AN HOUR OF ROMANCE.

I come
To this sweet place for quiet. Every tree,
And bush, and fragrant flower, and hilly path,
And thymy mound that flings unto the winds
Its morning incense, is my friend.

BARRY CORNWALL.

There were thick leaves above me and around,
And low sweet sighs, like those of childhood's

sleep,
Amidst their dimness, and a fitful sound

As of soft showers on water ;-dark and deep
Lay the oak shadows o'er the turf, so still,
They seem'd but pictur’d glooms : a hidden rill
Made music, such as haunts us in a dream,
Under the fern-tufts; and a tender gleam

Of soft green light, as by the glow-worm shed,

Came pouring thro’ the woven beech-boughs down, And steep'd the magic page wherein I read

Of royal chivalry and old renown,

A tale of Palestine. *-Meanwhile the bee

Swept past me with a tone of summer hours,

A drowsy bugle, wafting thoughts of flowers,
Blue skies and amber sunshine : brightly free,
On filmy wings the purple dragon-fly
Shot glancing like a fairy javelin by ;
And a sweet voice of sorrow told the dell

Where sat the lone wood-pigeon:

But ere long,

All sense of these things faded, as the spell

Breathing from that high gorgeous tale grew strong On

my chain'd soul :-'twas not the leaves I heard

A Syrian wind the Lion-banner stirr'd,

Thro' its proud floating folds :-'twas not the brook,

Singing in secret thro’ its grassy glen

A wild shrill trumpet of the Saracen Peal'd from the desert's lonely heart, and shook The burning air.-Like clouds when winds are high, O'er glittering sands flew steeds of Araby, And tents rose up, and sudden lance and spear Flash'd where a fountain's diamond wave lay clear, Shadow'd by graceful palm-trees. Then the shout Of merry England's joy swell’d freely out, Sent thro’ an Eastern heaven, whose glorious hue Made shields dark mirrors to its depths of blue ; And harps were there-I heard their sounding strings, As the waste echoed to the mirth of kings.The bright masque faded.--Unto life's worn track, What call'd me from its flood of glory, back? A voice of happy childhood !--and they pass'd, Banner, and harp, and Paynim trumpet's blast; Yet might I scarce bewail the splendours gone, My heart so leap'd to that sweet laughter's tone.

A VOYAGER'S DREAM OF LAND.

His very heart athirst
To gaze at Nature in her green array,
Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess'd
With visions prompted by intense desire;
Fair fields appear below, such as he left
Far distant, such as he would die to find
He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more.

Cowper.

The hollow dash of waves !--the ceaseless roar!

Silence, ye billows !--vex my soul no more.

There's a spring in the woods by my sunny home,
Afar from the dark sea's tossing foam ;
Oh! the fall of that fountain is sweet to hear,

As a song from the shore to the sailor's ear!

And the sparkle which up to the sun it throws,
Thro’ the feathery fern and the olive boughs,
And the gleam on its path as it steals away
Into deeper shades from the sultry day,
And the large water-lilies that o'er its bed
Their pearly leaves to the soft light spread,
They haunt me! I dream of that bright spring's flow,
I thirst for its rills, like a wounded roe !

Be still thou sea-bird, with thy clanging cry!
My spirit sickens, as thy wing sweeps by.

Know ye my home, with the lulling sound
Of leaves from the lime and the chestnut round?

Know ye it, brethren! where bower'd it lies,
Under the purple of southern skies?
With the streamy gold of the sun that shines
In thro' the cloud of its clustering vines,
And the summer-breath of the myrtle-flowers ;
Borne from the mountains in dewy hours,