And this hath now his heart,

Which, be they what they may,
And unto this he frames his song:

Are yet the fountain light of all our day,
Then will he fit his tongue

Are yet a master light of all our seeing ;
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;

Uphold us-cherish-and have power to make
But it will not be long

Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Ere this be thrown aside,

Of the eternal silence: truths that wake,
And with new joy and pride

To perish never;
The little actor cons another part;

Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Filling from time to time his “humorous stage"

Nor man nor boy, With all the persons, down to palsied age,

Nor all that is at enmity with joy, l'hat life brings with her in her equipage;

Can utterly abolish or destroy!
As if his whole vocation

Hence, in a season of calm weather,
Were endless imitation.

Though inland far we be,

Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
VIII.

Which brought us hither;
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie

Can in a moment travel thither,-
Thy soul's immensity;

And see the children sport upon the shore,
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep

And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind,

X.
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,-

Then, sing ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
Mighty prophet! Seer blest!

And let the young lambs bound
On whom those truths do rest,

As to the tabor's sound!
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,

We, in thought, will join your thirong, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;

Ye that pipe and ye that play, Thou, over whom thy immortality

Ye that through your hearts to-day Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave,

Feel the gladness of the May! А presence which is not to be put by;

What though the radiance which was once so bright Thou little child, yet glorious in the might

Be now for ever taken from my sight, Of heaven-born freedom, on thy being's height, Though nothing can bring back the hour Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; The years to bring the inevitable yoke,

We will grieve not, rather find Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ?

Strength in what remains behind, Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight,

In the primal sympathy And custom lie upon thee with a weight,

Which having been must ever be, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

In the soothing thoughts that spring

Out of human suffering,
IX.

In the faith that looks through death,
O joy! that in our embers

In years that bring the philosophic mind.
Is something that doth live,

XI.
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!

And oh ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves,
The thought of our past years in me doth breed Think not of any severing of our loves!
Perpetual benedictions: not indeed

Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; For that which is most worthy to be blest;

I only have relinquished one delight Delight and liberty, the simple creed

To live beneath your more habitual sway. Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,

I love the brooks, which down their channels fret, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his Even more than when I tripped lightly as they;

Not for these I raise (breast:- The innocent brightness of a new-born day
The song of thanks and praise ;

Is lovely yet ;
But for those obstinate questionings

The clouds that gather round the setting sun Of sense and outward things,

Do take a sober colouring from an eye Fallings from us, vanishings;

That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Blank misgivings of a creature

Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Moving about in worlds not realized,

Thanks to the human heart by which we live; High instincts, before which our mortal nature

Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears; Did tremble, like a guilty thing surprised!

To me the meanest flower that blows can give But for those first affections,

Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. Those shadowy recollections,

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

He heard not his own footsteps on the rock

The Bramin strikes the hour. That through the thick stagnation sent no sound. For leagues and leagues around, the brazen sound How sweet it were, he thought.

Rolls through the stillness of departing day,
To feel the flowing wind!

Like thunder far away.
With what a thirst of joy
He should breathe in the open gales of Heaven !

THE APPARITION OF YEDILLIAN.
Downward, and downward still, and still the way, O happy sire, and happy daughter!
The long, long, way is safe.

Ye on the banks of that celestial water Is there no secret wile,

Your resting place and sanctuary have found. No lurking enemy?

What! hath not then their mortal taipt defil'd
His watchful eye is on the wall of rock,

The sacred solitary ground?
And warily he marks the roof,

Vain thought! the Holy Valley smil'd
And warily survey'd

Receiving such a sire and child;
The path that lay before.

Ganges, who seem'd asleep to lie,
Downward, and downward still, and still the way,

Beheld them with benignant eye,
The long, long, way is safe;

And rippled round melodiously,
Rock only, the same light,

And rollid her little waves to meet
The same dead atmosphere,

And welcome their beloved feet.
And solitude, and silence like the grave.

The gales of Swerga thither fled,
And heavenly odours there were sbed

About, below, and overhead;
AN IDOL.

And Earth rejoicing in their tread,

Hath built them up a blooming bower,
It was a living Image, by the art
Of magic hands, of flesh and bones compos’d,

Where every amaranthine flower

Its deathless blossom interweaves
And human blood, through veins and arteries
'That flow'd with vital action. In the shape

With bright and undecaying leaves.
Of Eblis it was made;
Its stature such, and such its strength,

Three happy beings are there here,

The sire, the maid, the Glendoveer;
As when among the Sons of God
Pre-eminent, he rais'd his radiant head,

A fourth approaches,—who is this

That enters in the Bower of Bliss ? Prince of the Morning. On his brow

No form so fair might painter find A coronet of meteor flames,

Among the daughters of mankind; Flowing in points of light.

For death her beauties hath refin'd,
Self-pois'd in air before him,

And unto her a form hath given
Hung the Round Altar, rolling like the world

Framed of the elements of Heaven;
On its diurnal axis; like the world

Pure dwelling-place for perfect mind. Chequer'd with sea and shore,

She stood and gaz'd on sire and child; The work of demon art.

Her tongue not yet hath power to speak, For where the sceptre in the Idol's hand

The tears were streaming down her cheek; Touch'd the Round Altar, in its answering realm,

And when those tears her sight beguilid, Earth felt the stroke, and ocean rose in storms,

And still her faultering accents fail'd,
And ruining cities, shaken from their seat,

The Spirit, mute and motionless,
Crush'd all their inhabitants.

Spread out her arms for the caress,
His other arm was rais'd, and its spread palm

Made still and silent with excess
Up-bore the ocean-weight,

Of love and painful happiness.
Whose naked waters arch'd the sanctuary.

The maid that lovely form survey'd;

Wistful she gaz'd, and knew her not;
AN EASTERN EVENING.

But nature to her heart convey'd
Evening comes on: arising from the stream,

A sudden thrill, a startling thought,
Homeward the tall flamingo wings his flight;

A feeling many a year forgot,
And wbere he sails athwart the setting beam,

Now like a dream anew recurring,
His scarlet plumage glows with deeper light.

As if again in every vein
The watchman, at the wish'd approach of night,

Her mother's milk was stirring.
Gladly forsakes the field, where he all day,

With straining neck and earnest eye
To scare the winged plunderers from their prey,

She stretch'd her hands imploringly, With shout and sling, on yonder clay-built height,

As if she fain would have her nigh, Hath borne the sultry ray.

Yet fear'd to meet the wish'd embrace, Hark! at the Golden Palaces,

At once with love and awe opprest.

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Not so Ladurlad; he could trace,

Accordant to the melancholy waves.
Though brighten'd with angelic grace,

Wondering, he stood awhile to gaze
His own Yedillian's earthly face;

Upon the works of elder days.
He ran and held her to his breast!

The brazen portals open stood,
Oh joy above all joys of Heaven,

Even as the fearful multitude
By death alone to others given,

Had left them, when they fled
This moment hath to him restor'd

Before the rising flood.
The early-lost, the long-deplor’d.

High over-head, sublime,

The mighty gateway's storied roof was spread, They sin who tell us Love can die.

Dwarfing the puny piles of younger time.
With life all other passions fly,

With the deeds of days of yore
All others are but vanity.

That ample roof was sculptur’d o'er,
In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell,

And many a godlike form there met his eye,
Nor Avarice in the vaults of hell;

And many an emblem dark of mystery. Earthly these passions of the earth,

Through these wide portals oft had Baly rode They perish where they have their birth;

Triumphant from his proud abode,
But Love is indestructible.

When, in his greatness, he bestrode
Its holy flame for ever burneth,

The Aullay, hugest of four-footed kind, From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth;

The Aullay-horse, that in his force,
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,

With elephantine trunk, could bind
At times deceiv'd, at times opprest,

And lift the elephant, and on the wind
It here is tried and purified,

Whirl him away, with sway and swing,
Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest;

Even like a pebble from the practis'd sling.
It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest time of Love is there. Those streets which never, since the days of yore,
Oh! when a mother meets on high

By human footstep had been visited;
The babe she lost in infancy,

Those streets which never more
Hath she not then, for pains and fears,

A human foot shall tread,
The day of woe, the watchful night,

Ladurlad trod. In sun-light, and sea-green,
For all her sorrow, all her tears,

The thousand palaces were seen
An over-payment of delight!

Of that proud city, whose superb abodes
Seem'd rear’d by giants for the immortal gods.

How silent and how beautiful they stand, THE SUBMARINE CITY.

Like things of Nature! the eternal rocks

Themselves not firmer. Neither hath the sand Such was the talk they held upon their way, Drifted within their gates, and choak'd their doors, Of him to whose old city they were bound; Nor slime defild their pavements and their floors. And now, upon their journey, many a day

Did then the ocean wage Had risen and clos’d, and many a week gone round,

His war for love and envy, not in rage, And many a realm and region had they past,

O thou fair city, that he spares thee thus? When now the ancient towers appear’d at last.

Art thou Varounin's capital and court, Their golden summits, in the noon-day light,

Where all the sea-gods for delight resort, Shone o'er the dark green deep that rollid between; A place too godlike to be held by us, For domes, and pinnacles, and spires were seen The poor degenerate children of the earth? Peering above the sea,-a mournful sight!

So thought Ladurlad, as he look'd around, Well might the sad beholder ween from thence

Weening to hear the sound What works of wonder the devouring wave

Of Mermaid's shell, and song Hlad swallowed there, when monuments so brave Of choral throng from some imperial hall, Bore record of their old magnificence.

Wherein the immortal powers, at festival, And on the sandy shore, beside the verge

Their high carousals keep. Of ocean, here and there, a rock-hewn fane

But all is silence dread, Resisted in its strength the surf and surge

Silence profound and dead,
That on their deep foundations beat in vain.

The everlasting stillness of the deep.
In solitude the ancient temples stood,
Once resonant with instrument and song,

Through many a solitary street,
And solemn dance of festive multitude;

And silent market-place, and lonely square, Now as the weary ages pass along,

Arm'd with the mighty curse, behold him fare. Hearing no voice save of the ocean flood,

And now his feet attain that royal fane Which roars for ever on the restless shores;

Where Baly held of old bis awful reign. Or, visiting their solitary caves,

What once had been the garden spread around, The lonely sound of winds, that moan around Fair garden, once which wore perpetual green,

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Where all sweet flowers through all the year were Upon a smooth and grassy plat below, found,

By Nature there as for an altar drest, [earth And all fair fruits were through all seasons seen; They joined their sister stream, which from the

A place of Paradise, where each device Welled silently. In such a scene rude man
Of emulous art with nature strove to vie ; With pardonable error might have knelt,
And nature, on her part,

Feeling a present Deity, and made
Call’d forth new powers wherewith to vanquish art. His offering to the fountain Nymph devout.

The Swerga-God himself, with envious eye, The arching rock disclosed above the springs
Survey'd those peerless gardens in their prime; A cave, where hugest son of giant birth,
Nor ever did the Lord of Light,

That e'er of old in forest of romance Who circles Earth and Heaven upon his way,

'Gainst knights and ladies waged discourteous war, Behold from eldest time a goodlier sight

Erect within the portal might have stood. Than were the groves which Baly, in his might, The broken stone allowed for band and foot Made for his chosen place of solace and delight.

No difficult ascent, above the base

In height a tall man's stature, measured thrice.
It was a Garden still beyond all price, No holier spot than Covadonga, Spain
Even yet it was a place of Paradise :-

Boasts in her wide extent, though all her realms For where the mighty Ocean could not spare,

Be with the noblest blood of martyrdom
There had he, with his own creation, In elder or in later days enriched,
Sought to repair his work of devastation. And glorified with tales of heavenly aid
And here were coral bowers,

By many a miracle made inanifest;
And grots of madrepores,

Nor in the heroic annals of her fame
And banks of spunge, as soft and fair to eye Doth she show forth a scene of more renown.
As e'er was mossy bed

Then, save the hunter, drawn in keen pursuit Whereon the Wood-nymphs lay

Beyond his wonted haunts, or shepherd's boy, Their languid limbs in summer's sultry hours. Following the pleasure of his straggling flock, Here, too, were living flowers

None knew the place.
Which, like a bud compacted,

Pelayo, when he saw
Their purple cups contracted,

Those glittering sources and their sacred cave, And now in open blossom spread,

Took from his side the bugle silver-tipt, Stretch'd like green anthers many a seeking head. And with a breath long drawn and slow expired

And arborets of jointed stone were there, Sent forth that strain, which, echoing from the walls And plants of fibres fine, as silkworm's thread; Of Cangas, wont to tell his glad return Yea, beautiful as Mermaid's golden hair When from the chase he came. At the first sound Upon the waves dispread:

Favilia started in the cave, and cried, Others that, like the broad banana growing, My father's horn !-A sudden flame suffused Rais'd their long wrinkled leaves of purple hue, ' Hermesind's cheek, and she with quickened eye Like streamers wide out-flowing.

Looked eager to her mother silently; And whatsoe'er the depths of Ocean hide But Gaudiosa trembled and grew pale,

From human eyes, Ladurlad there espied, Doubting her sense deceived. A second time Trees of the deep, and shrubs and fruits and flowers, The bugle breathed its well-known notes abroad; As fair as ours,

And Hermesind around her mother's neck Wherewith the Sea-nymphs love their locks to braid, Threw her white arms, and earnestly exclaimed,

When to their father's hall, at festival 'Tis he!-But when a third and broader blast
Repairing, they, in emulous array,

Rung in the echoing archway, ne'er did wand,
Their charms display,

With magic power endued, call up a sight To grace the banquet, and the solemn day. So strange, as sure in that wild solitude

It seemed, when from the bowels of the rock

The mother and her children hastened forth. PELAYO AND HIS CHILDREN.

She in the sober charms and dignity

The ascending vale, Of womanhood mature, nor verging yet
Long straitened by the narrowing mountains, bere Upon decay; in gesture like a queen,
Was closed. In front a rock, abrupt and bare, Such inborn and habitual majesty
Stood eminent, in height exceeding far

Ennobled all her steps,mor priestess, chosen
All edifice of human power, by king

Because within such faultless work of Heaven Or caliph, or barbaric sultan reared,

Inspiring Deity might seem to make Or mightier tyrants of the world of old,

Its habitation known-Favilia such Assyrian or Egyptian, in their pride :

In form and stature as the Sea Nymph's son, Yet far above, beyond the reach of sight,

When that wise Centaur from his cave well-pleased Swell after swell, the heathery mountain rose. Beheld the boy divine his growing strength Here, in two sources, from the living rock

Against some shaggy lionet essay, The everlasting springs of Deva gushed.

And fixing in the half-grown mane his hands,