SOUVENIR OF OXFORD

LIKE echoes oft repeated through a chain
Of mighty hills, reverberating far,
Whose voice so strangely multiplied doth leap
From peak to peak; or as a train of dear
Sweet visions, each one brighter than the last,
So thy remembrances, fair city come
Before mine eyes, and ever in my thoughts
Are imaged forms so life-like, real,—true—
They take a tangibility so clear,

That fain I would persuade myself once more
I live, I move among them.

Now I glide

Most softly o'er the rippling waters bright

Of lovely Isis; where the willows bend

With graceful mien from rich and verdant banks,

And seem to watch their own reflection fair

In drooping modesty. And blue forget-me-nots Shy peeping from their em'rald beds, now set My heart aglow.

Imagination fondly takes me next

Beneath the cool deep shade of noble trees,

Which clothed in beauteous dress of green stand

forth

All radiant in their freshness, new and bright;
Suggesting thoughts for utterance too high,
Too deep for words to give expression true.

And now the soul in tend'rest rapture turns
To dear associations of the past;

For mem'ry quick recalls how genius trod
That very path long time ago, in grave
And serious contemplation.

Again the scene is changed. I see uprise,
As vivid antique pictures, forms distinct
Of venerable piles, whose ancient walls
All ivy-covered; fair, and shapely domes,
And arches curiously carved, inspire

Me straight with rev'rence deep; I bow me down

In meek humility; my soul is stirred
With loving wonder at the mighty Past.
And looking back through centuries, I see
What warm enthusiasm, zeal, and love
Have done, how much they have attained!
How each succeeding generation made
Sweet Learning its own mistress, framing thus
A scheme of evolution broad, and true,
And perfecting.

Thou city of religion, then, farewell!
Of realism, beauty, learning deep;
Of pleasure, labour; prejudices old,
Ideals new: but ever shall these last
Strive hard and struggle; surely in the end
Their victory over ancient notions gain;
Which like old men all ready for the grave,
Shall gently pass away from ev'ry mind,
And only by the new and vig'rous be
Remembered long for their antiquity.

THE LOVE OF UTHER

OR, LEAVES FROM ANCIENT ANNALS