein Is sullied ever-so the chain Of habits and aflections old, Like a weight of solid gold, Presseth on thy gentle breast, Till sorrow rob thee of thy rest. ‘VRITTEN OvER A FLASK OF

SHERRIS.)L DrAR LA-IB, I drink to thee-to thee MIarried to sweet Libeity!

What! old friend, and art thou freed From the bondage of the pen? Free from care and toil, indeed? Free to wander amnong men When and howsoe’er thou wilt? .tll thy drops of labor spilt O(n those huge and figared pages, W hich will sleep uinclasped lor ages, Little knowing whelo did wield The quill that traversed their white field 1 Aye: so’t must be! E’en I (whose lot The fairy Love so long forgot), Seated beside this Sherris wine, And near to books and shapes divine, Which poets and the painters past Have wrought in lines that aye shall lastE’en I, with Shah-spere’s self beside me, Anrd one whose tender talk can guide me Through fears, and pains, and troublous themes, Whose smile doth fall upon my dreams Like sunshine on a stormy seaX ant somebi~,g when I think of thee! Come-another mighty health! ‘l’liou hast earn’d thy sumn of wealthCountless ease-immnortal leisure1)a5-s arnd nighlits of boundless pleasure, Checker’d by n-) dream of pain, Such as hangs on clerk-like brain Like a nightmtare, and dothl press The happy soul from happiness. Oh! happy thou-whose all of time (Day and eve, and morning prime) Is fill’d with talk on pleasant themesOr visions quaint, which come in dreams Such as panther’d Bacchus rules, When his rod is on ” the schools,” Mixing wisdom with their wineOr, perhaps, thy wit so line Strayeth in some elder book Whereon our nmolern Solons look, With severe ungilted eyes, Wondering what thou seest to prize. Happy thou, whose skill can take Pleasure at each turn, and slake Thy thirst by every fountain’s brink, Where less wise men would pause to shrink: Somietimes’mnid stately avenues With Cowley thou, or Marvel’s muse, Dost walkl; or Gray, by Eton towers; Or Pope, in Hampton’s chestnut bowers: Or Walton, by his loved Lea stream; Or dost thou with our Milton dream Of Eden and the Apocalypse, And hear the words from his great lips I BUILD UP

A COLUMN TO BOLIVAR I BUILD up a column to Bolivar! Build it under a tropic star! Build it high as his mounting fame! Crown its head with his noble name! Let the letters tell, like a light afar, ” This is the column of Bolivar!” Soldier in war, in peace a man, Did he not all that a hero can? Wasting his life for his country’s care, Laying it down with a patriot prayer, Shedding his blood like the summer rain, Loving the land, though he loved in vain Man is a creature, good or ill, Little or great, at his own strong will; And he grew good, and wise, and great, Albeit he fought with a tyrant fate, And showered his -olden gifts on men, Who paid him in basest wrongs again I Raise the column to Bolivar! Firm in peace, and fierce in war! Shout forth his noble, noble name! Shout till his enemies die. in shame! Shout till Columbia’s woods awaken, Like seas by a mighty tempest shaken Till pity, and praise, and great disdain. Sound like an Indian hurricane! Shout, as ye shoiuit ini conqutiering war, While ye build the co!. umn to Bolivar I Speak-in what grove or hazel shade, For “musing Ineditatiorn made,” Dost wander.-or on Penshurst lawn, Where Sidney’s famne had time to dawn And die, ere y et the hate of Men Could envy at his perfect pen? Or, dost thou, in somne London street (With voices fill’d and thronging feet) Loiter, with mien’twixt grave and gayOr take, along some pathway sweet, Thy calm suburban way? Happy beyond that man of Ross, Whom mere content could ne’er engross, Art thou-with hope, health, “learned leisure,” Friends, books, thy thoughts-an endless pleasure I Yet-yet-(for when was pleasure made Sunshine all without a shade?) Thou, perhaps, as now thou rovest Through the busy scenes thou lovest, With an Idler’s careless look, Turning some moth-pierced book, Feel’st a sharp and sudden wo For visions vanished long ago! And then, thou think’st how time has fled Over thy unsilvered head, :Snatching many a fellow mind Away, and leaving-what?-behind I Naught, alas! save joy and pain Mingled ever, like a strain Of mnusic where the discords vie Wiith the truer harmony. I I I I i I I THE MlitIZOR LIBRARY. 572 THE FALCON.

(AFTER A PAINTING BY TITIAN TIJE Falcon is a noble btr(. And when his heart of hearts is stirred, He’ll seek the eagle, though he run Into his chamber near the sun. Never was there brute or bird, Whom the woods or mountains heard, That could force a fear or care From hllm-the Arab of the air! To-day he sits upon a wrist, Whose purple veins a queen has kissed, And on him fallq a sterner eye Than he can face where’er he fly, Though he scale the summit cold Of the Grimsel, vast and oldThough he search yon sunless stream, That thrids the forest like a dream. Ah, noble Soldier!

noble Bird! Will your names be ever heardEver seen in future story, Crowning it with deathless glory? -Peace’ ho!-tbe master’s eye is drawn Away unto the bursting dawn! Arise, tliou bird of birds, arise, And seek thy quarry in the skies I

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SONGS OF BARRY CORNWALL. FU-LLER’S BIRD. i’ I hlave read of a bird, which hatli a face like, and yet will prey upon, a nian: who cominig to the watesr to drink, and finding there by reflection that he had killed one lie lhimself, pir,eth away by degrees, and never afterward e,joyetli itself.”-FULLER’S WORTHIeS. THE wild-winged creature, clad in gore, (His bloody human meal being o’er,) Comes down to the water’s brink: ‘Tis the first time he there hath gazed, And straight he shrinks-alarmed amazed, And dares not drink. ‘Have I till now,” he sadly said, “Preyed on my brother’s blo0(3, and made His flesh my ineal to-day?” Once more he glances in the brook, And once m,nre sees his victim’s look; Then turns away. TELL US, 0 Guide! by what strange natural laws This winged flower throw,:s out, night after night, Such lunar brightness? Hr/y? for what grave cause Is this eartlh-insect crowa’d with heavenly light? Peace! Rest content! See where, by cliff and dell, Past tangled forest paths and silent river, The little lustrous creature guides us well, And where we fail, his small light aids us ever. Night’s slining servant! Pretty star of earth! I ask not why thy lamp doth ever burn. Perhaps it is thy very life-thy mind; And thou, if robbedl of that strange right of birth, Might be no more than Man-when Death doth turn His beauty into darkness, cold and blind! TO THE SINGER PASTA. NEVER till now-never till now, 0 Queen And Wonder of the enchanted world of sound i Never till now was such bright creature seen, Startling to transport all the regions round! Whence com’st thou-with those eyes and that fine mien, Thou sweet, sweet singer? Like an angel found Mourning alone, thou seem’st (thy mates all fled) A star’mong clouds-a spirit’mid the dead. Melodious thoughts hang round thee! Sorrow sings Perpetual sweetness near-divine despair! Thou speak’st-and Musie, with her thousand strings, Gives golden answers fiom the hauntedl air!

Thou mov’st-and round thee Grace her beauty flings! Thou look’st-and Love is born! 0 songstress rare! Lives there on earth a powe r like that which lies In those resistless tones-in those dark eyes? Oh, I have lived-how long!-with one deep treasure, One fountain of delight unlocked, iunkinown; But thou, the prophetess of my new pleasure, Hast come at last, and struck my heart of stone; And now outgushes, without stint or measure, The endless rapture-and in places lone I shout it to the stars and winds that flee, And then I think on all I owe to thee! I see thee at all hours-beneath all skies In every shape thou tak’st, or passionate path: Now art thou like some winged thing that cries Over a city flamning fast to death; Now, in thy voice, the mad Medea dies: Now Desdemona yields her gentle breath:All things thou art by turns-from wrath to love; From the queen eagle to the vestal dovee! LOOK what titm(;le fla,‘l: the sunset pours UpTon us! M ark! h)v still (as though in dreams Boundl) the once wit an(d terrible Ocean seems How silent lase ti.e Iinm No billow roars: But all is trap liil as Elysian shores! The silver n~-r(Rin whlilhl aye riinneth round The mooil-Cn.;!n’:.:ca, h ath here no sound: Even Echo speks not on thetse irndiant moors! What! is the G i:,nt of tile ocean deal, Whose strength wItas,,I unmatched b)eneatlh the skin No; he reposes!

Newv hisi toils are (lone, More quiet than the l’abbIi,: brvolos is he. So mightiest power-s lby dee-pest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be! Horror is stern and strong, and death (unmasked(

In slow pale silence, or’ti(l brief eclipse); But what are they to thy sweet strength, when tasked To its height-with all the God upon thy lips?

Not even the cloudless days and riches, asked By one who in the book of darkness (lips, Vies with that radiant wealth which they inherit Who own, like thee, the MNtse’s deathless spirit. Would I could crown thee as a king can crown! Yet, what are kingly gifts to thy fair fame, Whose echoes shall all vulgar triumphs drown Whose light shall darken every meaner name? The gallant courts thee for his own renown; Mimnlcking thee, he plays love’s pleasant game: The critic brings thee praise, which all rehearse; And I-alas!-I can but bring my verse! TREAD softly throuis h these amorous room,For every bough is hung\,, with life, And kisses in harmonious strife, Unloose their sharp and wing’d perfumes, From Afric, and the Persian looms, The carrpet’s silken leaves have sprung, And heaven, in its blue bounty, flung These starry flowers, and azure blooms.

Tread softly! By a creature fair The deity of love reposes, His red lips open, like the roses Which round his hyacinthine hair Hang in crimson coronals; And Passion fills the arched halls; And Beauty floats upon the air. COME i LET US TO THE LAND. CoME let us go to the land Where the violets grow! Let’s go thither, hand in hand, Over the waters, over the snow, To the land where the sweet sweet violets blow I There-in the beautiful South, Where the sweet flowers lie, Thou shalt sing, with thy sweeter mouth, Under the light of the evening sky, That Love never fales, though violets die! i I i i i I 573 THE FIRE-I’LY. IVith -queli,Iiarl) I,,,tin as hun,,an hearts M,t.v feel, the (ii-col-,ing thing depart,, Lfnto the darli wild wood; jkn,d, wbf?re the place is thick with weeds, He Iiideth his remorse, and feeds No inoie on blood. And iii that weedy brake he lies, And 1)ines, in;Ll I)ines, until lie die,;; And, wl)eii,,Il’s o’er  IVIi-,it folloinrs? Naught! his brothers slake TIeir tliir,,t in blood in that sarne brake, Fierce as before! fable flows!But would you find Its moral wrought in human kind, Its tile male wcrse; Turn straight to 11(in, and in his fame An(Lforeliead rea(l 11 Th,e Harpy’s” name; But no remorse! TITE SEA-TIN CALM. A CI-IA-AIB-PR SCENE. Tread softly-softly, like the foot Of Winter, shod with fleecy snow, Who cometb white, and cold, and mute, Lest lie ,hoiild w,i,le the Spring below. Oh, lool! for here lie T,ove and Youth, Fair Spirits (f ilie lieart -,and min(]: Alaq!

tli-cit (,n(, slioiil,,],,tr,-tv from truth.. And,ver. f-7(r b ell]

Page 574 view page image rHE MIRROR L Why should we for ever work? Do we starve. beneath the Turk, That, with one foot in the grave, We should still toil like the slave Seventy winters on our heads, Yet we freeze on wooden beds! With one blanket for a fold, That lets in the horrid cold, And cramps and agues manifold! THIs common field, this little rook Wlat is there hidden in these two, That I so often on them look, Oftener tihan oil the heavens blue? No beauty lies upon the field; Small music (dotli the river-yield; And yet I look aid lo(ok again, With something of a pleasant pain. ‘Tis tl-irt -c(a’t be tiirty years, Since last I stood upon this plank, Wl.icib o’er tile briiiok its lig,ure rears, And watcei’ t!.i(‘,ie,bles as they sank? How white thie slriamn! I still remember Its mariin glassed by hoar Decemlber, And how itji tell on the snow: Ah! can it bIe so h(ug ago?

Yet-sometimes we’re me rry people, When the chimes clang in the steeple: If’t be summer-time, we all (Dropsied, palsied, crippled) crawl Underneath the sunny wall: Up and down like worms we creep, Or stand still and fall asleep, With our faces in the sun, Forgetting all the world has done! It coiiietli back;So blythe, so bright, It hurries to Iy eager ken, As thoughi but onl short winter’s night Had dlaren,: o’er the world since then. It is the same clear dazzling scene;Perhaps the grass is scarce as greein; P erhaps the river’s troubled voice Doth not so plaiti ly say”’

Rejoice.” If’t be May, wit w th hawth orn bloom s In our breasts, we sit on tombs, And spell o’er, with eager ken, The epitaphs of older men, (Choosing those, for some strange reasons, Who’re weather’d ninety-a hundred seasons,) Till forth at last we shout in chorus, ” We’ve thirty good years still before us I Yet Nature surely never ranges, Ne’er qulits her,t and flowery crown; But, ever jo fill, m’- changes The primrose for the thistle-down. ‘Tis we alone who, waxing old, l,ook on her with an aspect cold, I)issolve her in our burning tears, Or clothe her with the mists of years I But to-day’s a bonny d ay! What shall we be doing? What’s the use of saving money, When rivers flow with milk and honey t Prudence is our ruin. What have we to do with care? Who, to be a pauper’s heir, W’ould mask his false face in a smile, Or hide his honest hate in guile?

Then, why should not the grass be green? And why shotfld not the river’s song Be merry-as they both have been When I was here an urchin strong? Ah, true-too true! I see the sun Through thirty winter years hath run, For grave eyes, mirrored in the brook, Usurp the urchin’s laughing look! But come-why do we loiter here I Boy, go get us some small beer: Quick!‘twill make our blood run quicker, And drown the devil Pain in liquor! March so fierce is almost past, April will be here at last, And May must come, When bees do hum, And Summer over cold victorious! Hurrah!‘tis a prospect glorious! Meat! small beer! and warmer weather I Come boys-let’s be mad together! So be it! I have lost and won! For, once, the past was poor to meThe future (dim; and though the sun Shed life and strengtii, and! I was free, Ifelt niot knew no gratetffl pleasure: All seemed but as the common measureC, But Now the experienced Spirit old Turns all the leaden past to gold! THE PAUPER’S JUBILEE. HURR.AH! Who was e’er so gay, As we merry folks to-day? Brother Beggars, do not stare, But toss your rags into the air, And cry, ” No stork, and better fare!”’ Each man, be he saint or sinner, Shall to-day have-MEAT for Dinner!! LOOK at this brooki so blithe, so free! Thus hath it been, fair boy, for ever A shining, dancing, babbling river; And thus’twill ever be. ‘Twill run, fiom mountain to the main, With just the same sweet babbling voice That now sings out, “Rejoice-rejoice!” Perhaps’twill be a chain That will a thousand years remainAy, through all times and changes last, And link the present to the past. Perhaps upon this self-same spot, Hereafter, may a merry knot (My children’s children!) meet and play, And think on me, some summer day; And smile (perhaps through youth’s brief tears, While thinking back through wastes of years,) And softly say’“‘Twas here the old man used to stray, And gaze upon the sky; and dream (Long, long ago!) by this same stream.

He’s in his giave! Ungentle Time Hath dealt but harshly with his rhyme: But We will ne’er forget, that he ,Taught us to love this river free-”

Yesterday, oh, Yesterday! That indeed was a bad day; Iron bread, and rascal gruel, Water drink, and scanty fuel, With the beadle at our backs, Cursing us as we beat flax, Just like twelve Oldl Bailey varlets, Among ochre-picking harlots! Why should we such things endure? Though we be the parish Poor, This is usage bad and rough. Are not age and pain enough?

Lonely age, unpitied pain? WVith tie Ban that, like a chain, ro our prison bare hath bound us,B Andl the uawelco)red Winter’round us? I 574 THE PAST.

i A THOUGHT ON A RIVULET.

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SONGS OF BARRY CORNWALL. 575 A STORM. 11 I LOVED HER WHEN SHE LOOKED FROM

MF, THE Spirits of the mighty Sea, To-night arc’wakened from their dreams, And upward to the tempest flee, Baring their foreheads where the gleams Of lightning run, and thunders cry, Rushing and raining through the sky! The Spirits of the sea are waging Loud war upon the peacetlul Night, And bands of the black winds are raging Through the tempi..st blue and bright; Blowing her cloudy hair to dust \Vith kisses, like a miadrnan’s lust! What Ghost now, like an wAt’, walkethli Earth-ocean-air? ant aye with Time, Mingled, as with a lover talkcth. Methinks their colloquy sublime Draws anger from the sky, which raves Over the self-abandoned waves! Behold!

like millions mass’d in battle, The trembling billows headlong go, Lashing the barrels deeps, which rattle In mighty transport till they grow All fruitful in their rocky home, And burst from pIhrensy into foam. And look!

where on the fa,ithless billows Lie women, inl men, and children fair; Some hannin, like sleep, to their swollen pillows, ' ith l -elT)icss sinews and streaming hair, And somne w hto plunge in the yawning graves!

Ah! liv es there ino strength beyond the waves? ‘Tis said, the Moon can rock the Sea From phren,sy strange, to silence mildTo sleep-to death:-But where is She, Wlhile now her storm-born giant child Uplheaives his shoulder to the skies? Ai ise, sweet planet pale arise! Ih- c(nzet’,lovelier than the dawn In summer, when the leaves are greenMore zraceful than the alarmed fawn, Over his grassy supper seen: Brillit quiet fro)m her beauty falls, Until.-gain the tempest calls! But deeper than the unfa,thomed Main, The )arent’s voiceless love e’er lies; And ohl! the dread, the death, the pain, When all hope dies! The supernatural storm-he’waketh Again, and lo! from sheets all white, Stands up unto the stars, and shaketh Scorn on the jewell’d locks of Night. He carries a ship on his foaming crown, And a cry, like Hell, as he rushes down! And so still soars from calm to storm, The stature of the unresting Sea: So doth desire or wrath deform Our else calm humanity Until at last we sleep, And never’wake nor weep, (HIush’d to death by some faint tune,) In our grave beneath the Moon! THE VAINT REGRET. OH! had I nursed, WhIien I was young, The lessons of ny tlther’.s tongue, (The deep ltaboriious thoug,hts he drew, From al l he sao w ant osthers knew,) I might have been ah, mle!

Thrice sager tlh;at I (e’er shall be. For what saith Timiie? Alas! he only shows the truth Of all that I was tolit in youth! The thoughts now budding in niy brainThe wisdom I have bought with painThe kniowle(lt-e of lif’e’s brevityFrail frien(islhip-fftlse l1hilosophyAnd all thlatt issues out of woMethinks, were taught tre long ago! Then wbatt bs,ac-s Tim ef? Alas! he but brines back the truth Of all I heard (andl lost!) in youth! THE SONG

OF A FELON’S WIFE. THE Wbrand is on thy brow, A dark and guilty spot; ‘Tis ne’er to be ei ased! ‘Tis ne’er to be forgot! The brand is on thy brow!

Yet I must shade the spot: For who will love thee now, If I love thee not?

Thy soul is dark-is stained From out the bright world thrown; By God a-nl man disdained, But not by 7rie-thy own! Oh! even the tiger slain fintli o;Ie who ne’er doth flee, Who sooths his dyingz pain! -Tlat one am 1 to thee! Truths!-har(ily learned, and lately b)roughk From many a far for,.otten scene! BGa(o I but listened, as I ou ght, To your voice.,.

sage-serene, B)h! what might I not have been In the realms of thought! HIS

LOVE IS HIDDEN. HIs love is hidden, lik e the spring s Which lie in Earth’s deep heart below; And murmur there a thousand things, Which naught above may hear or know. ‘Tis hii(d, not buried! Without sound, Or light or limit, night and day, It (like the darkl sprints un,ilerground) Runs, ebbs not, and ne’er can decay. i i i I I I .1 I i I I LOVED her when she looked trom me, And hid her stifled sighs: I loved her too when she did smile With shy and downcast eyes, The li!zlit within them rounding “like The 3-oiing i-no(-n in its rise.” I loved lier!Dost tl).ou love no more, Now she from tl,ce is flown, To some far distz,..nt(Iistant shore, Unfetter’d, -tii(i alone? Peace, I)e,-tce! I kticiw her: she will corr,, Again, be mine own. A kiss-a sigli-a little word We changed, wlicti we d,,! part; No more: Jet i-e,,A(I I in her eyes The promise (,,t’

li(,r’iieart; And flol-,( (wio ” (j.n cjthers flies) ll’i-oiyl nie will iie’er (,el-art. So here I li%,e a lo-%,er lone, Contented with my state, More stire of love, if she return, Than cthei , are of li-,tte: An,l ifsl-e die’?-I too can die, Content still with my fate. PARENTS’ LOVE.

YOUNG Love! -%A-liat have i,hv dreams above Thy hope, tli3, gladness, ti.3 despair, That wit-‘,i the pareiii’s 1)-tinful love A,Iay dare compare? Thy hopes are like the misty clou(l; Thy gladnc,,s like the shrinking stream; Thy lou(i despair all o-N,er-loud; Thy life-a dr(-,ain!

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THIE MIRROR LIBRARY. THE FIGHT OF RAVENNA. HE is bound for the wars, He is armed for the fight, With iron-like sinews, And the heart ot’f a knight: All hidden in steel, Like the sun in a cloud, And he calls for his charger, Who neigheth aloud; And hlie calls for his page, Who comes forth like the light: And they mount and ride off, For the Bresciat fight. Count Gaston de l’oix Is the heir of Narbonne, But his page is an orphan, Known-link’d unto none; The master is young, But as bold as the blast; The servant all tender Too tender to last: A bud that was born For the summer-soft skies, But, left to wild winter, Unfol(leth, and dies! At last through a voice That is tender and low, The melody mourns Like a stream at its flowSad, gentle, uncertain, As the life of a dream: And thus the page singeth, With love for his theme: THBRsE lived a lady, long argo; Her heart was sad and dark-ah, me! Dark with a single secret wo, That none could ever see! Shle left her home, she lost her pride, Foraot the jeering world-ah, me! And followed a knight, and fought, and died All for the love of-chivalry! She died-and when in her last dull sleep, She lay all pale and( cold-ah, me! They read of a love as. wild and deep As the dark deep sea! Come forward, my young one, Ride on by my side: What, child, wilt thou quell The Castilian pride?” Thus speaks the gay soldier, His heart in his smile, But his page blushes deep Was it anger?the while. Was it anger? Ah, no: For the tender dark eye Saith” Master, for thee I will live, I will die!” The song’s at an end! But the singer, so young, Still weeps at the music That fell from his tongue: His hands are enclasped, His cheeks are on fire, And his black locks, unloosened, Lie mixed with the wire: But his lord-h-e reposes As calm as the night, Until dawn cometh forth With her summons of light ~ They speed to the field, Storm-swift in their flight, And Bresehia falleth, Like fruit in a blight; Scarce a blow for a battle A shout for her fame: All’s lost-diven up To the sound of a name! But Ravenna hath soldiers, Whose hearts are more bold, Whose wine is all Spanish, Whose pay is all gold. Then-onwar d the y ride Under clouds of the vine; Now silent, n ow s in ging Old stories divine; Now resting awhile, Near the cool of a stream; Now wild for the battle, Now lost in a dream: At last-they are thridding The forest of pines, And Ravennia, beleaguered By chivalry, shines! ~ OF* tll Ravenna! Ravenna! Now ” God for the right!” For the Gaul and the Spaniard Are full in the fight. French squadr-ons are charging, Some conquier, some reel; Wild trumpets are braying Aloud for Castile! Each cannon that roareth Bears blood on its sound, And the dead and the dying Lie thicki on the ground. So he turns, with a laugh Of contempt for his foe, And now girdleth his sword, For a weiglhtier blow. Straight forward he rideth ‘Till night’s in the sky, When the page and the waster Together must lie. Where loiters the page? Ha! he hangeth his head, And, with forehead like fire, He shunneth the bed! “Now rest thee, my weary one; Drown thee in sleep. The great sun himself Lieth down in the deep; The beast on his pasture, The bird on his bough, The lord and the servant, Are slumberers nowv.“T “I am wont,” sighed the page, “A long watching to keep; But my lord shall lie down, While I charm him to sleep.” Soon (eased in his armor) Dows lieth the lar night, And the page he is tuning His cittern aright: Now shrieks a r e the music Thagt’s bo rne on the gust, And the groan of the war-horse Who dies in the dust: Now Spaniards are cheered By the “honor” they love; Now France by the flower That bloometh above; And, indeed, o’er the riot, The steam, and the cloud, Still the Oriflamme floateth  The pride of the proud! What ho! for Kin,, Louis! What ho! for Narbonne! Come, soldiers!‘tis Gacston IV’,qo leadeth se on! I .1 SONG. I.’ II. III.

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SONGS OF BARRY CORPNWALL. Blanche-Countess-and heires – Who loved like the sun, Lies at last by the side Of the heir of Narbonne! ‘Tis Gastom, sour brother, Who wsvethl his hand; Who fiahts, as ye fight, For the vit!e-c(‘verel land! ‘Tis Gastcon!‘tis Gaston! 1The last c-f his name, hVli fi its for swelet France, AnAl will di for her fame! G..Oh Courage!

dost always Pay blo od for a name? True Love! must thou evermore Die for thv fame 7 ‘Twere sweet-could it be That the lover should dwell In the bosom (a heaven! He loveth so well: But, if sot-why then, Death, Be thou just to his worth, And sweep him at once From the scorn of the earth I ‘Come t?,rward CoCone” Ha’ 1h at is doing? He stops!s i1’? wh M.h BE Saint Denis! He st,ttworsr-al d r ops Hlo! i’waq somethin-‘tB.tias -nothinD A shot and a soulihd:l Yet the ever-b iizht heero Li’s low on tlie.roun

He lose(.! his eye-sihlt He losetli his breathHe smiles -Ah! his beauty Is darkened bv death! COURAGE. COURAGE!-Nothing can withstand Long a wronged, undaunted land; If the hearts within her be True unto themselves and thee, Thou, freetl giant, Liberty! Oh! no mountain-nymph art thou, When the helm is on thy brow, An. tle sword is in thy hand, AFighting for thy own good land I Courage!-Nothing e’er withstood Freemen fighting for their good; Armed with all their father’s fame, They will win and wear a name That shall go to endless glory, Like the god,Is (,f old Greek story, Raised to heaven and heavenly wcrth, For the goo’t they gave i earth.

Courage!-There is none so poor, (None of all weho wrong endure,) None so hlible, none so weak, But may flush his father’s cheek; Andl his Maid(lens dear and true, With the (leeds that he may do. Be his days as dark as night, He may make himself a light. What! though sunken be the sun, There are stars when day is done I Courage!-Who will be a slave, That hath strength to dig a grave, And therein his fetters hide, And lay a tyrant by his side? Courage!-Hope, howe’er he fly For a time, can?lever die!

Courage, therefore, brother men! Cry “God! and to the fight again I’ No )ause-net an instantI For wailinz or t o! For the battle still rageth; Still figJlhteth thie foe; Again roar the cannon Again flies the ballAnd the heart of the Spaniard Spouts blood on the Gaul! Strong armor is riven, Proud courage laidl low, find Frenchmen and foemen Are dead at a blow! Oh, the bellowing thunders! The shudders-the shocks! When thousands’!ainst thousands Com,e clashin-g like rocks! Wlhen the rain is all scarlet, And clouls are half fire, knd men’s sinews are snapped Like the threads of a lyre! When each litter’s a hearse, And each bullet a knellWhen each breath is a curse, -And each bosom-a hell! Mourn, Soldiers-he’s dead! The last heir of Narbonne! The b)ravest-the best! But the battle is won! The Spaniards have flown To their fosse-covered tent; And the victors are left To rejoice and lament! They still have Iroud leaders, Still chivalry brave; But the first of their heroes Lies dumb in the grave! SIT down, sad soul, and count The moments flying: Come-tell the sweet amount That’s lost by sighing! How many smiles?-a score? Then laugh, and count no more, For day is dying! They bear him in honor; They laurel his head: But, who meets the pale burthen, And drops by the dead? The Page? No-the WOMAN! Who followed her love, And who’ll follow him still (If it may be)-above; Who’ll watch him, and tend him, On earth, or in sky; Who was ready to live for him Ready to die! ...A month has flown by, On the wines of the year; And a train of sad maidens Droop after a bier: No crown on the coffin  No name on the lidYet the flow’r of all Provence Within it is hid! We dream: do thou the same: We love-for ever; We laugh; yet few we shame The gentle, never. Stay, ttler,: till.Scorrow dies: Then hope -n,] happy skies Are thine for ever! I [) I -i SIT D6WN, SAD SOUL. Lie down, sad soul, and sleep, And no more measure The flight of Time, nor weep: The loss of leisure; But here, by’this lone stream, Lie down with us, and dream Of starry treasure I

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. A HYMN OF EVIL SPIRITS THE Moon is shining on her way, The planets, yet undimmed by sleep, Drink light from the far-flaming day, Who still is hid beyond the deel): But here both men and Spirits weep, And earth all mourneth unto air, Because there liveth nothing fair, Nor great, save on the azure steep. And on that hill of Heaven, none Of human strength or thought may climb; For there bright Angels lie alone, Reposing since the birth of Time. They bask beneath }Iis looks sublime; But naught of ease or hope is here, Where sleep is linked to dreams of fear, And error to the pains of crime. The moon is come-but she shall go; The stars are in their azure nest; The jaded wind shall cease to blow; But when shall WE have hope or rest I Now some are sad, and some are blessed; But what to us is smile or sigh? Though Peace, the white-winged dove, be nigh, It ne’er must be the Spirit’s guest! Behold I The young and glistening Hour Comes riding through the gate of morn, And we awhile must quit our power. And vanish from the world we scorn. Look! Flattering sin begins to dawn From man’s false lips and woman’s eyes, And hopes and hearts are racked and torn In God’s green earthly paradise! SYBILLA! Dost thou love?

Oh, swear! Oh, swear! By those steadfast stars above I By this pure sweet air! By all things true, and deep, and fair t By hearts made rich with love, Made wise by care I Sybilla! I love thee! I swear, I swearBy all bright things that be! By thyself, my fair! By thine eyes, and motions freel By thy sting, thou honey-bee! By thy angel thoughts that flee Singing through the golden air, I swear, I swear! I LOVE all things the seasons bring, All buds that start, all birds that sing, All leaves, from white to jet; All the sweet words that Summer sends, When she recalls her flowery friends, But chief-the Violet! I love, how much I love the rose, On whose soft lips the South-wind blows, In pretty amorous threat; The lily paler than the moon, The odorous wondrous world of June, Yet more-the Violet! She comes-the first, the fairest thing That Heaven upon the earth doth fling, Ere Winter’s star has set: She dwells behind her leafy screen, And gives, as angels give, unseen: So, love-the Violet! Sybilla! dost thou frown? Beware, beware! If scorn thy beauty crown, I fly-yet where? Why are thine eyes withdrawn? Why dost thou turn, thou fawn? Look on me, like the dawn On weeping air! She smiles-Oh, Beauty bless’d, Take take me to thy breast, And cure all care! What modest thoughts the Violet teaches, What gracious boons the Violet preaches, Bright maiden, ne’er forget! But learn, and love, and so depart, And sing thou, with thy wiser heart, ”

Long live the Violet!” THOU HAST LOVE WITHIN THINE EYES, THOU hast love within thine eyes, Though they be as dark as night; And a pity (shown by sighs) Heaveth in that bosom white; What is all the azure light Which the flaoxen beauties show, If the scorn be sharp and bright, Where the tender love should glow? Do I love thee?Lady, no! I was born for other skies, Where the palmy branches grow, And the unclouded mornings rise; There(when sudden evening dies) I will tll l of thee, bef ore The beauty of Dionie’s eyes, And she shall love thee evermore! A REPROACH. Look gently on me! Thou dost move (Yet why?) thine eyes away! Dost dream that I could harm thee, Love, Or thy sweet soul betray? Know better! Some may seek their end, Through all bad deeds that be: But I-beyond the world thy friend Can never injure thee! My love, my wo, I not deny; And I caen lot from them flee: But-if thou bi,.l:test-I can die Far far awar from thee!

i: I li II 578 BEAUTY. PAINTEns-Poets-who can teU What Beaut- is bi-ight miracle? Sometimes brown and sometimes white, She shifts from darkness into light, Swimming on with,:uch fine ease, That we miss her small degrees, Knowing not that she hath ranged, Till we find her sweetly changed. They are poets false who say That Beauty Trust be fair as day, And that the rich red rose On her cheek for ever glows, Or that the cold white lily lieth On her breast, and never ffieth. Beauty is not so unkind, Not so niggard, not so blind, Vs yield her favor but to one, When she may walk unconfined, Associate with the unfettered Wind And w.%nder with the sun. No; she spreads her gifts, her grace, O’er every color, every face.

She can laugh, and she can breathe Freely where she Will-beneath Polar darkness, tropic star, Impoverished Delhi, dark Babir, And aR the regions bright and far, Where India’s sweet-voiced women are I SYBILLA. TIIE

VIOLET. I 1,

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GOFBRYCRALL. 57Y They left,‘tis said, their proud unburied bones To whiten on this unacknowledged shore: Yet naught beside the rocks and worn sea-stones, Now answer to the great Pacific’s roar! A MIDSUMIM_ER FANCY.

Co.’:e hither! Let thou and I Alount on the dolphin, Pleasure, And dive through the azure air! WoulJ’t not be fine-would’t not be rare, To live in that sweet, sweet sea, the airThat ocean which hath no measure, .No peril, no rocky shore, (But only its airy, airy stream%, And as singing stars, and its orbed dreams,) For ever and ev-trmore! A mountain stands whe re Agamemnon died, And Cheops hath derived eternal fame, Because he made his tomb a place of pride: An)(I thus the dead Metella earned a name. But these-they vanished as the lightnings die (Tleir mischietfs over) in the aftrighted earth; And no one knowethli underneath the sky, Whanit lher h oes perished here, nor whene their birth! W’TIS BETRTER WE LAUGH THAN

WEEP. Of its wild and its ch,‘mging weather MWhat matter-liow foul,r fair?

We will ever be ~ounal together: Ah! then, sweet ILo,e, wihat care, Whether we haunt on the earth or air? In ocean or inland stream? a Or are lost in some endless, endless dream’ Or are bodiless made, like the tender sprite Of Love, who watch’(1 me but yesternight, With moon-flowers white on her whiter brow, And smiled and sighed, In her sad sweet pride, As Thou, fair girl! dost now. W’i-Y, why doth sour music grieve in passion so grave and deep? Ah! sweet M,lusicians, believe, ‘,ris better we laugh than weep. Say, say-both grave and gay, Should we not laugh, whente’er we may?

Thro’ day and night, thro’ night and day I Life, life has its share of pain; Yet for ever why weep or fear? Since the Past ne’er cometh again, And To-morrow is not yet here? IN earlier days, in happier hours, I watched and wandered v4th the Sun: I saw him when the East was red; I saw him when the day was deadAll his earthly journey done!, Looks of love were in the West, But he passed-and took no rest! O’er the immeasurable blue, Across the rain, amid the blast, Onward and onward, like a God, Through the trackless air he trod, Scattering bounties as he passed By the portals of the WestAnd never shut his eyes in rest! A DRINKING SONG. DRINK, and fill the night with mirth Let us have a mighty measure, Till we quite forget the earth, And soar into the world of pleasure. Drink, and let a health go round, (‘Tis the drinker’s noble duty,) To the eyes that shine and wound, To the mouths that bud in beauty I Oh, how-in those too happy hours-A How deeply then did I adore The bright unwearied sleepless Sun, And wish, just thus, my course to runFrom sea to sea, from shore to shore, My deeds thus good, thus known, thus bright, Thus undisturbed by rest or night. But now-since I have heard and seen The many cares that trouble life, The evil that requiteth good, The benefits not understood, Unfilial, unpaternal strife, The hate, the lie, the bitter jest! feel how sweet are night and rest! Fill the deep-mouthed glasses high! Let them with the champaign tremble. Like the loose wrack in the sky, When the four wild winds assemble! Here’s to all the love on earth, (Love, the young man’s, wise man’s, treasure t) Drink, and fill your throats with mirth! Drink, and drown the world in pleasure. And, oh! what morning ever looked So lovely as the quiet eve, When low and fra grant w inds arise, And draw the curtains of the skies, And gentle songs of summer weaveSuch as between the alders creep, ANow, and sooth my soul to steep! t,N SOME HUMAN BONES, FOUND ON A HEAD LAND IN THE BAY OF PANAMA. .AGUE Mystery hangs on all these desert places! The fear which hath no name, hath wrought a spell!

-l’trength, courage, wrath-have been, and left no traces! They came-and fled: but whither? Who can tell? ‘Ale know but that they were-that once (in days When ocean was a bar’twixt man and man) 3tout spirits wandered o’er these capes and bays, And perished where these river waters ran, M~.t,inks they should have built some mighty tomb, Whose granite might endure the century’s rain(‘cIh winter, and the sharp) night winds, that boom T,ilie Sl)irilts in their purgatorial pain. I I II I II I I i iI i Ii I I i I I I i I SON GS OF BARRY CORNW i I Ii II ,i iI i i PAST AND

PRESENT. All, all that is quite our own, Is the minute we touch to-day, And that, while we speak, is flown, And bearetli its ills away I So, let not your music grieve In melodies grave nor deep; For, dear Musicians, believe, ‘Tis better we laugh than weep I Here’s to Helen! Why, ah! why Doth she fly from my pursuing? ‘Here’s to Marian, cold and shy! May she warm before thy wooing! Here’s to Janet! I’ve been eler, Boy and man, her stanch d nder, Always sworn that she was fair, Always known that she was tender! SISTER, I CAN NOT READ TO-DAY. SISTER, I can not read to day!

Before my eyes the letters stream; Now-one by one-they fade away, Like shadpws in a dream: ,kll seems a fancy, half forgot; Sweet sister, do I dream or not? I can not work; I can not rest; I can not sing-nor think, to day; The wil(I heart payiteth in my breast, As t.oiigli Itwould break away. Why-wberefore-Ah, gii-I! ease my wo., And tell me-why he tarrieth so!

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. SONG FOR OUR FATHER LAND. HURRAII! Here’s a health to the land, Brave brothers, wherein we were born; Here’s a health to the friend that we love! Here’s a heart for the man that’s forlorn! Let us drink unto all, Who help us or lack us, F’rom the chil(l and the poor man, To Ceres and Bacchus; AntI to Plenty (thrice over!) not bforgetting her horsl Here’s a health to the StFln in the sky; To the corn-to tlhe fruit in the ground; To the fishi o the lIi-iite-to the bird; To the vine-may it spread and abound I To good fellows and friends Whfoin w.- love or who love us, o Far o ff lu, or ne:. -r us, Beliow, or aboze us; -For t fii,aii is a fem, wheresoever he’s found! Here’s a ctIre cn h)a, 1 itti s that are past! Were tl.ov L-etltX-r ht now they’re no more. So here’s to a llay it lestt! An(i:t l.elth to 1-; i Tur,T;a-thrice o’er! TIay the hltoe) that we look upon ,Never deceive us! Ahay the Spirit of good NYeder t i l i us or leave us; But st,indl up lile a liiend that is true to the core Ambition-h lay it in dust! Revenge-‘tis a snake; let it die! And for Pride-let it fee(il on a crust, Though sweet Pity look out from the sky! But WVisdom and Hope, And the hotiest endeavor  May they smile on us now, And stand by us for ever, Fast friends, wheresoever the tempest shall fly I RIVER OF

THE MORN. RIVER of the morn! Fast thou rlowest and bright; From the sundered East thou flowest, Bearing down the Night: Every cloud thy beauty drinketh; Darkness from thy current shrinketh; Leaving the Heavens empty quite, For’the conquering Light!’ O, the Thought new-born! Lovely’tis, and bright; Like some jewel of the morni, Nursed in frozen night. But it treIibleth soon and groweth And dissolved in splendor floweth, (Lilke the flooding dawn that pouts O’er and o’ier the cloldy shores,) Till blind Ignorance wings her flight From the conquiering Light! O, ye Thoughts ef youth., L,ong since flown away! What ye want in truth. Ye in love repay!

Though in slhado-‘ forests hidden, Like the bird that’s lost and chidden, Back again with all your songs, Y d oe do come and sooth our wrongs, Till the unburthencd heart doth soar Wiser than before! SoNG should breathe of scents and flowers; Song should like a river flow; Song should bring back scenes and hours That we loved-ah, long ago! Song from baser thoughts should win as; Song should charm us out of wo; Song should stir the heart within us, Like a patriot’s friendly blow. Pains and pleasures, all man doeth, War and peace, and right and wrongAll things that the soul subdueth Shoulid be vanquished, too, by Song. TO THE’ SNOW-DROP PRETTY firstling of the year! Herald of the host of flowers, Hast thou left my cavern drear, In the hope of summer hours? Back unto my earthern bowers I Back to thy warm world below, Till the strength of suns and showers Quell the now relentless snow! Art still here?-Alive? and blythe? Though the storiiy night hath fled, And the’Frost hath passed his scythe O’er thy small unsheltered head? Ah!-some lie amid the dead, (Many a giant stubborn tree, TMany a plant, its spirit shed,) That were better nursed than thee! What hath saved thee? Thou wast not ‘Gainst the arrowy winter furred, Armed in scale-but all forgot When the frozen winds were stirred Nature, who doth clothe the bird, Should have hid thee in the earth, Till the cuckoo’s song was heard, And the Spring let loose her mirth. Nature-eep and mystic word, Mighty mother, still unknown I Thou diist sure the Snow-drop gird With an armor all thine own! Thou, who senit’st it forth alone To the cold and sullen season, (Like a thought at random thrown,) Sent it thus for some grave reason! If’twere but to pierce the mind With a, single gentle thought, Who shall dleem thee harsh or blind? Who that thou hast vainly wrought Hoard the gentle vir,tue caiught From the Snow-dr-op-rea(lder wise Good( is goorl, wherever tau.ght, On the ro,3n(] fir in the skies! Song should spur the mind to duty; Nerve the weak,,tr nd stir tile strong: Every deed of truth and beauty Should be crowned by starry Song! I DIE FOR

THY SWEET LOVE. A hundred men are near thee now Each one, perhaps, surpassing me: But who doth feel a thousandth part Of what I feel for thee? They look on thee, as men will look Who’round the wild world laugh and rove: I only think how sweet’twould be To die for thy sweet love! WHAT

USE IS ALL THE LOVE I BEAR THEE? WHAT use is all thle love I bear thee, Without thy sweet return? What use in Fate’s coldl patient lesson, Which my soul can no,t learn? I love thee-as, they tell in story, Men love in burning climes: And I let loose my wild heart before thee, In burning, burningi rhymes Were’t not for this, my chafers Spirit Wouild burst its bonds and flee! And Thou? Ah, yes, thy Gentle heart Woul,,Ill g-ive a thought to mn:.’ I I I i I i I li ii 11 i! , I i I .1 i I I I I I I I I I I I ii I I ii i I I i i i ii 5so i II I i i I I I I SONG SHOUI,D BREATHE.

I Dip, for thy sweet love! The ground Not panteth so frr summer rain, As I for one soft look of thine: And yet-I sigh in vain!

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SONGS OF BARRY CORNWALL. WILT THOU LEAVE ME? WILT thou leave me? I did give All my fond true heart to thee, Dreaming thou might’st scorn it riot; And canst thou abandon me? II. FOR A TEMPLE OF ASCULAPIUS. IN this high nook, built all by mortal hand, An Epidaurian Temple, here I stand Sacred to himn who drives away disease, And gives to all who seek him health and ease! I stand devoted to the God of healthTo 2Esculapiuis old; built by the wealth Of grateful men, who owe to his rare skillb Life, ease, and all that Fortune spares then p;11, I have loved-oh lover, why Must I all my fondness teil? Do not-do not bid me die At thy cruel word-” Farewell.” IN

CO1MM.EMORATION Ol’ HAYDN. COME forth, victoricus Sou 1ts-froin harp and horn, From viol, and trunfp, and echoing instruments! A hundred years have flown! A hundred years, Of toil and strite, of joys atni i tear,s, Have risen to life, and died’raid vain laments, Since that harmonious morn, Whi eon tlhe M-use’s migl’ty Son was born I Sound-Immortal Music, sound! Bid the golden words go’round! Every heart and tongue, proclaim Haydn’s power!

I-Haydn’s fame! Sing-how well he earned his glory I Sin, how he shall live in story! Sing-how he doth live in light; Shining like ~1 star above us, BenJing down to cheer anad love us Crowned with his own divine delight! Sound Immortal Music, sound! B d thy golden words go’round! IlI.

l’ or A STREAMLET. TRAVELLI-:R, note! Although I seem But a little sparkling stream, I come from regions where the sun Dwelleth when his toil is doneFrom yon proud hills in the West. Thence I come, antl never rest,.

Till (curling round the mountain’s feet) I find myself’mid pastures sweet, Vernal, green, and ever gay; And then I gently slide a,way, A thing of silence-till I cast My life into the sea at last! iV. FOR AN ANTIQUE

DRINKING CUP. S DRInK! If tlhou find’st nmy round all filled with wine, S

Which lifts menii’s creeping thoughts to dreams divine, , Drink, and becomre a God! Anacreon old Once quenched his mighty thirst trom out my gold: Rich was I, red, and brimnming;-but he laughed, And (tasting sparely) drained me at a draught. Bacchanal! If thou lov’st the Teian’s fiame, Take courage-grasp me fast-and strait do Thou the same I SHE SATE

BY THE RIVER SPRINGS. SHE sate by the river springs, Dream, And bound her coal-black hair; And she sang, as the cuckoo sings, Gaterg Alone-in the Evening air, Iithin With a patient smile, and a look of care, TheI t hAnd a cheek that was dusk, not fair: She sate, but her thoughts had wings, That carried her sweet despair Away to the azure plains, Where Truth and the angels are: She sang-but she sang in vain: Ah! why doth she sing again? She mourns, like the sweet wind grieving in NotI atThe pines on an autumn night; She will fade, like the fading Evening, NotI a hWhen Hesper is blooming bright: Not] teAnd her song?-it must take its flight! But ~So pretty a song Must die ere long, Like a too, too sharp delight! Every grand and gentle tone, Every truth he made his own; Gathering from the human mind All the bloom that poets findGathering, from the winds and ocean, Dreams, to feed his high emotion. When the M\use was past controlGathering, from all things that roll Within Time’s vast and starry round, The thoughts that give a Soul to sound! ON THE PORTRAIT OF A CHILD.

A YEAR an age shall fade away, (Ages of pleasure and of pain) And yet the face I see to-day For erer shall remain In my heart and in my brain! Not all the scalding tears of care Shall wasll away that vision fair; Not all the thotusanil thoughts that rise, Not all the sights that dim mine eyes, Shall e’er usurp the place Of that little angel face! M But here it shall remain r.)r ever; and if joy or pain Turn my troubled winter gaze Back unito my hawthorn days, There-amnong the hoarded past, I shall see it to the last; The only thing, save poet’s rhyme, That shall not own the touch of’ Time I She was-like the rose in summer; She is-like the lily frail; Yet, they’ll welcome the sweet new.-comer, Below, in the regions pale! And the ghost will forget his pain, As he roams through the dusk alone: And We?-We will mourn in vain, O’er the Shadow of beauty flown! WILT THOU GO?

WILT thou go? Thou’lt come again? Swear it, Love, by love’s sweet pain! Sw ear it, by thmr stari, that glisten Iil thy brow a-s thou dost listen!

Swear it, by the love-sick air, Wandering, mrurmturing, here and there, Seekini, for so,Tfic tende,l,r Lest. ‘f’t like l:et.’, can revel rest.

S.c’.a r (l-e-(,:l I so:,II sour be A r,:i l t, X.; s(.vc., m,ti r!s.l INSCRIPTIONS. I. FOR A FOUNTAIN. REST! This little Fountain runs Thus for aye:-It never stays For the look of summer suns, Nor the cold ocf wsinter dlavs. Whosoe’er shall wander near, When the So.yrian heat is worst, L,t hire, hitihe l, tne, ni)r fear Loest he m!. n, slug; his thirst i,e wDill fin4I t!if?e,iver L’,nmai< still a t i:i as ever. i I i 11 i I I I i i I I I I I!I 581 Let him drink, and onward hie, Bearing but in thought that 1, EP.OTAS, bade the Naiad fall, And thank the great god Pan for all I I have loi-ed-oh, word of love, Bear me to tliy star of’ bliss, Let nie know it’

worlds above Can requite the pain of this? I ,I I i i i I i

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582 TH MRORLI YTHE GOLDEN-TRESSED ADELAIDE. TELL me, what is a poet’s thought? Is it on the sudden born? Is it from the star-light caught? Is it by the tempest taught? Or:by whispering morn? Ax SONG FOR A CHILD. SING, I pray, a little song, Mother dear! Neither sad nor very long: It is for a little maid, Golden-tressled Adelaide! Therefore let it suit a merry, merry ear, Mother dear! Let it be a merry strain, Mother dear! Shunning e’en the thought of pain: For our gentle child will weep, If the theme be dark and deel)p; And re will not draw a single single tear, Mother dear!

Childhood should be all divine, Mother dear! And like an endless summer siine;o Gay as Edward’s shouts and cries, Bright as Agnes’ azure eyes: Therefore, bid thy song be merry:-dost thou hear, Mother dear? TO A LADY

ATTIRING HERSELF. FOR whom-(too happy for the earth or skies!) Dost thou adorn thee with such restless care t Or veil the star-light beauty of thine eyes? Or bind in fatal wreaths thy golden hair? He dies who looks on thee-as I have died, (Love’s ghost and victim) slain by thy cold pride He dies, oh! he mnust die-but will he wander (As I have done) for ever round thy door? Or on thy deadly beauty dream and ponder, (As I still dream) for ever and evermore? LovE fi,s, fond wretch, across the desert air; Pursued by passionate thouglhts and phantom fears, His tender heart, thotugh young, the hoine of care, His eyes (now hidden) blind with mnany tears: To what less hopeless region can he flee, Sweet and gentle Iole! TeLl ne, and bid me fly; and tell me, too, Why Love goes weeping when he looks at thee?

Why do his eyes, like mine, forsake Heaven’s blue? Why can we n othing see, Save that one spot of earth where Thou mayst be? WILT thou remember me when I am gone Gone to that leaden darkness, where men lie, Shut out from friends, in chambers all of stone Waiting my summons from the awful sky? Think of me, sometimes, sweet!-all cold, all pale, Beyond the power of pain-a Spirit taken By Death to regions where no hearts awaken; Where no hopes haunt us-no wild sorrows wailWhere even thy love itself can then no more avail I Give me one smile, sweet heart!-for my eyes now Grow dim, like Love’s, with tears; and I could fade Beneath the beauty of thy gentle brow, Into the everlasting fatal shade, Where cold Oblivion near pale Death is laid, Could I but win one tender thought from thee, Sweet-sweet lole! I Go-and she doth miss me not! So shall I die, and be forgotForgot, as is some sorrow past, Or cloud by fleeting sickness cast. Death, and the all-absorbing tomb, Will hide me in eternal gloom; And she will liveas gay-alone, As though I had been never known! I ‘Tis well, perhaps, that this should be; ‘Tis surely well sad thoughts should flee! Nor would I wish-when I am hid Underneath th e coffin’s lidThat thou shouldst spoil onte blooming thought for me, Fair and for-aye-beloved Iole! I dream of thee at noon, When the summer sun is high, And the river sings a sleepy tune, And the woods give no reply. I dream of thee at eve, Beneath the fading sun, When even the winds begin to grieve; And I dream till day is done. I dream of thee at night, When dreams, men say, are free; Alas, thou dear-too dear delight.! When dream I not of thee? ToUcH us gently, Time!

Let us glide adown thy stream Gently-as we sometimes glide Through a quiet dream! Humble voyagers are We, Husband, wife, and children three(One is lost-an angel, fled To the azure overhead!) Touch us gently, Time! We’ve not proud nor soaring wings, Outr ambition, our content, Lies in simple things. Humble voyagers are We. O’er Life’s dim unsounded sea, Seeking only some calm clie;Touch us genily, genile Time! SWEET be her dreams, the fair, the young Grace, beauty, breathe upon her! Music, haunt thou about her tongue! Life, fill har path with honor! .-l golden thoughts, all wealth of lays, Truth, Friendship, Love, sur-ound he So may she smile till life be closed, And Angel hands have crowned her! ‘F I i I It i, I I i, 11

!I ii I! II I I ill I I i I I: I I I i MIRROR LIBRARY. A POET’S THOUGHT.

Was it cradled in the brain? Chained awhile, or nursed in night? Was it wrought with toil and pain Did it blooi-n and fade again, Ere it bilrst to light I No more question of its birth: Rather lo-%-e its better part! ‘Tis a tliing of’sky an(] earth, Gathering all its golden wor,h From the Poet’s heart. i i i i il i I I I I 11 !I 11 LOVE FLYING. WILT THOU REME.NTBER ME?

I GO, AND SITE DOTH MISS ME NOT! A DREAMER’S SONG. I DRFAM of thee at morn, When all the earth is gay, Save 1, wlio live a lil’e forlorn, And die thro’ a long decay. A PETITION TO’MME. WISHES. i

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SONGS OF BARRY CORNWALL. 583 ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. HARK I the world is rent asunder: Nations are aghast; and kings (Mingi]ag in the common wonder) Shake, like humbler things. Onily thou art left alonze, Nap,oleon!

Napoleon! HxITH.ER come, at close of day, And o’er this dust, sweet Mothers, pray I A little infant lies within, Who never knew the name of sin, Beloved-bright-and all our own; Like morning fair-and sooner flown I Plague, from out her trance awaking, Quits her ancient hot domain; And War, the statesman’s fetters breaking, Shouts to thee-in vain! Both to thee (are ntow uinknownYI, Napoleon! Napoleon! No leaves or garlands wither here, Like those in foreign lands; No marble hides our dear one’s bier, The work of alien hands: The months it lived, the name it bore, The silver telleth-nothing more! No more;-yet Silence stalketh round This vault so dim and deep, And Death keeps watch without a sound, Where all lie pale and slen sle p; But palest here and latest hill, Is fire-beneath this coffin-lid. He who rode War’s fiery billows Once, and ruled their surges wild, Now beneath Helena’s willows Sleepeth-like a child! Ill thy soarin spirit flown: Nlapoleont! Napoleon! In his grave the warrior sleepeth, Humbly laid, and half forgot, And naught, besides the willow, weepeth O’er that silent spot! Calm it is, aced all thieve own; Napoleon!

Napoleon! How fair he was-how very fair What dreams we pondered o’er, Making his life so long and clear, His fortune’s flowing o’er; Our hopes-(that he would happy be, When we ourselves were old,) The scenes we saw, or hoped to see They’re soon and sadly told. But-what columns teach his merit? What rich ermines wrap him round?None;-His proud and plumed Spirit Crowns alone the ground! Proud and pale, anid all alone, Lies the dead Napoleon! All was a dream!-it came and fled, And left us he*, among the dead! Pray, Mothers, pray, at close of day, While we, sad parents, weep alway! Pray, too (and softly be’t and long), That all your babes, now fair and strong, May blossom like-tot like the rose, For that doth fade when summer goes(‘Twas thus o7ur pretty infant died, The summer and its mother’s pride!) But, like some stern enduring tree, That reacheth its green century, May grow, may flourish-then decay, After a long, calm, happy day, Made happier by good deeds to men, And hopes in heaven to meet again! Pray!From the happy, prayer is due; While we(‘tis all we now can do!) Will check our tears, and pray with you. A PRAYER IN SICI~NESS. SEND down thy winged angel, God! Amid this night so wild; And bid him come where now we watch, And breathe upon our child! She lies upon her pillow, pale, And moans within her sleep, Or wakeneth with a patient smile, And striveth,Iot to weep. How gentle and how good a child She is, we know too well, And dearer to her parents’ hearts, Than our weak words can tell. We love-we watch throughout the night, To aid, when need may be; We hope-and have despaired, at times; Buit,ow we turn to Thee! Send down thy sweet-souled angel, God! Amid the darkness wild, And bid him sooth our souls to-nightW And heal our gentle child! Youth, beauty, fade-like summer roses; Sad music sadder love discloses; Dark Care in darker death reposes I All’s vain! the rough world careth not For thee-for me-for our dark lot.

We love, Sweet, but to be forgot! We love-and meet the world’s sharp scorn; We live-to die some common morns Unknown, unwept, and still forlorn I Why, dear one, why-why where we born? TO A VOYAGER. MY Love is journeying o’er the sea, God guard her on the deep! And force the Ocean harms to flee, And bid the tempests sleep. To-night she leaves our English strand, To sail unto the Indian land! She goes, all ignorant of my love!

And fit it thus should be! For why should waves or winds above Bear hopeless sighs from me? ‘Tis better I should bear-in vain, Than she should answer-pain for pain! Bright Stars, look gently on her sleep! Sweet guardian Heaven, enfold her round; And q,iell a1l madness in the deep; AnTI hbanl from the air its sound!’ (f)’,! hzar- ler firom all ill-l trite; A:’.!l h!uss he thr(>u’,! thl:e! ure of life! DREAD’ST thou lest thou shouldst die unknown What matter? All the strength of Fame And Death have this poor power alone To give thee an uncertain fame. The critic dull andl envious bard Will (quiarrel o’er thine ashes dear; Tliat p-lst thly sinigle sad reward BiTst lie some lonely lover’s’ezt{ I i I II i I I NAPOLEON. SONG FROM A PLAY. WHY art thou, Love! so fair, so young Why is that sad sweet music hung, For ever, on thy gentie tongue? Why art thou fond? Why art thou fair? Why sitteth, in thy soft eye, Care? Why smillst thou in such sweet despair I TO A POETESS. I li I ii i i I i

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. i t!EfTHINKS, I fain would lie by the lone Sea, And hear the waters their white music weave I Methinks it were a pleasant thing to grieve, So that our sorrows might companioned be, By that strange harmony Of winds and billows, and the living sound Sent down firom Heaven when the Thunder speaks. Unto the listening shores and torrent creeks, a3

When the swoll’n sea dotli strive to bursts his bound I Methinks, when tempests come and kiss the Ocean, Until the vast and terrible billows wake, I see the writhing of that curled snake, Which men of old believed-and my emotion WVarrcth within me, till the fable reigns G-od of’

my fancy, and my curdling veins Do homage to that serpent old, Which clasped the great world in its fold, And brooded over earth, and the charmed sea, Like endless, restless, drear Eternity! AN EPITAPH. HE. died, and left the world behind! His once wild heart is cold! His once keen eye is quelled and blind! What more?His tale is told. Tori bws,Nig ht!‘t is Night! tile Hour of hours, When Love lies down with folded wings, By Psyche in her starless bowers, And down his htatl arrows flingsThose bowers whence not a sound is heard, Save only fromn the bridal bird, WVho’Inid that utter darkness sings: This her burthen soft and clearLove is here! Love is here! ‘Tis Nioght! The mi oon i s on the stream Bright spells are on the soothed sea And Hope, the cl il1, is gone to dream, Of plea.Stares which may never be! And now is haggard Care asleep; ,Now doth the widow Soirrow smile; An,] slaves are huslhedt in slumber deep, Forgetting grief and toil awhile! What sight can fiery morning show To shame the stars or p)ale moonlight What bounty can the day bestow,A Likf that which falls from gentle Night Sweet Lady, sing I not aright? Oh!

turn and tell me-tor the day Is faint and fading fist away; And now comes back the Hour of hours, When Love his lovelier mistress seeks, And sighls, like winds’mong evening flowers, Until the mailen Silence speaks! He came, and, baring his heaven-bright thought, He earned the base Womld’s ban: And-having vainly lived and taught, Gave place to a meaner man! Fair girl, irethinks-nay, hither turn Those eyes, which’mid their blushes burnMethinks, at such a time one’s heart Can letter bear both sweet and smart-. Love’s look-the first-which never dieth, Or Death-who comes when Beauty flieth, When strength is slain, when youth is past, And all, save TRUTH, is lost at last I “I seek what thou canst value not, What thou canst never seeSoft eyes, by all but me forgot, Which here-ay, on this dark cold spot, Bent their last look on me!” CmIL of my heart! My sweet beloved Firstborn! Thou dove who tidings bring’st of calmer hours! Thou rainbow who dulost shine when all the sho-xers Are past-or passing! Rose wh.ich hath no tbhorn No spot, no blemish-pure, and unforlorn! Untouched, untainted! O, my Flowr of flowers! More welcome than to bees are summer bowers, To stranded seamen life-assuring morn! Welcome-a thousand welcomes! Care, who clings ‘Round all, seems loosening now its serpent fold: New hope sprinns upward; and the bright world seems Cast back into a youth of endless springs! Sweet mother, is it so?-or grow I old Bewildered in divine Elysian dreams? 4ovpmber, 1825. A PARTING SONG. WILT thou leave thy home so kind, For the Ocean wild? Canst thou leave me, old and blind, Untender child? Dost thou think the storms above thee Will respect my son?

Dost thou dream the world will love thee As I have done? Boy, through nights and years I’ve nursed thee, How-thy heart should tell, Ind (come what will) I have not cursed thee: And so-farewell! A FAREWELL.

FAREWELL!-Now Time must slowlier move Than e’er since this dark world began; And thou wilt give thy heaven of love Unto another, happier man!

And then-I never more will see Those eyes-but hide, far off, my pain: And thou wilt have forgotten me, Or smile thou see’st me not again. SWErET sights, sweet scents, sweet sounds, All to my sweet Love hie: Some go their viewless rounds; Some sail before her eye; But the sweetest-oh! the sweetest, Deep in her bosom lie! The violet comes to woo her, With an eye like Heaven above; Night’s sweet bird mourns unto her; Soft winds all round her rove; And tender-tenderest thoughts pursue hoe, With a voice as sweet as love! 11 ! I 584 A NIGHT SONG. SEASHORE STANZAS. A QUESTION AND

REPLY .44 WIIAT is there on this dark cold baiik, That thou so long hast sought? Methiiiks these briers and rushes dankThis hollow, with the wild grass rank, Show nothing worth a thought!” TO ADELAIDE. A CONCEIT. Live happy, in thy happier lot: A-.id I will strive (if’t so must be) To think’tis well to be forgot, Since it may keep a pang from thee!

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INTRODUCTORY REMARKS TO PINKNEY’S POEMS. WHAT poetry would be in a world where Toil were not the Siamesed twin ol Excellence-(in other words, where man had not fallen) ” is a curious question, coz!” T he wild horse runs very well in the prairie, but we give our admiration to the “good continuer” by toilsome training. Whether the fairicant an gels, who “sit in the clouds,” admire most the objectless careerings of h e wild steed, or the arrowy endurance of the winner of the sweepstakeswhether the fragmentary poetry dashed off while the inspiration is on, and checked, ill-finishled, when the whim evaporates, be more celestial than the smoothl and complete product of painful toil and disciplined concentration I hav e had m y luxurious doubts. Pinkney’s genius, as evidenced on paper, has all the impulsive abandonment which marked his character and course of life. He was a born poet-with all needful imagination, discrimination, perception, and sensibility; and he had besides the flesh-and-bloodfulness necessary to keep poetry on terra firmna. Several of his productions have become common airknown and enjoyed by everybody, but without a name. The songs begin ning “I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness alone,” ” We break the glass whose – acred wine To some beloved health we drain, Lest future pledges, less divine, Should e’er the hallow’d toy profane; &nd thus I broke a heart that pour’d Its tide of feelings out for thee,” etc.

Page 586 view page image rHE MIRROR LIBRARY. These and two or three others of Pinkney’s “entire and perfect chrysolites” should be re-graven withl his name, for the world owes his memory a debt foi theiJt.. Tlhe sinall volume of hIis poetry from which the Mirror Library edition Is copied, w%as printed in 1825, and has been long lost sight of. It containsnot tLe stuff for a classic-but a delicious bundle of heart-touchlling passages, freshi, peculiar, and invaluable more especially to lovers, whose sweetest and best interpreter Pinkney was. Every man or woman who has occasion to embroider a love-letter with the very essence-flowers of passionate verse, should possess a copy of Pinkney’s Poems BG6

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MISCELLANEOUS POE’,MS EDWARD C. PINKNEY. THE INDIAN’S BRIDE. WHYi is that graceful female here With yon red hunter of the deer? Of gentle mien anlid shape, she seems For civil halls designed, Yet with the stately savage walks As she were of his kind. Look oin her leafy diadem, Enriched with many a floral gem: Those simple ornaments about Her candid brow, disclose The loitering Spring’s last violet, And Summer’s earliest rose: But not a flower lies breathing there, Sweet as herself, or half so fair. Exchanging lustre with the sun, A part of day she strays A glancing, living, human smile, On nature’s face she plays. KNOw’sT thou the land which lovers ought to choose 7 Like blessings there descend the sparkling dews; In gleaming streams the crystal rivers run, The purple vintage clusters in the sun; Odours of flowers haunt the balmy breeze, Rich fruits hang high upon the vernant trees; And vivid blossoms gem the shady groves, Whe e bright-plumed birds discourse their careless loves. Beloved!-speed we from this sullen strand Until thy light feet press that green shore’s yellow sand. Look seaward thence, and naught shall meet thine eye But fairy isles, like paintings on the sky And, flying fast and free before the gale, The gaudy vessel with its glancing sail; And waters glittering in the glare of noon, Or touched with silver by the stars and moon, Or flecked with broken lines of crimson light When the far fisher’s fire affronts the night. Lovely as loved! towards that smiling shore Bear we our household gods, to fix for evermore. Intent to blend with his her lot, Fate formed her all that he was not; And, as by mere unlikeness thoughts Associate we see, Their hearts from very difference caught A perfect sympathy. The household goddess here to be Of that one dusky votary,She left her pallid countrymen, An earthling most divine, And sought in this sequestered wood A solitary shrine. Behold them roaming hand in hand, Like night and sleep, along the land; Observe their movements:-he for ha Restrains his active stride, While she assumes a bolder gait To ramble at his side: Thus, even as the steps they frame, Their souls fast alter to the same. The one forsakes feroc;ity, And IDorllently grows mild; The other tempers more and more The artful with the wild. She humanizes him, and be Educates her to liberty. [t looks a dimple on the face of earth, Tie seal of beauty, and the shrine of mirth; Nature is delicate and graceful there, The place’s genius, feminine and fair: The winds are awed, nor dare to breathe aloud; The air seems never to have borne a cloud, Safe where volcanoes send to heaven their curled And solemn smokes, like altars of the world. Thrice beautiful!-to that delightful spot Carry our married hearts, and be all pain forgot. T tere Art too shows, when Nature’s beauty palls, Her sculptured marbles, and her pictured walls; And there arc forms in which they both conspire To whisper themes that know not how to tire: The speaking ruins in that gentle clime Have but been hallowed by the hand of Time, And each can mutely prompt some thought of flameThle meanest stone is not without a name. Then come, beloved!-hasten o’er the sea To build ouir happy hearth in blooming Italy. I IIHE or ITALY. 1. L II. Can none instrmt me what are these Companions of the lofty trees? II. Ill. [V.

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588 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. But yet, methinks, that sunny smile familiar stories tells, And I should kno.v those placid eyes, two shaded crystal wells; Nor can my soul, the liirner’s art attesting v ithl a sigh, Forget the blood that decked thy cheek, as rosy clouds the sky. Oh, say not they must soon be old, Their limbs prove faint, their breasts feel cold! Yet envy I that sylvan pair, More than my words express, The singular beauty of their lot, And seenling happiness. They have not been reduced to share The painful pleasures of despair: Their sun declines not in the sky Nor are their wishes cast, Like shadows of the afternoon, Repining towards the past: Withi naught to dread, or to repent, The present yields them full content. In solitude there is no crime; Their actions are all free, And passion lends their way of life The only dignity; And how should they have any cares?Whose interest contends with theirs? They could not semble what thou art, more excellent than fair, As soft as sleep or pity is, and pure as mountain-air; But here are common, earthly hues, to such an aspect w rought, That none, save thine, can seem so like the beautiful of The song I sing, thy likeness like, is painful mimicry Of something better, which is now a memory to me, Who have upon life’s frozen sea arrived the icy spot, Where men’s magnetic feelings show their guiding task forgot. The sportive hopes, that used to chase their shifting shad ows on, Like children playing in the sun, are gone-forever gone; And on a careless, sullen peace, my double-fronted mind, Like Janus when his gates were shut, looks forward and The world, or all they know of it, Is theirs:-for them the stars are lit; For them the earth beneath is green, The heavens above are bright; For them the moon doth wax and wane, And decorate the night; For them the branches of those trees Wave music in the vernal breeze; For them upon that dancing spray The free bird sits and sings, And glitt’ring insects flit about Upon delighted wings, For them that brook, the brakes among, Murmurs its small and drowsy song; For them the many-coloured clouds Their shapes diversify, And change at once, like smiles and frowns, Th’ expression of the sky. For them, and by them, all is gay, And fresh and beautiful as they: The images their minds receive, T heir m inds assimilate, To outward forms imparting thus The glory of their state.

Could aught be painted otherwise Than fair, seen through her star-bright eyes? He too, because she fills his sight, Eac,h object falsely sees; The pleasure that he has in her, Makes all things seem to please. And this is love;-and it is life They lead,-that Indian and his wife. Apollo placed his harp, of old, awhile upon a stone, Which has resounded since, when struck, a breaking harp string’s tone; And thus my heart, though wholly now from early soft ness free, If touched, will yield the music yet, it first received of thee. ” A tradition prevailed amnonog the natives of Puerto Rico, that in — Isle of Binini, one of the Lucayos, there was a fountain of such wonderful virtue, as to renew the youth and recall the vigour of every person who bathed in its salutary waters. In hopes of finding this grand restorative, Ponce de Leon and his fiollowers ranged through the islands, searching with fruitless solicitude for the fountain, which was the chief object of the expedition.” [Robertson’s dimerica.

SOUND trumpets, ho!-weigh anchor-loosen sailThe seaward flying banners chide delay; As if’twere heaven that breathes this kindly gale, Our life-like bark beneath it speeds away. Flit we, a gliding dream, with troublous motion, Across the slu mbers of uneasy ocean; And furl our canvass by a happier land, So fraught with emanations from the sun, That potable gold streams through the sand Where element should run. Onward, my friends, to that bright, florid isle, The jewel of a smooth and silver sea, With springs on which perennial summers smile A power of causing immortality. For Bimini;-in its enchanted ground, The hallowed fountains we would seek, are founr. Bathed ill the waters of those mystic wells, The frame starts up in renovated truth, And, freed from Time’s deforming spells, Resumes its proper youth. How.!.ay this little tablet feign the features of a face, Which o’er-informs with loveliness its proper share of space; Or human hands on ivory enable us to see The charms, that all must wonder at, thou work of gods, in thee’ THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 588 Ill.

thought. IV. behind. THE VOYAGERIS SONG. 1. II. A PICTURE-SONG.

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PINKNEY’S POEMS. A sense it was, that I could see The angel leave my sideThat thenceoirthi my prosperity Must be a i’allinr., tide; A strange and ominous belief, That in spring-time the yellow leaf Had fallen on mlly hours; And that all hope must be most vain, Of finding on my path again Its former, vanished flowers. Hail, better birth!-once more my feelings all A graven image to themselves shall make, kend, placed upon my heart for pedestal, rhat glorious idol long will keep awake Their natural religion, nor be cast ‘1 c earth by Age, the great Iconoclast. As from Gadara’s founts they once could come, Charm-called, from these Love’s genii shall arise, And build tneir perdurable home, Miranda, in thine eyes. But thou, the idol of my few And fleeting better daysThe light that cheered when life was new My being with its raysAnd though, alas! its joy be gone, Art yet, like tomb.lamps, shining on The phantoms of my mindThe memories of many a dream Floating oni thought’s fantastic stream, Like stormn-clouds on the wind! By Nature wisely gifted, not destroyed With golden presents, like the Roman maid,A sublunary paradise enjoyed, Shall teach thee bliss incapable of shade;-A An Eden ours, tnor angry gods, nor men, Nor star-clad Fates, can take from us again. Superior to animal decay, Sun of that perfect heaven, thou’lt calmly see Stag, raven, phenix, drop away With human transiency. Is thy ife but the wayward c hild Of fever in thec heart, In part a crowd of fanicies wild Of ill-maic c,~l)-rts part? Are such aec,,‘st fitmiliars thine, As by thi(s werec made early mine? And is it as with imeDoth hope in birtllicss ashes lie, And seemris thi(e sunI a hostile eye Thy p-finis w( r -;Ilcased to see? Thus rich in being,-beautiful,-adored, Fear not exhausting pleasure’s precious mine; The wondrous waters we approach, when poured On passion’s lees, supply the wasted wine: Then be thy bosom’s tenant prodigal, And confident of termless carnival. Like idle yellow leaves afloat on time, Let others lapse to death’s pacific sea,We’ll fade nor fall, but sport sublime In green eternity. I trust, hot so: tlioiugh thou hast been An evil star to) iminie, Let all of good! the world has seen Hang ever ul.ern thine. May thy suns those of summer be, And tinme show as one joy to thee, Like thine owi nature pure: Thou didst but rou3se, within my breast, The sleeping devils f’onm a rest That could not lon,, endure. The envious years, which steal our pleasures, thou Mayst call at once, like magic memory, back, And, as they pass o’er thine unwithering brow, Efface their footsteps ere they form a track. Thy bloom with wilful weeping never stain, Perpetual life must not belong to pain. For me,-this world has not yet been a place Conscious of joys so great as will be mine, Because the light has kissed no face Forever fair as thine. The firstlings of my simple song Were offered to thy name: Again the altar, idle long, In worship rc:’-s its flame. My sacrifice of sullen years, My many hecatombs of tears, No happier hours recallYet may thy wandering thoughts restar To one who ever loved thee more Than fickle fortune’s all. _________________ ysciieof oe_yas No. I. And now, farewell!-and although hew. Men hate the source of pain, I hold thee and thy follies dear, Nor of thy faults complain. For my misused anid blighted powers, My wast e of miserable hours, I will accuse thee not:The fool who could from self depart, And take for fate one human heart, Deserved no() better lot WVE met upon the worild’s wine.ace, When each of us was youngWe parted soon, and tosher place A feeling such as must have stirred The Roman’s bosom whena he heard, Beneath the trembling ground, The god, his genius, marching forth From the old city of his mirth, To lively nu-ic’s sound. I 591) Ill. IV. V. Vi. LINES ]RROM THE

PORTFOLIO OF K,-. A darker spirit sprung;

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....THE MIRROR LIBRARY.... I reck of mine the less, because In wiser moods I feel A doubtful question of its cause, And nature, on me stealAn ancient notion, that time flings Our pains and pleasures from his wings With much equalityAnd that, il reason, happiness Both of accession and decrease Incapable must be. Unwise, or most unfortunate, My way was; let the sign, The proof of it, be simplythis Thou art not, wert not, mine! For’tis the want of chance to blew Pursuit, if patient, with success; And envy nay repine, That, commonly, some triumph must Be won by everlasting lust. By woods and groves the oracles Of the old age were nursed; To Brutus came in solitude The spectral warning first, When murdered Cesar’s mighty shade The sanguine homicide dismayed, And fantasy rehearsed The ides of March, and, not in vain, Showed forth Philippi’s penal plain. How I have lived imports not now I am about to die, Else I might chide thee that my life Has been a stifled sigh: Yes, life; for tines beyond the line Our parting traced, appear not mine, Or of a world gone by; And often almost would evince, My soul had transmigrated since. In loneliness I heard my hopes Pronounce, “Let us depart!” And saw my mind-a Marius Desponding o’er my heart: The evil genius, long concealed, To thought’s keen eye itself revealed, Unfolding like a chartBut rolled away, and left me free As Stoics once aspired to be Pass wasted powers; alike the grave, To which I fast go down, Will give the joy of nothingness To me, and to renown: Unto its careless tenants, fame Is idle as that gilded name, Of vanity the crown, It brought, thou spirit of my breast, And Naiad of the tears Which have been welling coldly there, Although unshed, for years! It brought, in kindness or in hate, The final menaces of fate, But prompted no base fearsAh, could I with ill feelings see Aught, love, so near allied to thee? Helvetian hands inscribe upon The forehead of a skeleton. The drowsy harbinger of death, That slumber dull and deep, That, clos ing as begun, Is governed by a note of pain, Oh, lost and worshipped one!None shall attend a sadder strain, Till Memnon’s statue stand again To mourn the setting sun,Nor sweeter, if my numbers seem To share the nature of their theme. Is welcome, and I would not wake Till thou dost join my sleep.

Life’s conscious calm,-tlithe flapping sail,The stagnant sea nor tide nor gale In pleasing motion keep,Oppress me; and I wish release From this to more substantial peace. Star of that sea!-the cynosure Of magnet-passions, long!A ceaseless apparition, and A very ocular song!My skies have changed their hemisphere And forfeited thy radiant cheer: Thy shadow still is strong; And. beaming darkness, follows me, Far duskier thani obscurity.

590 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. Star of that sea!-its currents bear My vessel to the bourne, .Whence neither busy voyager Nor pilgrim may return. Such consummation I can brook, Yet, with a fixed and lingering look, Must anxiously discern The far horizon, where thy rays Surceased to lilit my night-like days 11 LINES FROM THE PORTFOLIO or H No. 11. List the last cadence of a lay, ON PARTING. ALAS! our pleasant moi-nexits fly On rapid wings away, While those recorded with a sigh, Mock us by long delay.

Timc,-envious time,-loves not to k In company with mirth, But makes malignant pause to m* The work of paiii on earth.

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PINKNEY’S POEMS. 59I ELYSIUM. WE break tile glass, whose sacred wine To some beloved health we drain. Lest future pledges, less divine, Should e’er the hallowed toy profane And thus I broke a heart, that poured Its tide of feelings out for thee, In draughts, by after-times deplored, Yet dear to memory. SHE dwelleth in Elysium; there, Like Echo, floating in the air; Feeding on light as feed the flowers, She fleets away uncounted hours, Where halcyon Peace, among the blest, Sits brooding o’er her tranquil nest. She needs no impulse; one she is, Whom thought supplies witli ample bliss: The fancies fashioned in her mind By heaven, are after its own kind; Like sky-reflections in a lake, Whose calm no winds occur to break. But still the o ld impa ssioned ways And halbits of my mind remain, And still unhappy light displays Thine image chambered in my brain And still it looks as when the hours Went by like flights of singing birds, Or that soft chain of spoken flowers. And airy gems, thy words. Her memory is purified, And she seems never to have sighed: She hath forgot the way to weep, Her being is a joyous sleep; The mere imagining of pain Hath passed, and cannot coihe again. Except of pleasure most intense And constant, she hath lost all sense; Her life is day without a night, An endless, innocent delight; No chance her happiness now mars, Howe’er Fate twine her wreaths of stars. LOOoo out upon the stars, my love, And shame them with thine eyes, On which, than on the. lights above, There hang more destinies.

Night’s beauty is the harmony Of blending shades and light; Then, Lady, Lp look out, uind be A sister to the night! And palpable and pure, the part, Which pleasure playeth with her heart; For every joy that seeks the maid, Foregoes its common painful shade, Lik e sh apes that issue from the grove Arcadian, dedicate to Jove. Sleep not!-thine image wakes for aye, Within my watching breast: Sleep not!-from her soft sleep should fly, Who robs all hearts of rest. Nay, Lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay, With looks, whose brightness well might maO Of darker nights a day. EVERGREENS. To. WREN Summer’s sunny hues adorn Sky, forest, hill, and meadow, The foliage of the evergreens, In contrast, seems a shadow. I NEED not name thy thrilling name, Though now I drink to thee, my deal, Since all sounds shape that magic word, That fall upon my ear,-Mary; And silence, with a wakeful voice, Speaks it in accents loudly free, As darkness hath a light that shows Thy gentle face to me,-Mary. But when the tires of Autumn have Their sober reign asserted, The landscape that cold shadow shows, Into a light converted. Thus thoughts that frown upon our mirth Will smile upon our sorrow, And many dark fears of to-day May be bright hopes to-morrow I pledge thee in the grape’s pure soul, With scarce one hope, and many fearL Mixed, were I of a melting rnood, With many bitter tears,-MaryI pledge thee, and the empt y cup Emblems this hollow life of mine, To which, a gone enchantment, thou No more wilt be the wine, Mary. And thine unfading image thus Shall often cheer my sadness, Though now its constant looks reprove A momentary gladness. 501 PINKNEY’S POEMS.

SONG. FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM. SERENADE. SONG.

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THE MIRROR LIBRARY. By circumjacent blackness-we are free, And so couild wish the total earth to be. Greece shall,-Greece is,-each old. heroic shade, Draws, with her living sons, his spectral blade, And coinbats, proud of times so like his own, Like Theseus’ ghost at storied Marathon. I FILL this cup to one made up of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex the seeming paragon; To whom the better elements and kindly stars have given A form so fair, that, like the air,‘tis less of earth than heaven.

III. Her emery tone is music’s own, like those of morning birds, And something more than melody dwells ever in her words; The coinage of her heart are they, and from her lips each flows As one may see the burthened bee forth issue from the rose. “uThe Last of Grecians,“is become a phrase, Improper in these new triumphant days: The swords well wielded against Turkish bands, Are not unworthy of those mighty hands Which overthrew the haughty Persian, when Pausanias and Leonidas were men. Affections are as thoughts to her, the measures of her hours; Her feelings have the fragrancy, the freshness, of young flowers; And lovely passions, changing oft, so fill her, she appears The image of themselves by turns,-the idol of past years! To-hight, the useful and th ge p leas ing claim, Still more than commonly, to seem the same; For, pleasing you, we aid, ” in our degree,” A struggling nation’s strife for liberty,The strife whose voice from this great world demands, What mine of you beseeches-” clap your hands!” Of her bright face one glance will trace a picture on the brain, And of Iher voice in echoing hearts a sound must long remain; But memory such as mine of lher so very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh will not be life’s but hers. I BURN no incense, hlang no wreath, On this, thine early tomb: Such cannot cheer the place of death, But only mock its gloom. Here odorous smoke and breathing flower No grateful influence shed; They lose their perfume and their power, When offered to the dead. I filled this cup to one made up of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex the seeming paragonHer health! and would on earth there stood some more of such a frame, ThIat life might be all poetry, and weariness a name. And if, as is the Afghaun’s creed, The spirit may return, A disexnbodied sense, to feed On fragrance, near its urnIt is enough, that she, whom thou Didst love in living years, Sits desolate beside it now, And falls these heavy tears. Delivered at the Greek Benefit, in Baltimore-182:O. As one, who long upon his couch hath lain Subdued by sickness to a slave of pain, When time and sudden health his strength repair, Springs jocund to his feet, and walks the air; So Greece, through centuries a prostrate land, At length starts upfore,-er may she stand ACCEPT this portraiture of thee, Revealed to Wordsworth in a dreamOne less immortal stays with me, Whose airy hues thinie own may seem: Mental reflection of thy light, A rainbow beautiful and bright; A shining lamp of constant ray, To which my fancy shall be slave; A shaping that cannot decay, Until it moulder in my grave.The image-breaker, Time, may mar All meaner sculpture of my mind, But in its darkness, like a star, Thy semblanice shall remain enshrined Nor would I that the sullen thing Its place in being should resign, While, like a caskset rich with gems, It treasures forms so fair as thine. Since smiling Liberty, the sun thrice blest, That had its rising in our happy west, Extends its radiniice, eastward, to that shore, The place of gods whom yet our hearts adore; And, hailed by loud acclaim of thousands, hath Been worshipped with a more than Magian faith, With slain Barbarian hosts for sacrifice, And burning fleets for holocausts of price: Shall we, who almost placed it in the sky, Fail to assist the magnanimity, With which, regardless of much pressing want, They greet their fair and heavenly visitant? Forbid it, Justice! we detest the state, Which, knowing that mortality must rate By mere comparison things dark or bright,Would make its f.Ame as painiters form a light, i 5

() A HEALTff. IV. THE WIDOWIS SONG. PROLOGUE, ” ILLF., NON EGO.’ 1. 1110

WithWordsworth’s,,, She was a pbantoin ofdclight,”&& II.

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__ IK IIIII I II1 TO. ‘TWAs eve; the broadly shining sun Its long, celestial course, had run; The twilight heaven, so soft and blue, Met earth in tender interview, Ev’n as the angel met of yore His gifted mortal paramour, Woman, a child of morning then,A spirit still,-compared with men. Like happy islands of the sky, The gleaming clouds reposed on high, Each fixed sublime, deprived of motion, A Delos to the airy ocean. Upon the stirless shore no breeze Shook the green drapery of the trees, Or, rebel to tranquillity, Awoke a ripple on the sea. Nor, in a more tumultuous sound, Were the world’s audible breathings drowned; The low strange hum of herbage growing, The voice of hidden waters flowing, Made songs of nature, which the ear Could scarcely be pronounced to hear; But noise had furled its subtle wings, And moved not through material things, All which lay calm as they had been Parts of the painter’s mimic scene.

‘Twas eve; mny thoughts belong to thee, Thou shape of separate memory!

When, like a stream to lands of flame, Unto my mind a vision came.

Methought, from human haunts and strife Remote, we lived a loving life; Our wedded spirits seemed to blend In harmony too sweet to end, Such concord as the echoes cherish Fondly, but leave at length to perish. Wet rain-stars are thy lucid eyes, The Hyades of earthly skies, But then upon my heart they shone, As shines on snow the fervid sun. And fast went by those moments bright, Like meteors slhooting through the night; But faster fleeted the wild dream, That clothed them with their transient beam Yet love can years to days condense, And long appeared that life intense; It was,-to give a better measure Than time,-a century of pleasure. THE OLD

TREE. FROM THE NO,rE-BOOK OF A TRAVELLER AND is it gone, that venerable tree, The old spectator of my infancy!It used to stand upon this very spot, And now almost its absence is forgot. I knew its inighty strength had known decay, Its heart, like ecvry old one, shrunk away, But dre’amt not that its frame would fall, ere mine At all partook,ly weary soul’s decline. The great reformist, that each day removes The old, yet never on the old improves  The dotard, Time, that like a child destroys, As sport or spleen auly prompt, his ancient toys, And shapes thei r ruin s into some thing ne wHas planted other playthings where it grew. The wind pursues an unobstructed course, Which once among its leaves delayed perforce; The harmless I-laimadryad, that, of yore, Inhabited its bole, subsists no more; Its roots have long since felt the ruthless ploughThere is no vestige of its gl(,ries now! But inl iriy mind, which doth not sooIn forget, That venerable tree is growing yet; Nourished, like those wild plants that feed on aiu By thoughts of years unconversant with care, And visions such as pass erc man grows wholl A fiendish thing, or mischief adds to folly I still behold it with my fancy’s eye, A vernant record of the days gone by: I see not tihe sweet form and face more plain, Wlios(e nmemory nV(s a weight upon mny brain. -Dear to my solig, and dearer to iny soul, Who ki(New but half iny heart, yet had the whole Sun of my life, whose presence and whose flight Its brief day caused, and never-ending night! Must this delihitless verse, which is indeed The mere wild product of a worthless weed, (But which, like sun-flowers, turns a loving face Towards the lost light,-aud scorns its birth and place,,; End with such cold allusion unto you, To whom, in youthl, rly very dreams were true t It must; I have no more of that soft kind, *My age is not the same, nor is my mind I s ee them yet, I seem them yet. Though long since quenched and goneI could not live enlumined by The common sun alone. Could they seem thus, could they seem thus, If but a memory? Ah, yes! upon this wintry earth, T’hey burn no more for me. i I i PINKNEY’S POEMS. 59:j SONG. DAY departs this upper air, My lively, lovely lady; And the eve-star sparkles fair, And our good steeds are ready. Leave, leave these loveless hars, So lordly though they be.;Come, come-affection calls Away at once with me!

Sweet thy words in sense as sound, And gladly do I hear them; Though thy kinsmen are around, And tamer bosoms fear them. Mount, mount,-I’ll keep thee, dear, In safety as we ride;On, on-my heart is here, My sword is at my side! SONG. TiiosF, starry eyes, those starry eyes, Those eyes that used to be Unto my heart as beacon-liglits To pilgrims of the sea! I

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9 H MRO LIBAR. II. At such a season, his domain The lord at last arrived again, Changed to the sight, and scarce the same, Grown old ir; heart, infirm of frame. His earlier years had been too blest For anguish not to curse the rest: Men, like the Dioscuri, dwell Alternately in heaven and hell. Let those, whose lives are in their prime, Use to the uttermost the timne; For as with the enchanted thrall Of Ebl’s and his fatal hall, When a short period departs, The flame shall kindle in their hearts. Thou only, mighty Love!-canst will Much helal(l good, much after-ill; Thou holdest humnan hearts in fee, And art the Second Destiny. u Call these forms from under ground,. With a soft and happy sound.”  There is an order Of mortals on the earth, who do become Old in their.youth, and die ere middle age, Without the violence of warlike death; Some perishing of pleasure-some of studySome w orn whith toil-some of mere weariness, Soine of disease-and some insanityAnd some of withered, or of broken hearts; For this last is a malady which slays More than are numbered in the lists of fate, Taking all shapes, and bearing many names.” He loved-he wons-and whom?-he sighed First fol, next with, another’s bride: To both extremes of feeling,-strong Or feeble,-the same signs belong, And sighs may the expression be Of ecstasy or agony. .* k # * *~~~ SWEET Promiser’-if now to thee (No halcyon on the wintry sea Of troubled feeling yet) I dedicate this idle rhyme, Woven to cheer thle laggard time, Though wisdom would forget; Learn that when as a funeral train The mournful momnents crossed my brain, I could not but remember hours, Which wore bright coronals of flowers, And caime successively to me, Like notes of heart-felt melody.

Learn further, that with these was shown A phantom fairer far-thine ownAn apparition none can know, Or guess of, saving only thou. As for this story of an age That saw life fanciful as dreams, Thy gemn-like eye will scan its page; And if, with sounds of sleepy streams, Thy voice make music of my laysCould tlhey obtain a dearer praise? Like rarest porcelain were they, Moulded of accidental clay: She, loving, lovely, kin(], and fairHe, wise, and fortunate, and braveYou’ll easily suppose they were A passionate aiid radia,nt pair, Lightin g the scertes else dark and cold, As the sepsoplcehral laieps of old, A subterraneuan cave. ‘Tis pity that tleir loves were vices, And purchased at such painful prices; ‘Tis pity, and l)elieht deplres That grici;tll:tys ie,-,?l.;cn stores. Yet if all chalnceu I)‘oiglit rapture here, Life would I~ cmnc a (ceaseless fear To leave a worhl, t ell ri(ghtly dear. Two kinldredd imy)‘sterie’s* are bright, And cloud-like, in tlhc solltherin sky; A shadow and its sister-lib’ht, Around the pole they float on high, Linked in a strong though,I sightless c:k.ai The types of pleasure a,nd of pain. i I THE

Summer’s heir on land and sea Had thrown his parting glance, And Winter taken angrily His waste inheritance. The winds in stormy revelry Sported beneath a frowning sky; The chafing evaves with hollow roar Tumbled upon the shaken shore, And sent their spray in upward shower To Rodolplih’s proud ancestra cower, Whose station from its mural crown A regal look chast sternlv down There was an age, t hey tell us, when Eros and Anteros dwelt with inen, Ere selfishness lia(l b)aclkward driven The wrathful deities to lheaveni: Then gods oi-sook their ouiitshone skies, For stars iiiist-tklitig, fe niale eyes; Woman was troe, anl muI:, though free, Was faithful in idolatry. No dial nceecd they to measure IUnsighing being Tine was Ple-.sure THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 594 RODOLPH, A FRAGMENT. Flda.w.

Lord Byron. DEDICATION. Ill. PART I. 1. IV. I el-1,,,lis

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PINKNEY’S POEMS. 595 And lustres, never dimmed by tears, Were not misnamed from lustrous years. Alas! that such a tale must seem The fiction of a dreaming dream!Is it but fable?-has that age Shone only on the poet’s page, Where earth, a luminous sphere portrayed, Revolves not both in sun and shade’ No!-happy love, too seldom known, May make it for a while our own. Whither have fled that inner light, And benefactress of our sight?Nothing in answer aught can show, Only thus much of each we knowThe dream may visit us again, She left for aye the sons of men!_ Death may in part discharge its debt Half render back its trustLife may redeem her likeness yet, Reanimate her dust; But both will bear another name, Nor, likt t’he dream, appear the same. Yes, although fleeting rapidly, It sometimes may be ours, And he was gladsome as the bee* Which always sleeps in flowers. Might this endure?-her husband camne While Hope attends her sacred fire, All joy rejoices in its pyre: Once quenched, what ray the flame renews? What but calamity ensues? When ill-report disgraced his name, And turned to ith fair.y his fame, Bearing from home his bliglted prime, He journeyed to some distant clime, Where babbling rumiour could not trace His footsteps to a resti mg-place. Meanwhile, the quest of happiness He made, despairing5, of success; Unhoped, but not ptursucd the less, It urged around the world its flight Away from him, like day from night. There are, who deciem of imiscry As if it ever craved to die: They err; the full of seoul regard, More than the calmii, their graves with bate The loss of such a life is hard. And, ending their evenitfult fate, From so much into nothing must The change be pain-froin this to dust’ To fill the chas,ms of the breast, ‘Tis happiness they seelk, not rest, Wishing for something to amend Existence, they mllust shun its end; And this the princely will betrays To ma,ry sufferings and d’ays. But ere his tongue pronounced her shlame Slain suddenly, he died. ‘Twas whispered by whose hand he fell, And Rodolph’s prosperous loves were gone. The lady sought a convent-cell, And lived in penitence alone; Thrice blest, that she the waves among Of ebbing pleasure staid not long, To watch the sullen tide, and find The hideous shapings left behind. Such, sinking to its stirny bed, Old Nile upon the antique land, Where Time’s inviolate temples stand,t Hath never deposited. Happy, the mionster of that Nile, The vast and vigorous crocodile; Happy, because his dying day Is unpreceded by decay: We perish slowly-loss of breath Only completes our piece-meal death. She ceased to smile back on the sun, Their task the Destinies had done; And earth, whic’h gave, resumed the charms, Whose freshness withered in its arms: But never walked upon its face, Nor mr),ldered ini its dull embrace, A creature fitter to prepare Sorrow, or social joy to share: When her the latter life required, A vital harmony expired; And in that melancholy hour, Nature displayed its saddest power, Subtracting from man’s darkened eye Beauties that seemed unmeant to die, And claiming deeper sympathy Than even when the wise or brave Descend into an early grave. VIll. We grieve when morning puts to flight The pleasant visions of the night; And surely we shall have good leave, When a fair woman dies, to grieve. Whither have fled that shape, and gleam Of thought-the -woman, i-rd the dream? As sunk, avoiding mortal touch, The Cabalist’s discovered t reasure, So met his si*ht, (scaped his clutch, Many app)ctr,tiices of pleasure, Deceitful as that airy lie,. rhe child of vtpotir and the sky,*

Which cheats the thirsty Arab’s eye, Only the palm, heat-loving tree, Or bird of happy Aralby, May burn, and not to die: Philosophy has lost the powert From ashes to reform a flower; Magic and alchyiiiy no more Men’s primal strength and youth restore, Nor could those g neat and dream-like arts, While flourishing, revoke their hearts: The feelings rise regenerate never, But, once consumed, are gone forever. PINKNEY’S POEMS. 593 V. VI 1.

At an untimely tide, Vi. I , llaii”.giin, I i%;: .-!”““141  ;

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5q6~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ TH MIRO LI I RARY. What though are of another age Omens, and Sybil’s boding page?Augurs and oracles resign Their voices-fear can still divine: Dreams and hand-writings on the wall Need not foretell our fortune’s fall; Domitiani in his galleries,* The soul all hostile advents sees, As in the mirror-stone; How feels the guiltless dreamer, who With idly curious gaze Has let his mind’s glance wander through The relics of past days?As feels the pilgrim that has scanned, Within their skirting wall, The moonlit marbles of some grand Disburied capital; MIasses of whiteness and of g.sm, The darkly bright remains Of desolate palace, empty tomb, And desecrated fanes:For in the ruins of old hours, Remembrance haply sees T emples, and tombs, and palaces, Not different from these. Or watery demons, in s trong light, By haunted waves of fountains old, Shown indistinctly to the sight Of the inquisitive and bold. The mind is capable to show Thoughts of so dim a feature, That consciousness can only know Their presence, not their nature; Things which, like fleeting insect-mothers Supply recording life to others, And forthwith lose their own. II. V. But such mere musings could not now Move Rodolph’s lip, or cutrl his brow: His countenance had lost its free And former finre transparency, Nor would, as once, his spirit pass Its fleshly mask, like light through glass. In his sad aspect seemed to be Troubled reflections of a life, Nourished by passion, spent in strifeGleams, as of drowned antiquity From cities underneath the sea Whic-h glooms in famous Galilee.

Homeward he never rode again. What boots it to protract the verse, In which his story I rehearse? He had won safely through the past, The growing si(kniess smote at last: His vassals found him on the morn, In the calmi scene he viewed was aught That might disturb a froward thought? lHe saw. new-4narried to the air, The tranquil, waveless deep, Reposing in a night as fair As woman’s softest sleep: Peaceful ait] silent, were met all The (lements in festival, A,nd the wide universe seemed to be Onle c(lear obscure transparency. Coul(l such a quiet Fancy wake? And doth she from her slumbers break, As drowsy mortals often will, When lamps go out, or clocks fall still? No less than when the Wind-god’s breath Blackens the wilderness beneath, Until contrasted stars blaze bright Withl their own proper heavenly light, And almost make tlh gazer sigh, For our unseen mythology. Motion or rest, a sound, a glance, Alike rouse memory from its trance. Hot fever raged in Rodolph’s brain, Till tortured reason fled, And madness a delirious reign Asserted in its stead; And then he raved of many crimes, Achieved in shadows of all cliines; Of Indian islands, tropic seas, Ships winged before the flying breeze; Of peace, of war, of wine, of blood, Of love, and hate, of changing mood, Or changin.g scenery; And oftenli on his language hung The accents of all alien tongue, But still they circled one dark deed, As charmed mren that magic weed, Perhaps, presentiment of ill Might shake him-hearts are prophets stil.. Whalt tlih,)ugh the fount of Castaly Not ns.e st;ilts l-eaves witli prophecy?

THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 5-06 RODOLPH, PART II. 1. Like shadows by a brilliant clay Cast down froiii falcons on their prey; He backed his steed, and took his way Where a large cemetery lay, Beaming beneath the star-light gay, A white spot in the greenery, Semblant of what it well might be A blossom unto which the earth As a spring-favour yielded birth. They looked for his return in vain, Ill. Senseless beside his lady’s urn; And they belleld with wonderment His visagc-llkc a bow unbent, From the distorting mind unstrung, By painful thought no loiier wrung, It offered once more to their gaze The cheerful inien of former days, And on it the fixld smile had place, Which lights the Memnon’s marble fare VI. IV. I vi(l(.

Suui,,nius

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PINKNEY’S POEMS. The herb of Normandy.* He spoke of one too dearly loved, And one unwisely slain, Of an affection hardly proved By murder done in va;inAffection which no time could tire, Constant as emeralds in fire, Like that which weds insanity To the sole truth that earth may see. Some fragments of his speech my rhyme Shall rescue fron the grasp of time, As trophies, by the march of song, In tuneless triumph borne along. “Told that her heavenward home lay hid ” In its sky-pointing frame? ” She is not dead-behold her eye, “That portion of a su mmer sky: “She is not dead her cheeks are rife “With rosy clouds of blooming life: “She is not dead-the shining hair “Is wreathed about her forehead fair, “As when I saw ill better hours “Her gentle shape of living mirth, “And trod with her upon all flowers “Worn by the festive earth. “Time interposed-it was not Death, “He could not stop her spicy breath “But liearts and hands have met once more “We will be happy as before; “And my crime-sullied memory “Like a rewritten code* shall be, “Full of the poetry of truth, “The annals of a second youth, “Illuminations blazoeace bright “With suni-born tints of golden light. “The evil hour in which you traced “Your name upon my heart, is past, “And hidden fires or lightning-flashes “Have since reduced it into ashes; “Yet oft will busy thought unroll “That fragile, scorched, and blackened scroll, “And shrink to find the spell, your name, “A legend uneffaced by flame. X. “If, memory, on thy silent shore The str eam of time hath left “Somc brolken hope s, pla ns qu ick no more, “And thoughlts of b)reathl bereft; “The strong belief in lhtappinllss, “It could but half destroy; “The now dead generous carelessness, “That hung around the boy; “And feelings which the subtile wave “Bore not through later years”Such wrecks the smiles of wisdom crave “Not less than passion’s tears.“But thou, the sweetest of Eve’s daughters, “Geniust of that shore, and those waters!“A music visible, a light “Like lampl)s unto an infanit’s sight!

Who spoke that lawless, sounding word, “So early hushed, so long unheard?”.Its syllables came o’er my brain, Like the last trumpet’s call; “And, starting from their graves again, “My buried thoughts, in fear and pain, “Are gathering one and all. “The pictured memories hid by grief “Come forth in beautiful relief, “Freed from their former thrall”As, through the torch-touched rust of years, “A waxen painting reappears “On a sepulchral wall. “Thy face revives the face of one “That lived in other days”Whose fatding phantom had begun “To fail my fancy’s gaze; “Though shadowed forth too long and well, “As my sad history may tell. “Thy face revives the face of one, “That loved in other days”Of whom or thought. or speech was none “Less passionate than praise: “So much she beautified the place “Replete with her in time and space. “Thy face revives the face of one, ” That died in other days”WVho bought, not borrowed, from the sun “Its scarcely needed rays; “And thousand charmns could not concur “Tro make thee fair,-yet unlike her. “It is herself!-the gods in pity Restore her froni the silent city!“Now, where are they, that falsely said, Her form in stirless dust was laid? W”ho reared the lyiniig pyramid, “Whose epitaph, and lamp, and flame, “A temple of celestial soul, “Too lovely for aught ill to mar, “Which Love fromn Beauty’s planet stale, “The morel and evening star!“Come thou, and pass away with me “From. haunts unworthy of thy smile, “And find, in some far, sunny sea, “A lonely, laughing isle, “Where we may through all pleasures rove “And live like votaries of love, “Drinking the sparklino, stream of years, “Pure, and uiirnmixed with wormwood tears. “AnWhy have I, speaking thus t o thee, ” Vague sense that these things may not be ~” Strange flitting files each other chase, ” Like meteors, thlrough ta cheerless space: ” My sight growvs h-e.avy, ain(i mny breast ” By something inounitalin.ous is pressed; ‘ r (J”tse- rec trit,es.” I I iI I i I i i i I I I 5)“7 Vii. Vill. IX. Xi. 11 Aiid, in niy veiiis, tire l,zy blood ” Is not that (.,!i,cr, instant, floo(i, 11 It was when tti,)u xnert I 11 L’Herbe Mauttite.” T, Ce-rlum Lod.”

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598 THE MIRROR LIBRARY. ” Can dream one hope to meet again.” She lies amid the sluggish mould, ” Her ardent heart has long been cold: ” Above it wave the idle weeds, “On it the sordid earth-worm feeds. “Mine too is buried there-her knell “Served also for its passing bell; “It died-and would have known’twas time “Without that melancholy chime. “That knell!-I feel its strokes again, “Like stunning blows upon my brain “I listen yet the dissonant laughter “Of the same bell, some moments after; “And now the frequent ding.dong hear, “With which it mimics hope and fear. ” Nor will my limbs avail to tear “My feeble, sickly body, where ” Thou standest moveless by. “I feel a weary wish to close ” Mine eyelids in a long repose; “But fear that thou wilt fly, ” And let me wake alone to sigh ”

That one so beautiful could die! ” Author of my unhappiness! “Let me thy lip and small hand press. “Since love increases when the day “Its object’s presence makes is done, ” And takes from night a warmer ray, “As did the Fountain of the Sun,* Thine, so long absent, should forgive “The death of one I slew for thee”Resentment cannot bid him live, “Pardon perchance may me. “Obduitc tLady, even thine eye ” To my fond prayer makes no reply; “And hast thou come then from afar, “A coldly reappearing star?“Thou never lov’dst:thy constancy “Would answer else aright to mine: “In one so lovely, love must be “Preserved still fresh, like grapes in wine. “Thy smiles were but a shining mask, “Thy vows no nmore than vocal air, “If thou canst., let me vainly ask “Relief from this despair. “By ail that I have borne and bear, “She fades to unsubstantial air!. * X * # ” w “Ay, wrapt around a white r breast, The shroud h er bod y doth invest; “But in that other world, her grave, “My soul and body both inter, “There to enjoy the rest they crave, “And, if at all, arise with he r: ” N eve r may either wake, unless “To her, and former happin ess! “Yet how am I assured that rest “Will ever bless the aching breast, “Which passion has so long possessed?“At baffled Death’s oblivious art ‘ This love perchance will mock, “Deep dwelling in my festering heart, “A reptile in its rock: “The warm and tender violet ” Beside the glaciers grows, “Although with frosty airs beset, “And everlasting snows; “So, lying in obstruction chill, “This stronger flower may flourish still “Oh, in the earth, ye Furies, let “My thoughtful clay all thought forget. “Suffer no sparkles of hot pain “Among mine alshes to remiiaii: “Give, give me utterly to prove “Insentient of the pangs of love! -Why waver thus these forms?-then t “A palpable blackness on mine eves: “And yet the figures gleam “With the impressive energy, “Which clothes the phantoms that we see “Shown by a fever-dream.

“How the air thickens-all things mover ”’ Tis night-‘ tis chaos my lost love! I The perturbation of mny soul Subsides as I approach the goal; “Yet dreamnt I one was here but now, “Whose brow ws like her ivory brow.

When shall wec two nieet again, And not, as last, to part in pain? “Spring shall leave to rear the flowers, “And Autumiin to let fDll the showers; “Summern shall forbear to gloNw, “And WViniter doff its veil of snow; “Man shall know no more to mourn, “The age of miracles return; “Woman shall forget to range, “And fortune and the moon to change; ” Tears and tides shall cease to flow, “The sea anid life their stoims forego “Opportunity shalll stay “The wings on which it flies awaH “Memlclory the past shall scan, “Yet see not, like a drowning iian, ” Fast upon the bitter wave ”

The ship depart, that ought to save; “Noon and midnight shall have met, “The stars have risen where they set; “Ere, though but in sleep, w, twain * Cyd.‘e. BSee d. i i I THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 598 Xii. XIV. Xiii. XV. He perished. None wept o’er his bier, Although above such things we weep, And rest obt,tin,, the useless tear, Due rather to the state of sleep; For why?-because the common faith Of passion is a versc from death; Yet Jove, the sages all declare, Granted the Argive motherls* prayer. * 11 IrolA lis.”

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BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF EDWARD COATE PINKNEY, BY THE LATE WILLIAM LEGGETT.

(WRITTEN IN S.) awakened the fondest hopes o? his future eminence hopes t hat o ne of his parents has lived to see fully realized. Between ten and eleve n years of age, he wras placed a stude nt in Baltimore Collet e, where the rapidity of his progress excited the surprise of his classmates, and the warm encomiums of his instructors. When about fourteen, his father procured for him the appointment of Midshipman, in the navy of the United States; and bidding adieu, in the course of’ a fewr months after, to the walls of a college, he entered, full of hope and gayety, into the active performance of the duties of his office. He continued in the service nine years, during which he necessarily had many and advantageous opportunities of visiting various parts of the globe; and a lonl Mediterraneal cruise made him intimately acquaint ed with some of the most interesting scenes of classic story. The beautiful poem entitled ItalyN, oi which w\re shall speak anon, sufficiently shows that he looked upon those scenes with a poet’s eye. On the death of his father, from a desire to be with his bereaved mother, he resigned his appointment in the na-s; y: and soon after, animated with a noble ambition to tread in the path which had led his parent to greatness, he commnenced the practice of the, larIw, ill w:hilch he has since continued with unabated ardor, anid with fiuch closenes’s of application as has prevented the cxe7’cisiN of thabrilliant li-oetic i-ctlis which nature has bcstow-dv(l upon hint in an uinu sul deg’ree. In 1824 lie was, mva.rried to Miss Georgiana M’Causland, who must iindeed harve been a beautiful and accore. l1}‘l;2(:.!:edft::,m;~~.’

i’dy’i’tts::’t fi, tart per Ak BIOGRAPHICAL account of emrinent men, w h o still exist among us, must generally be brief and imperfect. Minany interes tinghl anecdotes of their private lives ar e fo rgott en by frieendship, until the grave gives a n ew impulse to memory; and such as are recollected, are communicated with reluct a n ce, and must be used with cautious delicacy. Of the poet, in particular, it is difficult io aa Quirk biographical materials; his !iib glides along in unobtrusive and unnoticed seclusio;ii and a narrative, disclosing tie place and time of his birth, his opportu nii.ilts of education, and the nature a nd m e r its; of the different productions of his genii us, i, v*-e often, all that c an be furiiished, evel after death has unlocked the scrlrces of information. In the present instance, our space will not allow us to bel diffuse,; and,he necessary paucity of data u forbids minuteness of accuracy: yet, in speakingi of this distinguished individual, whatever we relate may be relied on as true, and wvhatever is true of him cannot but be interestinig. EDWARD COATE PIs-K.NEY, the third of ten childrt’ii of the illustrious William Pinki i ey, was }oion in Lonldon, in the month of October, 1,S02. while his father was Minister of th U!Litd SHta!es at the Court of St. James. His mother, Awho is still!Mvine, is the sister ,)f Commodorle l’ooters. Nearly nine years cf the i!ofa, cv of Mr. Pinkney w-ere passed’ in Englanld, a. hlie expiratLion of wvhich time slis pa?ent:t r lurnod with him to this coun- tr-, an(i estal)ishled again their residences in Baltimore. i At ea arly per iod v of h is life, Mr.

Pink- I heys exhibit~. ~.vid04)lcnc:. of genius.vhielltal l

Page 600 view page image trait (as we suspect) which her husband| has drawn in the two exquisite poems, called a Picture Song, and the Health. In the following year, the volume of poems which bears his name was published in Baltimore, by Joseph Robinson. Rodolph, the only poem of any great length in the collection, had been previously before the public, prIinted separately and anonymously; but as only a ver)- small edition was struck off. fewr had an (-pportunitv of deciding on its merits. The opinions of such, however, as did peruse ii, were highly favourable, and induced the author to consent to another edition being printed, writh several additional shorter pieces, some of which are rich in beauties of a peculiar nature, and are not surpassed by any productions, of a similar character, in the English lan2uage. Rodolph, the principal poem, contains manya, undeniable evidences of a fine genius and a cultivated mind; but it is also disfigured wi h many faults, both in sentiment T and execution. Were this our only criterion of Mlr. Pinkney’s poetic merits, we should still be inclined to award to him a high rank among the eminent poets of this country; but wre could not accord to him that unmixed praise which his other effusions deserve. The story is neither inovel, interesting, nor moral; and the meaning of the language is often obscured by an affected use of obsolete expressions, when such as are in frequent use would not only have been beXler understood, but also more appropriate. It commences beaulifully-and here we are led to remark the author’s happyn and original fertility in i llustrations, which abound on every page of the work, i and,-et -re aliway-s so apt and so new, that in no sintlU’e Fret:taene are we fatigued b)y them. Hi< u;-. of classical allusions, too, is p renaraly t -i licitous, showing that he has et attentively read and properly appreciated the ancieci, autlhors for himself, and not | drawn his resources from a Lempriere' s Dictionaryv or t he hackneyed quotations of others. The poem, entitled Italy, written after the manner of Goethe's Kcn?lst du das Lsttid, | is a production of uncommon sweetness and B "

Know'st hou th e land which lovers ought to cho ose, Like blessings there descend the sparkling dewse In gleaming streams the crystal rivers run, The purple vintage clusters in the sun; Odours of flowers haunt the balmy breeze, Rich fruits hang high upon the vernant trees; And vivid blossoms genm the shady groves, Where bright-plumed birds discourse their careless loves Beloved!-speed we from this sullen strand Until thy light feet press that green shore's yellow sand If looks a dimple on the face of earth, The seal of beauty and the shrine of mirth; Nature is delicate and graceful there, The plaece's genius, fveminine antd fair: The winds are awed, nor dare to breathe aloud; The air seems never to have borne a cloud, Save where volcanoes send t6 heav'n their curled And solemn smokes, like altars of the world. Thrice beautiful!-to that delightful spot Carry our married hearts, and be all pain forgot." Who has ever read a more animated and poetical descrip)tion of a lovely female than this? But it will not answer for us to occupy our space by quoting the beauties of Mr. Piinkney's volume; for, did we once commence the task, we should scarcely be able to leave it, without extracting nearly all its contents. We sincerely hope that another edition of it Quill:,horfl-v be put to preps, so that thie many who arc still unfur nished, may have it in their power to obtain a copy; and we should be still b..:tter pleased if it w’(ie enlarged with a lew more effusions from a mind swell ca gable of advancing, by its single effort, the literary- reputation of this country to a still higher elevation. THE MIRROR LIBRARY. 600 spirit; and the first and third stanzas pos. sess such rare excellence that we cannot forbear copying them: i The four lines, beginniii- 11 Tfie winds I are awed,” are not surpassed by any four I ‘i lines of description in the whole range of i 1 ED,,-Iish poetry.

11 Exchanging lustre with the sun, A part of day she straysA glanciiig, living, huinan smile, On nature’s face that plays.” i Edward Coate Pinkifey died iii 1828. at Baltimore.

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