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on each brow), sight,

m) who have trod or ever green, rmonious notes, esbian lyres,

l on the ear d loud

gors fill the sky , happier still! musing slow,

thy letter'd sons,
nd divines,

delighted, Queen's *!
kell lay inspired,
sic springs,

ounding harps the song,

orous or grave,

etar to their fill.

reverence presides

w of virtue for the skies), y and gentle sway; encircled and esteem. right benevolence of soul, by religion warm,

for the college weal,
re.-Momental bliss!
inight howl of wolves,
re in Oxford.

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As 'neath the trembling of the moon he walks,
Within the circle of thy still domain.

He comes! he comes! the reconciling Power
Of pain, vexation, care, and anguish comes!
He hovers in the lazy air:-He melts,
With honey heaviness, my senses down.

W. THOMPSON.

DELIRIOUS DREAMS.

THOUGH, at their visual entrance quite shut out, External forms, forbidden, mount the winds, Retire to chaos, or with night commix;

Yet, Fancy's mimic work, ten thousand shapes,
Antic and wild, rush sweeping o'er my dreams,
Irregular and new; as pain or ease

The spirits teach to flow, and in the brain
Direction diverse hold: gentle and bright
As hermits, sleeping in their mossy cells,
Lull'd by the fall of waters! by the rills
From Heliconian cliffs devolved; or where,
Thy ancient river, Kishon, sacred stream!
Soft murmurs on their slumbers: peace within,
And conscience, e'en to ecstasy sublimed
And beatific vision. Sudden, black,
And horrible as murderers; or hags,

Their lease of years spun out, and bloody bond
Full flashing on their eyes; the gulf, beneath,
Maddening with gloomy fires; and heaven, behind,
With all her golden valves for ever closed.

Now in Elysium lapp'd, and lovely scenes,
Where honeysuckles rove, and eglantines,
Narcissus, jessamin, pinks, profusely wild,
In every scented gale Arabia breathe;

As blissful Eden fair; the morning work
Of Heaven, and Milton's theme! where Innocence
Smiled and improved the prospect.-Now, anon,
By Isis' favourite flood supinely laid,

In tuneful indolence, behold the bards
(Harps in each hand, and laurel on each brow),
A band of demigods, august to sight,
In venerable order sweetly rise,

(The Muses sparkling round them) who have trod
In measured pace its banks, for ever green,
Enamel'd from their feet! Harmonious notes,
Warbled to Doric reeds, to Lesbian lyres,
Or Phrygian minstrelsy, steal on the ear
Enamour'd with variety: and loud
The trumpet's shrilling clangors fill the sky
With silver melody.-Now, happier still!
Round thy Italic cloisters, musing slow,
Or in sweet converse with thy letter'd sons,
Philosophers and poets and divines,

Enjoy the sacred walk, delighted, Queen's*!
Where Addison and Tickell lay inspired,
Inebriated from the classic springs,

And tuned to various-sounding harps the song,
Sublime or tender, humorous or grave,
Quaffing the Muses' nectar to their fill.
Where Smith in hoary reverence presides
(Crown'd with the snow of virtue for the skies),
With graceful gravity and gentle sway;
With perfect peace encircled and esteem.
Whose mild and bright benevolence of soul,
By reason cool, and by religion warm,
And generous passion for the college weal,
More than a Muse inspire.-Momental bliss!
For sudden rapt, the midnight howl of wolves,

* Queen's College in Oxford.

The dragon's yell, the lion's roar astound
My trembling ear. Ha! down a burning mount
I plunge deep, deep: sure Vulcan's shop is here-
Hark, how the anvils thunder round the dens
Flammivomous! What? are those chains to bind
This skeleton! the Cyclops must be mad:
Those bolts of steel, those adamantine links
Demand Typhoeus' strength to burst.-Away—
Venus and Mars-beware.-In giddy whirls
I ride the blast, and towering through the storm
Enjoy the palace of the morn. The Sun
Resigns the reins of Phlegon to my hands:
His mane waves fire: he scorches me to dust:
Avaunt, thou fiend!—I'll hurl thee down the deep
Of heaven, with bolted thunder, and enwrapp'd
With forky lightning. Now staggering I reel,
By murderers pursued: my faithless feet
Scarce shift their pace: or down rushing amain,
I cease to recollect my steps, and roll

Passive on earth.-Sure, 'twas Astolpho's horn
Pour'd on my ear the' annoying blast: at which
Rogero trembled, Bradamant grew pale,
And into air dissolved the' enchanted dome.

Now starting from this wilderness of dreams,

I wake from fancied into real woe.

Pain empties all her vials on my head,

And steeps me o'er and o'er. The' envenom'd shirt
Of Hercules enwraps my burning limbs
With dragon's blood: I rave and roar like him,
Writhing in agony. Devouring fires
Eat up the marrow, frying in my bones.
O whither, whither shall I turn for aid?

W. THOMPSON.

DREAMS.

THAT sage hath never laid on Fancy's lap
His charmed head, by sweet ideal sounds
Of melody entranced, who deems the sense
Of conscious life in gentle slumber lost!
Who, yielding up himself to stealing sleep
As to a sad necessity, beholds

Elate the dawnlight's golden glimmering streak
His curtain'd couch; then springs impatient forth,
And boasts he feels existence. But to me
Sweet is the trance of slumber: sweet the' escape
From life's realities to fancy's world

Of vision'd happiness: the throbs of hope,
The smiles of rapture; voices breathing love,
Delightful shapes, and scenes of faery land;
To memory's pleasures and the fleeting joys
That seem'd for ever flown; but nightly wing
Their backward flight, and hover o'er my brow.
Such recognitions vivid and soul-felt,

The work of wonder-shaping intellect,

Wake when the body sleeps. No day-dream wild
On river-brink, beneath the beech tree's gloom,
Can with such clear distinctness to the soul
Picture the groups of faded bliss; or call
Such light aerial phantasies of joy

To float around the brain. Thou lovely moon,
Companion of my bed! I would invoke

Thy influence; now from ocean's trembling verge
Lift thy full orb, that reddening through the woods
Gleams like a sanguine shield; till slow it climbs,
And lessens' as it climbs; and, hovering high
In the blue calm of ether, sheds abroad

VOL. II.

I I

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