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How by the desultory breeze caress'd,

Like some coy maid half-yielding to her lover,
It pours such sweet upbraidings, as must needs
Tempt to repeat the wrong! and now its strings
More boldly swept, the long sequacious notes
Over delicious surges sink and rise-
Such a soft floating witchery of sound
As twilight elfins make, when they at eve
Voyage on gentle gales from fairy-land,
Where Melodies round honey-dropping flowers
Footless and wild, like birds of paradise,
Nor pause nor perch, hov'ring on untam'd wing.
And thus, my love! as on the midway slope
Of yonder hill I stretch my limbs at noon,
While through my half-clos'd eyelids I behold
The sun-beams dance, like diamonds, on the main,
And tranquil muse upon tranquillity;
Full many a thought uncall'd and undetain'd,
And many idle flitting phantasies,
Traverse my indolent and passive brain,
As wild and various as the random gales
That swell or flutter on this subject lute!
And what if all of animated nature
Be but organic harps diversely fram’d,
That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps,
Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze,
At once the soul of each, and God of all ?-
But thy more serious eye a mild reproof
Darts, O beloved woman! nor such thoughts
Dim and unhallow'd dost thou not reject,
And biddest me walk humbly with my God.
Meek daughter in the family of Christ,
Well hast thou said and holily disprais'd
These shapings of the unregen'rate mind,
Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break
On vain Philosophy's aye-babbling spring.

For never guiltless may I speak of Him,
The Incomprehensible! save when with awe
I praise him, and with faith that inly feels;
Who with his saving mercies healed me
A sinful and most miserable man

Wilder'd and dark, and gave me to possess

Peace, and this cot, and thee, heart-honour'd Maid!

FROM WALLACE, OR THE VALE OF
ELLERSLIE.

FINLAY.

THE Star of eve was bright-down the lone dell
With rocks up-pil'd, and mould'ring turrets crown'd,
Many a clear stream and mountain-torrent fell,
And sparkled to the gloomy woods around.
A calm unwonted fill'd the forest-bound-
When, lo! a Voice the slumb'ring silence broke;
And, as the strangely-sad, prophetic sound
Rose in the woods, each hoary giant oak
Shook hollow in the wind!-And thus the Genius
spoke :-

"Rise, Sun of Valour! on thy native land,
As bursts the day-spring on the pilgrim's way;
For, lowly sunk beneath a wasting hand,
Her proud towers moulder, and her chiefs decay-
Her wealth, her palaces, the tyrant's prey-
While, thick as leaves on Winter's sweeping blast,
Edward pours far around his proud array :
Lo! as along yon plain the warrior pass'd,
Ruin rais'd high his voice, and howl'd amid the
waste!"

Silence ensu'd-the music died away➡
Deep in the covert of the forest-bound
The infant Wallace with his mother lay,

Where hung the oak's broad arms in gloom profound

The mother saw no vision-heard no sound-
For Sleep her senses with his touch beguil'd;
But, ever as the music flow'd around,

His spirit steep'd in ecstasy, the child

Look'd on the angel-form, enchanted look'd, and smil'd.

Deep flow'd the sounds into the infant's mind,
And ever on his early thoughts imprest

The nameless charm, the nameless chains, that bind
Heroic actions to the swelling breast.-

And ever, when with childish sports opprest,
His wayward footsteps sought the peaceful shade,
Before his sight flam'd high the gleaming crest,
And plumed helms in warlike show display'd,
That, glancing to the sun, in airy substance fade.

When faint he felt the sultry summer hour,
The day-star flaming in the noontide sky,
Loit'ring, he wander'd to his shadowy bower,
Where, brawling, flow'd the shelvy streamlet by,
There, lull'd in slumbers, would the infant lie,
And, deep in solitary trances, seem

To roam through armed courts, and castles high;So bright in visionary pomp they gleam,

That, when he woke, he thought his waking was a

dream.

Then would he wander by the river's side,
Where many a rock his shade gigantic flung
In sullen grandeur o'er the gloomy tide,
And deeply to his echoing footsteps rung:

Enraptur'd, while he rov'd these scenes among,
Fancy's wild visions peopled every glade

With armed knights; and every bird that sung
The minstrel's warlike modulations made;
And every tow'ring rock its banner'd pomp dis-
play'd.

To him the mystic shapes that float at eve,
Dim and remote on the sun's dying beam,
When fairy films the swimming eye deceive,
And gloaming trembles on the haunted stream,
Unfolded all their forms in wav'ring gleam;
Till doubt and wonder fill his throbbing breast,
Whether the pageant were an airy dream
That bathes its pinions in the rosy west,
When peace descends on earth, and mortals sink

to rest:

Or if to him aërial sprites reveal'd

The forms unseen of human ken that fly,
When music murmurs in the wood and field,
And sooths to slumber with its lullaby,
And pictures of another world sail by
And charm with glamoury.-Lo! far away
To the dim confine of the northern sky
They sail, ere from the ocean bursts the day,
And leave th' astonish'd wight in wonder and
dismay.

Ah! sure exists a race from mortal pains
And anguish free, who, wing'd on beams of light,
Fly when bright Hesper rides the heav'nly plains,
And sport on this green earth, tho' human sight
Discern no wings that flutter glancing bright
To the soft-burning stars-for oft we hear
Strange sounds that seem to hail the shadowy
night,

H

More than the voice of waters murm'ring near,

More than the hum of life, that meets the human

ear.

Oft in deep solitude he lov'd to roam,
Embower'd in pendent foliage to survey
(Far from the charms and softer joys of home)
A Gothic mansion venerably grey-
The faint memorial of a better day!

Its form majestic, and its towers to view—
But now, in rooms of state, once richly gay,
Round clust'ring columns hung, the ivy grew;
And mould'ring fragments huge the desert halls

bestrew.

CANZON FROM CAMOENS.

LORD STRANGFORD.

WHEN day has smil'd a soft farewell,
And night-drops bathe each shutting bell,
And shadows sail along the green,
And birds are still, and winds serene,
I wander silently.

7. And while my lone step prints the dew,
Dear are the dreams that bless my view;
To mem'ry's eye the maid appears,
For whom have sprung my sweetest tears,
So oft, so tenderly.

I see her, as with graceful care
She binds her braids of sunny hair;
I feel her harp's melodious thrill

Strike to my heart and thence be still

Re-echo'd faithfully.

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