Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes reappears!

Round the dear Shade she would have clung-'tis vain : The hours are past-too brief had they been years;

And him no mortal effort can detain:

Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day,
He through the portal takes his silent way,

And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse She lay.
Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved,
She perished; and, as for a wilful crime,
By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved,
Was doomed to wear out her appointed time,
Apart from happy Ghosts, that gather flowers
Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.

-Yet tears to human suffering are due;
And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown
Are mourned by man, and not by man alone,
As fondly he believes.-Upon the side
Of Hellespont (such faith was entertained)
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew

From out the tomb of him for whom she died;
And ever, when such stature they had gained
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,
The trees' tall summits withered at the sight;
A constant interchange of growth and blight!

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COMPOSED UPON AN EVENING OF EXTRAORDINARY SPLENDOUR AND BEAUTY

I

HAD this effulgence disappeared

With flying haste, I might have sent,

Among the speechless clouds, a look

Of blank astonishment;

But 'tis endued with power to stay,

And sanctify one closing day,

That frail Mortality may see

What is ?-ah no, but what can be!

Time was when field and watery cove

With modulated echoes rang,

While choirs of fervent Angels sang

Their vespers in the grove;

Or, crowning, star-like, each some sovereign height,

Warbled, for heaven above and earth below,

Strains suitable to both.-Such holy rite,

Methinks, if audibly repeated now

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From hill or valley, could not move

Sublimer transport, purer love,

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Than doth this silent spectacle-the gleam-
The shadow-and the peace supreme!

II

No sound is uttered, but a deep
And solemn harmony pervades

The hollow vale from steep to steep,
And penetrates the glades.

Far-distant images draw nigh,

Called forth by wondrous potency

Of beamy radiance, that imbues

Whate'er it strikes with gem-like hues!

In vision exquisitely clear,

Herds range along the mountain side;
And glistening antlers are descried;
And gilded flocks appear.

Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve!
But long as god-like wish, or hope divine,
Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe
That this magnificence is wholly thine!
-From worlds not quickened by the sun
A portion of the gift is won;

An intermingling of Heaven's pomp is spread
On ground which British shepherds tread!

III

And if there be whom broken ties

Afflict, or injuries assail,

Yon hazy ridges to their eyes
Present a glorious scale,

Climbing suffused with sunny air,

To stop-no record hath told where!

And tempting Fancy to ascend,

And with immortal Spirits blend!

-Wings at my shoulders seem to play;
But, rooted here, I stand and gaze

On those bright steps that heavenward raise
Their practicable way.

Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad,
And see to what fair countries ye are bound!
And if some traveller, weary of his road,

Hath slept since noon-tide on the grassy ground,
Ye Genii! to his covert speed;

And wake him with such gentle heed

As may attune his soul to meet the dower
Bestowed on this transcendent hour!

IV

Such hues from their celestial Urn

Were wont to stream before mine eye,
Where'er it wandered in the morn

Of blissful infancy.

This glimpse of glory, why renewed?
Nay, rather speak with gratitude;
For, if a vestige of those gleams
Survived, 'twas only in my dreams.

Dread Power! whom peace and calmness serve

No less than Nature's threatening voice,

If aught unworthy be my choice,

From THEE if I would swerve;

Oh, let Thy grace remind me of the light
Full early lost, and fruitlessly deplored;

Which, at this moment, on my waking sight
Appears to shine, by miracle restored;
My soul, though yet confined to earth,
Rejoices in a second birth!

'Tis past, the visionary splendour fades; And night approaches with her shades.

WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF

MACPHERSON'S OSSIAN

OFT have I caught, upon a fitful breeze,
Fragments of far-off melodies,

With ear not coveting the whole,
A part so charmed the pensive soul:
While a dark storm before my sight
Was yielding, on a mountain height
Loose vapours have I watched, that won
Prismatic colours from the sun;

Nor felt a wish that heaven would show
The image of its perfect bow.

What need, then, of these finished Strains?

Away with counterfeit Remains!

An abbey in its lone recess,

A temple of the wilderness,

Wrecks though they be, announce with feeling
The majesty of honest dealing.

Spirit of Ossian! if im bound

In language thou may'st yet be found,

If aught (intrusted to the pen

Or floating on the tongues of men,

Albeit shattered and impaired)

Subsist thy dignity to guard,

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In concert with memorial claim

Of old grey stone, and high-born name
That cleaves to rock or pillared cave

Where moans the blast, or beats the wave,
Let Truth, stern arbitress of all,

Interpret that Original,

And for presumptuous wrongs atone;—
Authentic words be given, or none!

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Time is not blind;-yet He, who spares
Pyramid pointing to the stars,

Hath preyed with ruthless appetite

On all that marked the primal flight
Of the poetic ecstasy

Into the land of mystery.

No tongue is able to rehearse

One measure, Orpheus! of thy verse;
Musaeus, stationed with his lyre

Supreme among the Elysian quire,
Is, for the dwellers upon earth,
Mute as a lark ere morning's birth.

Why grieve for these, though past away
The music, and extinct the lay?
When thousands, by severer doom,
Full early to the silent tomb

Have sunk, at Nature's call; or strayed
From hope and promise, self-betrayed;
The garland withering on their brows;
Stung with remorse for broken vows;
Frantic else how might they rejoice?
And friendless, by their own sad choice!
Hail, Bards of mightier grasp! on you
I chiefly call, the chosen Few,

Who cast not off the acknowledged guide,
Who faltered not, nor turned aside;
Whose lofty genius could survive
Privation, under sorrow thrive;
In whom the fiery Muse revered
The symbol of a snow-white beard,
Bedewed with meditative tears

Dropped from the lenient cloud of years.

Brothers in soul! though distant times
Produced you nursed in various climes,
Ye, when the orb of life had waned,
A plenitude of love retained:
Hence, while in you each sad regret
By corresponding hope was met,
Ye lingered among human kind,
Sweet voices for the passing wind;
Departing sunbeams, loth to stop,
Though smiling on the last hill-top!

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Such to the tender-hearted maid
Even ere her joys begin to fade;
Such, haply, to the rugged chief
By fortune crushed, or tamed by grief;
Appears, on Morven's lonely shore,
Dim-gleaming through imperfect lore,
The Son of Fingal; such was blind
Maeonides of ampler mind;

Such Milton, to the fountain-head
Of glory by Urania led!

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