III.

Some say you are indeed the wand'ring Jew;
Others (whom I believe are in the dark

In all they speculate and say of you)
Vow that you hid your fiddle in the ark,
And played away the deluge:-is it true?
Did you on Ararat, then, disembark,

And, with a grand march, marshal forth the crew
Of divers kinds, from elephant to lark?
Perhaps you recollect some little air

Composed about that time? Some say you were
With good King David when his royal dance,
As Byron says, "excited some remark."
Others, with equal passion for romance,
Declare you've studied sorcery in France!

iv.

And that his Majesty of ebon wing,
From out his torrid realms ascending, flew,

Mysterious Paganini! to teach you

The art of fiddling on a single string,

And from its slender frame such tones to bring
As pass mere human skill. Thus Envy fain
Would Genius ever with her slander stain,
And, mean in art and aim, essay to fling

A cloud upon the height she cannot gain,— Like wasps, which yield not honey, yet can sting. Oh! that my lay were worthier to sing

The power, the beauty of thy wond'rous strain, And execrate the malice that can cling

FLOWERS.

YE are the stars of Earth-ye glorious things!
And as your skiey kindred gem the night,
So ye, with hues like rainbows, yet more bright,
Gladden the day-and, as each sunburst flings

More wide your nectared leaves, where lab'ring sings
The honey-seeking bee, or in gay flight
Hovers the dainty butterfly, we might

Deem ye, too, insects-birds-without their wings.
Ye are the stars of Earth-and dear to me
Is each small twinkling gem that wanders free
'Mid glade or woodland, or by murm'ring stream,
For ye to me are more than sweet or fair-
I love ye for the mem'ries that ye bear

Of by-gone hours, whose bliss was but a dream.