In the flower-besprent meadows his genius we

trace

Turned to humbler delights, in which youth might confide,

That would yield him fit help while prefiguring that Place

Where, if Sin had not entered, Love never had died.

When with life lengthened out came a desolate time,

And darkness and danger had compassed him round,

With a thought he would flee to these haunts of his prime,

And here once again a kind shelter be found.
And let me believe that when nightly the Muse
Did waft him to Sion, the glorified hill,
Here also, on some favoured height, he would
choose

To wander, and drink inspiration at will
Vallombrosa! of thee I first heard in the page
Of that holiest of Bards, and the name for my
mind

Had a musical charm, which the winter of age And the changes it brings had no power to unbind.

And now, ye Miltonian shades! under you
I repose, nor am forced from sweet fancy to
While your leaves I behold and the brooks
they will strew,

part,

And the realised vision is clasped to my heart. Even so, and unblamed, we rejoice as we may In Forms that must perish, frail objects of

while,

I stood, and gazed upon a marble stone,
The laurell'd Dante's favourite seat. A throne,
In just esteem, it rivals; though no style
Be there of decoration to beguile

The mind, depressed by thought of greatness flown.

As a true man, who long had served the lyre,
I gazed with earnestness, and dared no more.
But in his breast the mighty Poet bore
A Patriot's heart, warm with undying fire.
Bold with the thought, in reverence I sate
down,

And, for a moment, filled that empty Throne.

XX.

BEFORE THE PICTURE OF THE BAPTIST, BY RAPHAEL, IN THE GALLERY AT FLORENCE. THE Baptist might have been ordain'd to cry Forth from the towers of that huge Pile, wherein

His Father served Jehovah; but how win
Due audience, how for aught but scorn defy
The obstinate pride and wanton revelry
Of the Jerusalem below, her sin
And folly, if they with united din
Drown not at once mandate and prophecy?
Therefore the Voice spake from the Desert,
thence

To Her, as to her opposite in peace,
Silence, and holiness, and innocence,
To Her and to all Lands its warning sent,
Crying with earnestness that might not cease,
"Make straight a highway for the Lord-re-
pent!'

XXI.

AT FLORENCE.-FROM MICHAEL ANGELO.

RAPT above earth by power of one fair face,
Hers in whose sway alone my heart delights,
I mingle with the blest on those pure heights
Where Man, yet mortal, rarely finds a place.
With Him who made the Work that Work
accords

So well, that by its help and through his grace I raise my thoughts, inform my deeds and words,

Clasping her beauty in my soul's embrace.
Thus, if from two fair eyes mine cannot turn,
I feel how in their presence doth abide
Light which to God is both the way and guide;
And, kindling at their lustre, if I burn,
My noble fire emits the joyful ray
That through the realms of glory shines for

AMONG THE RUINS OF A CONVENT IN THE
APENNINES.

YE Trees! whose slender roots entwine
Altars that piety neglects;
Whose infant arms enclasp the shrine
Which no devotion now respects;
If not a straggler from the herd
Here ruminate, nor shrouded bird,
Chanting her low-voiced hymn, take pride
In aught that ye would grace or hide-
How sadly is your love misplaced,
Fair Trees, your bounty run to waste!
Ye, too, wild Flowers! that no one heeds,
And ye-full often spurned as weeds-
In beauty clothed, or breathing sweetness
From fractured arch and mouldering wall-..

Do but more touchingly recal
Man's headstrong violence and Time's fleetness,
Making the precincts ye adorn
Appear to sight still more forlorn

XXIV.

IN LOMBARDY.

SEE, where his difficult way that Old Man wins
Bent by a load of Mulberry leaves!-most hard
Appears his lot, to the small Worm's compared,
For whom his toil with early day begins.
Acknowledging no task-master, at will
(As if her labour and her ease were twins)
She seems to work, at pleasure to lie still;-
And softly sleeps within the thread she spins.
So fare they-the Man serving as her Slave.
Ere long their fates do each to each conform:
Both pass into new being,-but the Worm,
Transfigured, sinks into a hopeless grave;
His volant Spirit will, he trusts, ascend
To bliss unbounded, glory without end.

As indignation mastered grief, my tongue
Spake bitter words; words that did ill agree
With those rich stores of Nature's imagery,
And divine Art, that fast to memory clung-
Thy gifts, magnificent Region, ever young
In the sun's eye, and in his sister's sight
How beautiful! how worthy to be sung
In strains of rapture, or subdued delight!
I feign not; witness that unwelcome shock
That followed the first sound of German speech,
Caught the far-winding barrier Alps among.
In that announcemer.t, greeting seemed to mock
Parting; the casual word had power to reach
My heart, and filled that heart with conflict

strong.

THE PILLAR OF TRAJAN. WHERE towers are crushed, and unforbidden weeds

O'er mutilated arches shed their seeds;
And temples, doomed to milder change, unfold
A new magnificence that vies with old;
Firm in its pristine majesty hath stood
A votive Column, spared by fire and flood:-
And, though the passions of man's fretful race
Have never ceased to eddy round its base,
Not injured more by touch of meddling hands
Than a lone obelisk, 'mid Nubian sands,
Or aught in Syrian deserts left to save
From death the memory of the good and brave.
Historic figures round the shaft embost
Ascend, with lineaments in air not lost :
Still as he turns, the charmed spectator sees
Group winding after group with dream-like ease;
Triumphs in sunbright gratitude displayed,
Or softly stealing into modest shade.

-So, pleased with purple clusters to entwine Some lofty elm-tree, mounts the daring vine; The woodbine so, with spiral grace, and breathes Wide spreading odours from her flowery wreaths.

Borne by the Muse from rills in shepherds'

Things that recoil from language; that, if shown
By apter pencil, from the light had flown.
A Pontiff, Trajan here the Gods implores,
There greets an Embassy from Indian shores:
Lo! he harangues his cohorts-there the storm
Of battle meets him in authentic form!
Unharnessed, naked, troops of Moorish horse
Sweep to the charge; more high, the Dacian

force.

To hoof and finger mailed-yet, high or low,
None bleed, and none lie prostrate but the foe;
In every Roman, through all turns of fate,
Is Roman dignity inviolate;

Spirit in him pre-eminent, who guides,

WHILE Merlin paced the Cornish sands,
Forth-looking toward the rocks of Scilly,
The pleased Enchanter was aware

Of a bright Ship that seemed to hang in air,
Yet was she work of mortal hands,

And took from men her name-THE WATER LILY.

Soft was the wind, that landward blew ;

And, as the Moon, o'er some dark hill ascendant,

Grows from a little edge of light

To a full orb, this Pinnace bright
Became, as nearer to the coast she drew,

More glorious, with spread sail and streaming pendant.

Upon this winged Shape so fair
Sage Merlin gazed with admiration:
Her lineaments, thought he, surpass

Aught that was ever shown in magic glass;
Was ever built with patient care;

Or, at a touch, produced by happiest transfor

The clouas in blacker clouds are lost,
Like spiteful Fiends that vanish, crossed
By Fiends of aspect more malign;

And the winds roused the Deep with fiercer

Scourges.

But worthy of the name she bore

Was this Sea-flower, this buoyant Galley; Supreme in loveliness and grace

Of motion, whether in the embrace
Of trusty anchorage, or scudding o'er
The main flood roughened into hill and valley.
Behold, how wantonly she laves

Her sides, the Wizard's craft confounding;
Like something out of Ocean sprung
To be for ever fresh and young,

Breasts the sea-flashes, and huge waves
Top-gallant high, rebounding and rebounding!
But Ocean under magic heaves,

And cannot spare the Thing he cherished: Ah! what avails that she was fair, Luminous, blithe, and debonair?

The storm has stripped her of her leaves; The Lily floats no longer!-She hath perished. Grieve for her,-she deserves no less; So like, yet so unlike, a living Creature! No heart had she, no busy brain; Though loved, she could not love again; Though pitied, feel her own distress; Nor aught that troubles us, the fools of Nature. Yet is there cause for gushing tears, So richly was this Galley laden; A fairer than herself she bore, And, in her struggles, cast ashore; A lovely One, who nothing hears

Of wind or wave--a meek and guileless Maiden. Into a cave had Merlin fled

From mischief, caused by spells himself had muttered;

And while, repentant all too late,

In moody posture there he sate,
He heard a voice, and saw, with half-raised
head,

A Visitant by whom these words were uttered;
"On Christian service this frail Bark
Sailed (hear me, Merlin!) under high pro-
tection,

Though on her prow a sign of heathen power Was carved-a Goddess with a Lily flower, The old Egyptian's emblematic mark Of joy immortal and of pure affection.

Her course was for the British strand; Her freight, it was a Damsel peerless; God reigns above, and Spirits strong May gather to avenge this wrong Done to the Princess, and her Land Which she in duty left, sad but not cheerless.

And to Caerleon's loftiest tower

Soon will the Knights of Arthur's Table
A cry of lamentation send;

And all will weep who there attend,
To grace that Stranger's bridal hour,
For whom the sea was made unnavigable.
Shame! should a Child of royal line

Die through the blindness of thy malice!"
Thus to the Necromancer spake
Nina, the Lady of the Lake,

A gentle Sorceress, and benign,
Who ne'er embittered any good man's chalice.
"What boots," continued she, "to mourn?
To expiate thy sin endeavour:
From the bleak isle where she is laid,
Fetched by our art, the Egyptian Maid
May yet to Arthur's court be borne
Cold as she is, ere life be fled for ever.
My pearly Boat, a shining Light,
That brought me down that sunless river,
Will bear me on from wave to wave,
And back with her to this sea-cave ;-
Then Merlin! for a rapid flight

Through air, to thee my Charge will I deliver.
The very swiftest of thy cars

Must, when my part is done, be ready;
Meanwhile, for further guidance, look
Into thy own prophetic book;

And, if that fail, consult the Stars

To learn thy course; farewell! be prompt and

steady."

This scarcely spoken, she again
Was seated in her gleaming shallop,
That, o'er the yet-distempered Deep,
Pursued its way with bird-like sweep,
Or like a steed, without a rein,

Urged o'er the wilderness in sportive gallop.
Soon did the gentle Nina reach
That Isle without a house or haven;
Landing, she found not what she sought,
Nor saw of wreck or ruin aught

But a carved Lotus cast upon the beach
By the fierce waves, a flower in marble graven.
Sad relique, but how fair the while!
For gently each from each retreating
With backward curve, the leaves revealed
The bosom half, and half concealed,
Of a Divinity, that seemed to smile

On Nina, as she passed, with hopeful greeting. No quest was hers of vague desire,

Of tortured hope and purpose shaken;

Following the margin of a bay, She spied the lonely Cast-away, Unmarred, unstripped of her attire, But with closed eyes,-of breath and bloom forsaken.

Then Nina, stooping down, embraced, With tenderness and mild emotion, The Damsel, in that trance embound; And, while she raised her from the ground, And in the pearly shallop placed, Sleep fell upon the air, and stilled the ocean. The turmoil hushed, celestial springs

Of music opened, and there came a blending Offragrance, underived from earth,

With gleams that owed not to the sun their birth,

And that soft rustling of invisible wings Which Angels make, on works of love descend

ing.

And Nina heard a sweeter voice

Than if the Goddess of the flower had spoken: "Thou hast achieved, fair Dame! what none Less pure in spirit could have done;

Go, in thy enterprise rejoice!

Air, earth, sea, sky, and heaven, success betoken."

So cheered, she left that Island bleak,
A bare rock of the Scilly cluster;

And, as they traversed the smooth brine,
The self-illumined Brigantine

Shed, on the Slumberer's cold wan cheek
And pallid brow, a melancholy lustre.

Fleet was their course, and when they came
To the dim cavern, whence the river
Issued into the salt-sea flood,

Merlin, as fixed in thought he stood,
Was thus accosted by the Dame;
"Behold to thee my Charge I now deliver!
But where attends thy chariot-where?"-
Quoth Merlin, "Even as I was bidden,
So have I done; as trusty as thy barge
My vehicle shall prove-O precious Charge!
If this be sleep, how soft! if death, how fair!
Much have my books disclosed, but the end is
hidden."

He spake; and gliding into view

Forth from the grotto's dimmest chamber Came two mute Swans, whose plumes of dusky white

Changed, as the pair approached the light,
Drawing an ebon car, their hue

(Like clouds of sunset) into lucid amber

Once more did gentle Nina lift

The Princess, passive to all changes:
The car received her :-then up-went

Into the ethereal element

The Birds with progress smooth and swift As thought, when through bright regions memory ranges.

Sage Merlin, at the Slumberer's side,
Instructs the Swans their way to measure;
And soon Caerleon's towers appeared,
And notes of minstrelsy were heard
From rich pavilions spreading wide,

For some high day of long-expected pleasure.
Awe-stricken stood both Knights and Dames
Ere on firm ground the car alighted;
Eftsoons astonishment was past,