The thread she spun it gleam'd like gold
In the light of the odorous fire,
Yet was it so wonderously thin,
That, save when it shone in the light,
You might look for it closely in vain.
The youth sate watching it,

And she observed his wonder,
And then again she spake,
And still her speech was song;
'Now twine it round thy hands I say,
Now twine it round thy hands I pray;
My thread is small, my thread is fine,
But he must be

A stronger than thee,

Who can break this thread of mine!'

And up she raised her bright blue eyes,
And sweetly she smiled on him,
And he conceived no ill;

And round and round his right hand,
And round and round his left,
He wound the thread so fine.
And then again the Woman spake,
And still her speech was song,
'Now thy strength, O Stranger, strain!
Now then break the slender chain.’

Thalaba strove, but the thread
By magic hands was spun,

And in his cheek the flush of shame
Arose, commixt with fear.

She beheld and laugh'd at him,
And then again she sung,
'My thread is small, my thread is fine,
But he must be

A stronger than thee,

Who can break this thread of mine!'

And up she raised her bright blue eyes, And fiercely she smiled on him:

'I thank thee, I thank thee, Hodeirah's son!
I thank thee for doing what can't be undone,
For binding thyself in the chain I have spun!'
Then from his head she wrench'd
A lock of his raven hair,

And cast it in the fire,
And cried aloud as it burnt,

'Sister! Sister! hear my voice!

'Sister! Sister! come and rejoice!
The thread is spun,

The prize is won,

The work is done,

For I have made captive Hodeirah's Son.'

FROM KEHAMA.'

O force of faith! O strength of virtuous will! Behold him in his endless martyrdom, Triumphant still!

The Curse still burning in his heart and brain,
And yet doth he remain

Patient the while, and tranquil, and content!
The pious soul hath framed unto itself
A second nature, to exist in pain
As in its own allotted element.

Such strength the wi'l reveal'd had given
This holy pair, such influxes of grace,-
That to their solitary resting place

They brought the peace of Heaven.

Yea, all around was hallow'd! Danger, Fear, Nor thought of evil ever enter'd here. A charm was on the Leopard when he came Within the circle of that mystic glade; Submiss he crouch'd before the heavenly maid, And offer'd to her touch his speckled side; Or with arch'd back erect, and bending head, And eyes half-closed for pleasure, would he stand Courting the pressure of her gentle hand.

Trampling his path through wood and brake, And canes which crackling fall before his way, · And tassel-grass, whose silvery feathers play O'ertopping the young trees,

On comes the Elephant, to slake His thirst at noon in yon pellucid springs. Lo! from his trunk upturn'd, aloft he flings The grateful shower; and now Plucking the broad-leaved bough Of yonder plane, with wavey motion slow, Fanning the languid air,

He moves it to and fro.

But when that form of beauty meets his sight, The trunk its undulating motion stops, From his forgetful hold the plane-branch drops, Reverent he kneels, and lifts his rational eyes To her as if in prayer;

And when she pours her angel voice in song Entranced he listens to the thrilling notes, Till his strong temples, bathed with sudden dews, Their fragrance of delight and love diffuse.

Lo! as the voice melodious floats around,
The Antelope draws near,

The Tigress leaves her toothless cubs to hear;
The Snake comes gliding from the secret brake,
Himself in fascination forced along

By that enchanting song;

The antic Monkeys, whose wild gambols late, When not a breeze waved the tall jungle grass, Shook the whole wood, are hush'd, and silently Hang on the cluster'd tree.

All things in wonder and delight are still; . Only at times the Nightingale is heard, Not that in emulous skill that sweetest bird Her rival strain would try,

A mighty songster, with the Maid to vie ; She only bore her part in powerful sympathy.

Well might they thus adore that heavenly Maid!
For never Nymph of Mountain,

Or Grove, or Lake, or Fountain,
With a diviner presence fill'd the shade.
No idle ornaments deface
Her natural grace,

Musk-spot, nor sandal-streak, nor scarlet stain,
Ear-drop nor chain, nor arm nor ankle-ring,
Nor trinketry on front, or neck, or breast,
Marring the perfect form: she seem'd a thing
Of Heaven's prime uncorrupted work, a child
Of early nature undefiled,

A daughter of the years of innocence.

And therefore all things loved her. When she stood

Beside the glassy pool, the fish, that flies

Quick as an arrow from all other eyes,
Hover'd to gaze on her. The mother bird,
When Kailyal's step she heard,

Sought not to tempt her from her secret nest,
But hastening to the dear retreat, would fly
To meet and welcome her benignant eye.

ODE, WRITTEN DURING THE NEGOCIATIONS WITH BUONAPARTE, IN JANUARY, 1814.

I.

Who counsels peace at this momentous hour, When God hath given deliverance to the oppress'd, And to the injured power?

Who counsels peace, when Vengeance like a flood
Rolls on, no longer now to be repress'd;
When innocent blood

From the four corners of the world cries out
For justice upon one accursed head;
When Freedom hath her holy banner spread
Over all nations, now in one just cause
United; when with one sublime accord
Europe throws off the yoke abhorr'd,
And Loyalty and Faith and Ancient Laws
Follow the avenging sword!

2.

Woe, woe to England! woe and endless shame,
If this heroic land,

False to her feelings and unspotted fame,
Hold out the olive to the Tyrant's hand!
Woe to the world, if Buonaparte's throne
Be suffer'd still to stand!

For by what names shall Right and Wrong be known,.
What new and courtly phrases must we feign
For Falsehood, Murder, and all monstrous crimes,
If that perfidious Corsican maintain

Still his detested reign,

And France, who yearns even now to break her chain,
Beneath his iron rule be left to groan?
No! by the innumerable dead

Whose blood hath for his lust of power been shed,
Death only can for his foul deeds atone;

That peace which Death and Judgment can bestow, That peace be Buonaparte's.. that alone!

3.

For sooner shall the Ethiop change his skin,
Or from the Leopard shall her spots depart,
Than this man change his old flagitious heart.
Have ye not seen him in the balance weighed,
And there found wanting?-On the stage of blood
Foremost the resolute adventurer stood;
And when, by many a battle won,
He placed upon his brow the crown,
Curbing delirious France beneath his sway,
Then, like Octavius in old time,

Fair name might he have handed down,
Effacing many a stain of former crime.

Fool! should he cast away that bright renown!
Fool! the redemption proffer'd should he lose!
When Heaven such grace vouchsafed him that the way
To Good and Evil lay

Before him, which to choose.