The Lost Pleiad.

371

AND

The Lost Pleiad.

BY MRS HEMANS.

"Like the lost Pleiad seen no more below."-LORD BYRON.

is there glory from the heavens departed?—
Oh, void unmark'd!-thy sisters of the sky
Still hold their place on high,

Though from its rank thine orb so long hath started,
Thou, that no more art seen of mortal eye!

Hath the night lost a gem, the regal night ?—
She wears her crown of old magnificence,
Though thou art exiled thence !

No desert seems to part those urns of light,
'Midst the far depths of purple gloom intense.

They rise in joy, the starry myriads burning!
The shepherd greets them on his mountains free,
And from the silvery sea

To them the sailor's wakeful eye is turning;
Unchanged they rise, they have not mourn'd for thee!

Couldst thou be shaken from thy radiant place,
E'en as the dewdrop from the myrtle spray,
Swept by the wind away?

Wert thou not peopled by some glorious race,

And was there power to smite them with decay?

Why, who shall talk of thrones, of sceptres riven?
It is too sad to think on what we are,

When from its height afar,

A world sinks thus; and yon majestic heaven
Shines not the less for that one vanish'd star!

On a Portrait,

SUPPOSED TO BE OF NELL GWYN.

BY ALARIC A. WATTS.

BEAUTIFUL and radiant girl !

I have heard of teeth of pearl, Lips of coral, cheeks of rose, Necks and brows like drifted snows; Eyes, as diamonds sparkling bright, Or the stars of summer's night, And expression, grace, and soul, Softly tempering down the whole : But a form so near divine, With a face so fair as thine, And so sunny bright a brow, Never met my gaze till now! Thou wert Venus' sister-twin, If this shade be thine, NELL GWYN!

Cast that carcanet away,

Thou hast need of no display-

Gems, however rare, to deck

Such an alabaster neck!

Can the brilliant lustre vie

With the glories of thine eye?
Or the ruby's red compare
With the two lips breathing there?
Can they add a richer glow
To thy beauties? No, sweet, no!
Though thou bear'st the name of one
Whom 'twas virtue once to shun,—
It were sure to taste a sin,

Now to pass thee by-NELL GWYN.

On a Portrait of Nell Gwyn.

But they've wrong'd thee; and I swear,
By that brow, so dazzling fair,

By the light subdued that flashes
From thy drooping lids' silk lashes,
By the deep blue eyes beneath them,
By the clustering curls that wreathe them,
By thy softly blushing cheek,

By thy lips, that more than speak,

By thy stately swanlike neck,
Glossy white, without a speck,
By thy slender fingers fair,
Modest mien, and graceful air,
'Twas a burning shame and sin,
Sweet, to christen thee-NELL GWYN.

Wreathe for aye thy snowy arms,
Thine are, sure, no wanton's charms!
Like the fawn's, as bright and shy,
Beams thy dark, retiring eye;
No bold invitation 's given

From the depths of that blue heaven,
Nor one glance of lightness hid
'Neath its pale declining lid!
No, I'll not believe thy name

Can be aught allied to shame.

Then let them call thee what they will,

I've sworn, and I'll maintain it still,

(Spite of tradition's idle din,)

Thou art not-canst not be-NELL GWYN.

373

WH

The Treasures of the Deep.

BY MRS HEMANS.

HAT hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells? Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ! Pale glist'ning pearls, and rainbow-colour'd shells. Bright things which gleam unreck'd of and in vain, Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!

We ask not such from thee.

Yet more, the depths have more! What wealth untold, Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,

Won from ten thousand royal argosies.

Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main !

Earth claims not these again!"

Yet more, the depths have more! Thy waves have roll'd Above the cities of a world gone by!

Sand hath fill'd up the palaces of old,

Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry! Dash o'er them, Ocean! in thy scornful play,

Man yields them to decay!

Yet more, the billows and the depths have more!
High hearts, and brave, are gather'd to thy breast!

They hear not now the booming waters roar ;

The battle thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave!

An Italian Boat Song.

375

Give back the lost and lovely! Those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long;
The
prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song!
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown.—

Fearless we face

The storm in its chase,

When the dark clouds fly before it ;

And meet the shock

Of the fierce siroc,

Though death breathes hotly o'er it.