By chance-caressing airs, amid the wild
Beauteously pale, and sadly playful grew,
A lonely child, by not one human heart
Beloved, and loving none; nor strange, if learn'd
Her native fond affections to embrace
Things senseless and inanimate: she loved
All flowerets, that with rich embroidery fair
Enamel the green earth, the' odorous thyme,
Wild rose, and roving eglantine, nor spared
To mourn their fading forms with childish tears.
Gray birch and aspen light she loved, that droop
Fringing the crystal stream; the sportive breeze
That wanton'd with her brown and glossy locks,
The sunbeam chequering the fresh bank. Ere dawn
Wandering, and wandering still at dewy eve,
By Glenderamakin's flower-empurpled marge,
Derwent's blue lake, or Greta's wildering glen.
Rare sound to her was human voice, scarce heard,
Save of her aged nurse, or shepherd maid
Soothing the child with simple tale or song;
Hence all she knew of earthly. hopes and fears,
Life's sins and sorrows: better known the voice
Beloved of lark from misty morning cloud
Blithe carolling, and wild melodious notes
Heard mingling in the summer wood, or plaint,
By moonlight, of the lone night-warbling bird.
Nor they of love unconscious, all around
Fearless, familiar they their descants sweet
Tuned emulous. Her knew all living shapes
That tenant wood or rock; dun roe or deer,
Sunning his dappled side at noontide crouch'd,
Courting her fond caress, nor fled her gaze
The brooding dove, but murmur'd sounds of joy.
One summer noon, the silvery birchen shade

Pendent above from dripping crag her brow
Veil'd from the fiery sunbeam, gems of spray
Gleam'd cool around with watery rainbow light,
From a pure streamlet down its rocky bed
Dashing sweet music; she on mossy couch
Sate listening the blithe thrush, whose airy notes
In amorous contention Echo caught

Responsive. Sudden droop'd its flagging wing
The timorous bird of song, and fluttering sought
Soft refuge in the maiden's snowy breast.
She, o'er the nestling prisoner folding light
Her careless vest, stood gazing, where awhile,
Dark in the sun-cloud's white, came fiercely down
A swooping falcon: at her sight it check'd
Its keen eye bright with joy, the' admiring bird
Fearfully beauteous floated in the air,

Its silver wings and glossy plumage gray
Glanced in the sunlight. Up the maiden gazed,
Smiling a pale and terrified delight,

And seem'd for that loved warbler in her breast
Beseeching mercy. Mid the green wood sank
The' obedient bird; she, joyous at his flight,
Her bosom half reveal'd, with gentle hand
Caressing smooth'd her captive's ruffled plumes.
Anon around a frighted thankful look

Glancing, what seem'd a human shape she saw,
Or more than human; stately on his arm
The falcon sate, and proudly flapped his wings.
She turned to fly, yet fled not, turned to gaze,
Yet dared not raise her downcast eye; she felt
Her warm cheek, why she knew not, blush, her
hand

Unconscious closer drew her bosom's fold.

With accent mild the stranger brief delay

Entreated; she, albeit his gentle words
Fell indistinct on her alarmed ear,
Listening delay'd, and still at fall of eve
Delay'd, e'en then with dim reverted eye,
Slow lingering on her winding homeward path.
No more in pomp of war, or vaulting steed,
Joyeth the son of Vortigern, nor feast
With jocund harpings and rich jewel'd dames,
Outshining in their pride the starry heavens.

As fair the spring flowers bloom, as graceful droops

The wild ash spray, as sweet the mountain bee
Murmurs, melodious breathes the twilight grove,
Unheard of her, unheeded, who erewhile
Visited, constant as the morning dew,
Those playmates and sweet sisters of her soul.
In one sole image sees the' enamour'd maid
Concentrated all qualities of love,

All beauty, grace, and majesty. The step
Of tall stag prancing stately down the glen,
The keen bright fierceness of the eagle's glance,
And airy gentleness of timorous roe,

And, more than all, a voice more soothing soft
Than wild bird's carol, or the murmuring brook,
With eloquence endued and melting words

So wondrous; though unheard since eve, the sounds Come mingling with her midnight sleep, and make The damask of her slumbering cheek grow warm. MILMAN.

VOL. II.

BB

THE PICTURE.

COME, painter, learn of me to trace
The fairest form, the sweetest face :
The Muses' rapture shall inspire
Thy hues of flame, thy tints of fire,
Her pencil aid the pictured strife,
And touch the likeness into life.
Come, painter, come; and, as I sing,
Thy pallet spread, thy colours bring,
One spangled, rich, refulgent sky,
Whose stars in lucid order lie.
Here the sweet blush, of Phosphor born,
To light the pearly path of morn;
There the mild radiance of the west,
That beams on Hesper's dewy breast;
And see the mingled splendours roll!
See Beauty's sun illumes the whole!

Light would you lay your colours on, From Cypria's softest, fairest swan The bosom-down be thine to take; Of this a plumy pencil make. Or would thy fearful hand prefer The summer cloud or gossamer, Thence let the silver lustres flow, Soft as the fleecy feathery snow. Now full the outline draw and fair, And wind the wave of beauty there. Give the free limbs a rounded grace, And sketch, with caution sketch the face. Here spread the front serene and high, And plant a star in either eye.

A rainbow draw; and arch it now,
Fair as Heaven's own auspicious bow.
Two rainbow arches, rising high
Above the star in either eye.

Now orb the sweetly circling cheek
Where dimples dwell and blushes break:
That cheek, whose garden of delight
From summer steals her shade and light,
As in the rose's strength of flower
The lily loses half her power.
But give the lips thy richest red:
There the ripe peach's purple spread,
Of melting grace:—those buds of bliss,
Where Love lies laughing in a kiss:
And let those ruby buds disclose
Of purest pearl two peeping rows.
Thus smile the silver blossoms seen
Two scarlet strawberries between.

Now let the dancing tresses play,
Like the sweet leaves that fan the May:
And as in frolic sport they flow,

To shade the ivory neck below,
Let zephyr kiss the locks aside,
That brighten beauties they would hide.
No:-he's too fond: his touch is rude,
Nor let the' officious boy intrude.

Now, painter, all thy genius try,

Thy boldest pencil I defy.

The bosom :-draw it if thou dare:

Paint heaven, for heaven is painted there.

Yet, ah! rash youth, thy hand restrain!

Vain were the' attempt, the thought were vain;
For shouldst thou but in fancy stray
O'er that celestial milky way,