And the world's waste have driven him far from For 'tis his nature to advance or die ; [those, He stands not still, but or decays, or grows

Into a boundless blessing, which may vie With the immortal lights in its eternity!

*

The moon is up, and yet it is not night :
Sunset divides the sky with her: a sea
Of glory streams along the Alpine height
Of blue Friuli's mountains : Heaven is free
From clouds, but of all colours seems to be
Melted to one vast Iris of the West,
Where the day joins the past eternity;
While, on the other hand, meek Diana's crest
Floats through the azure air, an island of the bless'd!

A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains
Rolld o'er the peak of the fair Rhætian hill,
As Day and Night contending were, until
Nature reclaim'd her order : gently flows
The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil

The odorous purple of a newborn rose, [it glows, Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within

Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar,
Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues,
From the rich sunset to the rising star,
Their magical variety diffuse :
And now they change ; a paler shadow strews
Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,

(gray. The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone--and all is

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart
Which found no mortal resting-place so fair
As thine ideal breast; what'er thou art
Or wert-a young Aurora of the air,

(creep

The nympholepsy of some fond despair ; Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, Who found a more than common votary there Too much adoring ; whatsoe'er thy birth, [forth. Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied The mosses

of thy fountain still are sprinkled With thine Elysian water-drops ; the face Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinkled, Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, Whose green, wild margin now no more erase Art's works ; nor must the delicate waters sleep, Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base

Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap
The rills run o'er, and round fern, flowers, and ivy

Fantastically tangled; the green hills
Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass
The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills
Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass;
Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class,
Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes
Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ;

The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its

skies. Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, Egeria! thy all-heavenly bosom beating For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover; The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic meeting With her most starry canopy, and seating Thyself by thine adorer, what befell? This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting

Of an enamour'd goddess, and the cell Haunted by holy love--the earliest oracle !

*

I see before me the gladiator lie :
He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony,
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low;

And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow
From the red gash, fall heavily, one by one,
Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now

The arena swims around him : he is gone,
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the

wretch who won.
He heard it, but he heeded not : his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away.
He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother-he, their sire,
Butcher'd to make a Roman holyday:

All this rush'd with his blood. Shall he expire,
And unavenged? Arise! ye Goths, and glut your

ire!

MURAT.

And thou, too, of the snow-white plume!
Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb;
Little didst thou deem, when dashing

On thy war-horse through the ranks

Like a stream which burst its banks,
While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,
Shone and shiver'd fast around thee,
Of the fate at last which found thee:
Was that haughty plume laid low
By a slave's dishonest blow?
Once, as the moon sways o'er the tide,
It rolld in air, the warrior's guide;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphrous fight,
The soldier raised his seeking eye
To catch that crest's ascendancy;
And, as it onward rolling rose,
So moved his heart upon our foes.

There, where death's brief pang was quickest,
And the battle's wreck lay thickest,
Strew'd beneath the advancing banner

Of the eagle's burning crest;
(There, with thunder-clouds to fan her,

Who could then her wing arrest,
Victory beaming from her breast ?)
While the broken line enlarging

Fell, or fled along the plain;
There be sure was Murat charging!
There he ne'er shall charge again!

STANZAS.

THERE's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,

[dull decay; When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast,

(self be past. But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itThen the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness

[cess: Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of exThe magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain,

(stretch again. The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down;

[own; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,

[ice appears. And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth dis

tract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their for.

mer hope of rest;

'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and

gray beneath. Oh could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a van

ish'd scene : As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,

[flow to me. So, mid the wither'd waste of life, those tears would

TO ******.

Well! thou art happy, and I feel

That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal

Warmly, as it was wont to do.
Thy husband's bless'd-and 'twill impart

Some pangs to view his happier lot:
But let them pass-oh! how my heart

Would hate him if he loved thee not!
When late I saw thy favourite child,

I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when th' unconscious infant smiled,

I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.
I kiss'd it, and repress’d my sighs,

Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother's eyes,

And they were all to love and me.
Mary, adieu! I must away:

While thou art bless'd I'll not repine ;
But near thee I can never stay-

My heart would soon again be thine.
I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride

Had quench'd at length my boyish flame,
Nor knew, till seated by thy side,

My heart in all, save hope, the same.
VOL. II.-S

2