The lovely members of the mighty whole,
Till then confused and shapeless to his soul,
Distinct and glorious grow upon his sight;
The fair enigmas brighten from the night;
More rich the universe his thoughts inclose,
More wide the ocean with whose wave he flows;
The wrath of fate grows feebler to his fears,

As from God's scheme Chance wanes and disappears;
And as each straining impulse soars above,

How his pride lessens, how augments his love!

So, scattering blooms, the still guide Poetry

Leads him through paths, though hid, that mount on high,
Through forms and tones more pure and more sublime,—
Alp upon Alp of beauty,- till the time
When what we long as poetry have nurst,

Shall as God's own swift inspiration burst,

And flash in glory, on that youngest day,—

One with the truth to which it wings the way!

O sons of Art! into your hands consigned,

O heed the trust, O heed it and revere! —

The liberal dignity of human-kind!

With you to sink, with you to reappear. The hallowed melody of Magian song

Does to creation as a link belong,

Blending its music with God's harmony,

As rivers melt into the mighty sea.

Truth, when the age she would reform expels,
Flies for safe refuge to the Muses' cells.
More fearful for the veil of charms she takes,
From song the fullness of her splendor breaks;
And o'er the foe that persecutes and quails
Her vengeance thunders, as the bard prevails.
Rise, ye free sons of the free Mother, rise:
Still on the light of Beauty sun your eyes;
Still to the heights that shine afar aspire,
Nor meaner meads than those she gives, desire.
If here the sister Art forsake awhile,
Elude the clasp, and vanish from the toil:
Go seek and find her at the mother's heart;
Go search for Nature - and arrive at Art!
Ever the Perfect dwells in whatsoe'er
Fair souls conceive and recognize as fair!
Borne on your daring pinions, soar sublime
Above the shoal and eddy of the time.

Far-glimmering on your wizard mirror, see
The silent shadow of the age to be.

Through all life's thousandfold entangled maze,
One godlike bourne your gifted sight surveys;
Through countless means one solemn end foreshown,
The labyrinth closes at a single Throne.

As in seven tints of variegated light

Breaks the lone shimmer of the lucid white,

As the seven tints that paint the Iris bow
Into the lucid white dissolving flow,-
So truth in many-colored splendor plays:
Now on the eye enchanted with the rays;
Now in one lustre gathers every beam,

And floods the world with light—a single stream!

Bulwer's Translation.

EXTRACTS FROM THE SONG OF THE BELL'

EE the mold of clay, well heated,

SEE

In the earth walled firmly, stand.

Be the bell to-day created!

Come, my comrades, be at hand!

From the glowing brow
Sweat must freely flow,

So the work the master showeth;
Yet the blessing Heaven bestoweth.

The work we earnestly are doing

Befitteth well an earnest word;
Then toil goes on, more briskly flowing,
When good discourse is also heard.
So let us then with care now ponder

What through weak strength originates:

To him no reverence can we render,
Who never heeds what he creates.
'Tis this indeed that man most graceth,
For this 'tis his to understand,—
That in his inner heart he traceth
What he produces with his hand.

See how brown the pipes are getting!
This little rod I dip it in;

If it show a glazèd coating,

Then the casting may begin.

Now my lads, enough!

Prove me now the stuff,

The brittle with the tough combining,
See if they be rightly joining.

For when the strong and mild are pairing,
The manly with the tender sharing,
Then is the concord good and strong.

See ye, who join in endless union,
If heart with heart be in communion!
For fancy's brief, repentance long.

Be the casting now beginning;
Finely jagged is the grain.
But before we set it running,

Let us breathe a pious strain.
Let the metal go!

God protect us now!

Through the bending handle hollow
Smoking shoots the fire-brown billow.

Benignant is the might of flame,

When man keeps watch and makes it tame;
In what he fashions, what he makes,
Help from this heaven's force he takes:
But fearful is this heaven's force
When all unfettered in its course;

It steps forth on its own fierce way,
Thy daughter, Nature, wild and free.
Woe! when once emancipated,

With naught her power to withstand,
Through the streets thick populated,

Waves she high her monstrous brand! By the elements is hated

What is formed by mortal hand.

From the tower,

Heavy and slow,

Tolls the funeral

Note of woe,

Sad and solemn, with its knell attending
Some new wanderer on the last way wending.

Ah! the wife it is, the dear one,

Ah! it is the faithful mother,
Whom the angel dark is tearing
From the husband's arms endearing,