But thou, Clitumnus! in thy sweetest wave Of the most living crystal that was e'er The haunt of river-nymph, to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer Grazes; the purest god of gentle waters! And most serene of aspect and most clear! Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters, A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters!
And on thy happy shore a temple still, Of small and delicate proportion, keeps, Upon a mild declivity of hill,
Its memory of thee; beneath it sweeps Thy current's calmness; oft from out it leaps The finny darter with the glittering scales, Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps, While, chance, some scattered water-lily sails Down where the shallower wave still tells its bub. bling tales.
Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, The God of life, and poesy, and lightThe Sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow All radiant from his triumph in the fight; The shaft hath just been shot-the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance; in his eye And nostril beautiful disdain, and might And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity.
But in his delicate form-a dream of Love, Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast Longed for a deathless lover from above, And maddened in that vision-are expressed All that ideal beauty ever blessed
The mind within its most unearthly mood, When each conception was a heavenly guest- A ray of immortality-and stood Starlike, around, until they gathered to a god!
I see before me the gladiator lie; He leans upon his hand; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low; And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, 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 hailed the wretch who won.
He heard it, but he heeded not; his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away: He wrecked 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,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday.
All this rushed with his blood. Shall he expire, And unavenged? Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire!
APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN.
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not man the less, but nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin-his control Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths, with bubbling groan~ Without a grave, unknelled,uncoffined, and unknown.
His steps are not upon thy paths-thy fields Are not a spoil for him-thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength. he wields
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray, And howling to the gods, where haply lies His pretty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth: there let him lay.
The armaments which thunder-strike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war: These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
Thy shores are empires changed in all save thee- Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters washed them power while they were free,
And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts; not so thou; Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play. Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow: Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's forni Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the turria clime
Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublimeThe image of Eternity-the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.
And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers-they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror-'twas a pleasing fear; For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane-as I do here.
EVENING ON THE BANKS OF THE BRENTA.
The moon is up, and yet it is not nightSunset 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 blest.
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 Rolled o'er the peak of the far Rhætian hill, As day and night contending were, until Nature reclaimed her order: gently flows The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil The odorous purple of a new-born rose, Which streams upon her stream and glassed within it glows.
Filled 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 charge; 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,
The last still loveliest, till-'tis gone-and all is gray.
The fiery shaft ran down-down to a bed On which lay prone a little wasted form Of faded earth, from which the struggling soul Yet panted to be free. It was a girl-
A little sickly girl lay on that bed- To whom God's sunbeam came. She saw the beam-
But to her eye of faith 'twas not a beam— 'Twas a bright golden stair with myriad steps, All small-all suited to her tiny feet- And leading straight to Heaven.
"I must go Home- Not a short holiday, my mother dear, Like those I've had from school-from school to Home,
And then from Home to school; the Home so short, And, oh, the school so long! but always Home; And it will be to-day-must be to-day."
"My darling is at Home!" the mother sobbed, As with a moistened feather she essayed
To damp the parched lips, round which the dews Shook from the wings of death thronged cold and
But in the eyes through which that spirit looked A soft denial shone; and the small voice Pleaded in whispers to that mother's heart,- "Oh! do not keep me here-let me go Home; I'm very tired of earth-I long for Home; I'm weak and ill, and only fit for Home- And such a Home, sweet mother! there-'tis there!"
She smiled within the sunbeam, and her hand, Like it, transparent seemed, as it was raised Pointing to Heaven. A heaven not far away— But near; so near-that e'en her dying smile Seemed not to herald night, but the bright dawn Of an unclouded and eternal day.
The mother felt, as kneeling by that bed She tended every want, and on her breast Pillowed the sufferer's head-that the frail shell, The young worn mould encircled by her arms, Was crumbling fast to dust-and that the wings Of a freed angel would be heavenward spread When earth's last gyves fell off, and the last sigh Followed the sunbeam, sent to light her Home.
They called her "Lily"-Lilian was her name But from her birth she seemed so waxen whiteSo fairy slight, so gentle and so pure, That to her father's mind she ever brought The image of that pale and fragile flower: And so he called her "Lily." 'Twas a term In which endearment, tenderness, and hope Were all wreathed up; the hope too often crossed By jealous fears, when some untoward breath Too roughly bent to earth the sickly flower, Leaving it drooping on its yielding stem.
And there she lay at last,—almost in HeavenOf Time and of Eternity a part
A dying, living link, uniting those
Who live to die-and die to ever live!
Her eyes were closed. Her mother thought she slept
The sleep that wakes no more: but 'twas not so. A step was on the stair-the fading eyes Opened again on earth-the wasted cheeks Dimpled once more, as round the lips a smile Played like the shadow of a silver cloud Upon a sunlit stream. "Mother! 'tis he- 'Tis father's footstep-and so very kind— So thoughtful of his Lily, he has left His heavy boots below; he pauses now- Clings to the rail, and sobs. I hear it all! He fears I am gone Home. Go, mother dear! Tell him I could not go till he returned. I want to feel his kiss upon my lips; And take it up to Heaven."
And then a choking whisper from without.
May I come in?" If she is gone, say 'No.'.
If not, say 'Yes.' I'll tread so very light
I shall not wake her, wife. May I come in?"
Your broad, kind breast, so full of love for me'Twill rest me on my road-'tis half way Home!
And then he rose, and round her wasted form His brawny arms-before whose mighty strength The massive anvil quivered, as his hands Swung high the ponderous sledge-or in whose
The fiery steed stood conquered and subdued— Closed, as the breath of heaven, or God's own love, So lightly, softly, gently, hemmed they in The little dying child. Then there he sat, Her face upon his breast, and on his knee Her tearless mother's head; for all her tears Were inly wept, dropping like molten lead Upon her breaking heart.
Far in the west Long waves of crimson clouds stretched o'er the hills;
And through those clouds, as in a sea of blood, The sun sank slowly down. Ere his last ray Glanced upwards from the earth, the father felt His Lily lift her head-celestial light Beamed from her eyes, as for the last embrace She to her mother turned, and then to him: "They beckon me," she said; "I come! I come!" Around his neck she twined her faded arms, Rising obedient to her heavenly call;
A faltering voice said, "Come!" 'Twas Lily's Again he pressed her lips, but in the kiss
So he went in-a stalwart, lusty man
A giant, with a tiny infant's heart,
Weeping big tears that would not be controlled.
Oh! how he loved that child-how she loved him!
Yet both so opposite; her little soul Clinging round his—a tendril round an oak— A lily cleaving to a rugged rock.
He sat beside her bed, and in his hands Buried his streaming eyes. His soul rebelled: "She had no right to die-to rive his heart; Rob him and it of all life's tenderest ties." He felt as he could say, "Lily, lie there For ever dying; but, oh! never die
'Til I die too." He thought not of his wife— She was his other self. She was himself; But Lily was their cherished life of life- Of each and both a part-so grafted on, That, if removed, they must become once more Two bodies with two souls-no longer one, Their living link destroyed—not loving less, But singly loving-'twixt their hearts a gulf Unbridged by Lily's love;-a love so pure That not a taint of selfishness was near; All this he felt, and on the future looked As on a desolation.
Or whispered, rather-but a thunder peal Would less affect him than her sinking tones: "Raise me, dear father; take me to your breast-
DREAM OF THE CONDEMNED FELON.
GEORGE CRABBE-"THE BOROUGH."
Yes, e'en in sleep the impressions all remain, He hears the sentence and he feels the chain; He sees the judge and jury when he shakes, And loudly cries, 'Not guilty,' and awakes: Then chilling tremblings o'er his body creep, Till worn-out nature is compelled to sleep.
Now comes the dream again: it shows each scene, With each small circumstance that comes betweenThe call to suffering, and the very deed-
There crowds go with him, follow, and precede; Some heartless shout, some pity all condemn, While he in fancied envy looks at them; He seems the place for that sad act to see, And dreams the very thirst which then will be; A priest attends-it seems the one he knew In his best days, beneath whose care he grew. At this his terrors take a sudden flight; He sees his native village with delight; The house, the chamber, where he once arrayed His youthful person, where h knelt and prayed; Then, too, the comforts he enjoyed at home, The days of joy, the joys themselves are come; The hours of innocence, the timid look
Of his loved maid, when first her hand he took And told his hope; her trembling joy appears, Her forced reserve, and his retreating fears. ♪ now are present-'tis a moment's gleam Of former sunshine-stay, delightful dream! Let him within his pleasant garden walk, Give him her arm, of blessings let them talk. Yes! all are with him now, and all the while Life's early prospects, and his Faany's smile; Then come his sister and his village friend, And he will now the sweetest moments spend Life has to yield: no, never will he find Again on earth such pleasure in his mind: He goes through shrubby walks these friends among, Love in their looks and honor on the tongue; Nay, there's a charm beyond what nature shows, The bloom is softer, and more sweetly glows; Pierced by no crime, and urged by no desire For more than true and honest hearts require, They feel the calm delight, and thus proceed Through the green lane, then linger in the mead, Stray o'er the heath in all its purple bloom, And pluck the blossom where the wild-bees hum; Then through the broomy bound with ease they pass, And press the sandy sheep-walk's slender grass, Where dwarfish flowers among the gorse are spread, And the lamb browses by the linnet's bed; Then 'cross the bounding brook they make their way O'er its rough bridge, and there behold the bay; The ocean smiling to the fervid sun, The waves that faintly fall, and slowly run, The ships at distance, and the boats at hand; And now they walk upon the sea-side sand, Counting the number, and what kind they be,
Ships softly sinking in the sleepy sea; Now arm in arm, now parted, they behold The glittering waters on the shingles rolled: The timid girls, half dreading their design, Dip the small foot in the retarded brine,
And search for crimson weeds, which spreading flow. Or lie like pictures on the sand below; With all those bright red pebbles that the sun Through the small waves so softly shines upon And those live, lucid jellies which the eye Delights to trace as they swim glittering by; Pearl shells and rubied star-fish they admire, And will arrange above the parlor fire. Tokens of bliss! 'Oh, horrible! a wave Roars as it rises-save me, Edward, save!' She cries. Alas! the watchman on his way Calls, and lets in-truth, terror, and the day!
And prayed him, ‘If they pay this tax, they starve.' Whereat he stared, replying, half amazed,
'You would not let your little finger ache For such as these? But I would die,' said she. He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul; Then filliped at the diamond in her ear; 'O ay, ay, ay, you talk!'-'Alas!' she said, 'But prove me what it is I would not do.' And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand, He answered: 'Ride you naked through the town, And I repeal it;' and nodding as in scorn, He parted, with great strides among his dogs.
So left alone, the passions of her mindAs winds from all the compass shift and blow— Made war upon each other for an hour, Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all The hard condition; but that she would loose The people: therefore, as they loved her well, From then till noon no foot should pace the street, No eye look down, she passing; but that all Should keep within, door shut, and window barred. Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt, The grim Earl's gift; but ever at a breath She lingered, looking like a summer moon Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head, And showered the rippled ringlets to her knee; Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid From pillar unto pillar, until she reached The gateway; there she found her palfrey trapt In purple blazoned with armorial gold.
Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity: The deep air listened round her as she rode,
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