The strange music of the waves,
Beating on these hollow caves,
This black den which rocks emboss,
Over-grown with eldest moss,
The rude portals that give light,
More to terror than delight.
This my chamber of neglect,
Walled about with disrespect,
From all these, and this dull air,
A fit object for despair;

She hath taught me, by her might,
To draw comfort and delight.
Therefore, thou best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesie, thou sweetest content
That ever Heaven to mortals lent:
Though they as a trifle leave thee,
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee,
Though thou be to them a scorn,
That to nought but earth are born;
my life no longer be,

Let

Than I am in love with thee.

Though our wise ones call it madness,

Let me never taste of sadness,

If I love not thy maddest fits

Above all their greatest wits.

And though some too seeming holy,
Do account thy raptures folly:

Thou dost teach me to contemn

What makes knaves and fools of them.

GEORGE WITHER.

Evening.

FROM yonder wood mark blue-eyed Eve proceed:
First through the deep and warm and secret glens,
Through the pale-glimmering privet-scented lane,
And through those alders by the river-side:
Now the soft dust impedes her, which the sheep
Have hollowed out beneath their hawthorn shade.
But ah! look yonder! see a misty tide
Rise up the hill, lay low the frowning grove,
Enrap the gay white mansion, sap its sides
Until they sink and melt away like chalk;
Now it comes down against our village-tower,
Covers its base, floats o'er its arches, tears
The clinging ivy from the battlements,
Mingles in broad embrace the obdurate stone,
(All one vast ocean,) and goes swelling on
In slow and silent, dim and deepening waves.

LANDOR.

Hallowed Ground.

WHAT 's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant not should be trod

By man, the image of his God
Erect and free,

Unscourged by Superstition's rod

To bow the knee?

That's hallowed ground-where, mourned and missed,
The lips repose our love has kissed;
But where 's their memory's mansion? Is 't
Yon churchyard's bowers?

No! in ourselves their souls exist,
A part of ours.

A kiss can consecrate the ground

Where mated hearts are mutual bound:

The spot where love's first links were wound,
That ne'er are riven,

Is hallowed down to earth's profound,
And up to heaven!

For time makes all but true love old;
The burning thoughts that then were told
Run molten still in memory's mould;
And will not cool,

Until the heart itself be cold

In Lethe's pool.

What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
"T is not the sculptured piles you heap!
In dews that heavens far distant weep
Their turf may bloom;

Or Genii twine beneath the deep
Their coral tomb:

But strew his ashes to the wind

Whose sword or voice has served mankind—
And is he dead whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high?

To live in hearts we leave behind,
Is not to die.

Is 't death to fall for Freedom's right?
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight
The sword he draws:

What can alone ennoble fight?

A noble cause!

Give that! and welcome War to brace

Her drums! and rend Heaven's reeking space!

The colours planted face to face,

The charging cheer,

Though death's pale horse lead on the chase,

Shall still be dear.

And place our trophies where men kneel

To Heaven! but Heaven rebukes my

The cause of Truth and human weal,
O God above!

Transfer it from the sword's appeal
To Peace and Love.

zeal!

Peace, Love! the cherubim, that join
Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine,
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine,
Where they are not-

The heart alone can make divine
Religion's spot.

To incantations dost thou trust,
And pompous rites in domes august?
See mouldering stones and metal's rust
Belie the vaunt,

That men can bless one pile of dust
With chime or chaunt.

The ticking wood-worm mocks thee, man!
Thy temples-creeds themselves grow wan?
But there's a doom of nobler span,
A temple given

Thy faith, that bigots dare not ban-
Its space is Heaven!

Its roof star-pictured Nature's ceiling,
Where trancing the rapt spirit's feeling,
And God himself to man revealing,
The harmonious spheres

Make music, though unheard their pealing
By mortal ears,

Fair stars! are not your beings pure?
Can sin, can death your worlds obscure?
Else why so swell the thoughts at your
Aspect above?

Ye must be Heavens that make us sure
Of heavenly love!