Or pine-grove whither woodman never clomb,
Or lonely house, long held the witches' home,
Methinks were fitter instruments for thee,
Mad Lutanist! who in this month of showers,
Of dark brown gardens, and of peeping flowers,'
Mak'st Devils' yule, with worse than wintry song,
The blossoms, buds, and timorous leaves among.
Thou Actor, perfect in all tragic sounds!
Thou mighty Poet, e'en to Frenzy bold!
What tell'st thou now about?

"Tis of the Rushing of an Host in rout,

With groans of trampled men, with smarting

wounds

At once they groan with pain, and shudder with the

cold!

But hush! there is a pause of deepest silence!

And all that noise, as of a rushing crowd,

With groans, and tremulous shudderings—all is over— It tells another tale, with sounds less deep and loud! A tale of less affright,

And tempered with delight,

As Otway's self had framed the tender lay,

'Tis of a little child

Upon a lonesome wild,

Not far from home, but she hath lost her

way:

travagant to those who have heard it at night, and in a moun

tainous country.

And now moans low in bitter grief and fear,

And now screams loud, and hopes to make her mother

hear.

VIII.

'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,

And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,

Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,

Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice:

To her may all things live, from Pole to Pole,

Their life the eddying of her living soul!

O simple spirit, guided from above,

Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
Thus mayest thou
ever, evermore rejoice.

"And hail the Chapel! hail the Platform wild!
Where Tell directed the avenging Dart,

With well strung arm, that first preserved his Child,
Then aimed the arrow at the Tyrant's heart."

SPLENDOUR'S fondly fostered child!
And did you hail the Platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell
Beneath the shaft of Tell?

O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure!
Whence learnt you that heroic measure?

Light as a dream your days their circlets ran,
From all that teaches Brotherhood to Man;

Far, far removed! from want, from hope, from fear!
Enchanting music lulled your infant ear,

Obeisance, praises soothed your infant heart:
Emblazonments and old ancestral crests,

With many a bright obtrusive form of art,

Detained your eye from nature: stately vests,
That veiling strove to deck your charms divine,
Rich viands, and the pleasurable wine,
Were your's unearned by toil; nor could you see
The unenjoying toiler's misery.

And yet, free Nature's uncorrupted child,

You hailed the Chapel and the Platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell

Beneath the shaft of Tell!

O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure!
Whence learnt you that heroic measure?

There crowd your finely-fibred frame,
All living faculties of bliss ;

And Genius to your cradle came,

His forehead wreathed with lambent flame,
And bending low, with godlike kiss

Breath'd in a more celestial life

e;

But boasts not many a fair compeer,

A heart as sensitive to joy and fear?

And some, perchance, might wage an equal strife,

"And hail the Chapel! hail the Platform wild!
Where Tell directed the avenging Dart,

With well strung arm, that first preserved his Child,
Then aimed the arrow at the Tyrant's heart."

SPLENDOUR'S fondly fostered child!
And did you hail the Platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell
Beneath the shaft of Tell?

O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure!
Whence learnt you that heroic measure?

Light as a dream your days their circlets ran,
From all that teaches Brotherhood to Man;