Hither, in perplexed dance,

Ye Woes! ye young-eyed joys! advance!
By Time's wild harp, and by the hand
Whose indefatigable sweep

Raises its fateful strings from sleep,
I bid you haste, a mixed, tumultuous band!
From every private bower,

And each domestic hearth,

Haste for one solemn hour;

And with a loud and yet a louder voice,
O'er Nature struggling in portentous birth,
Weep and rejoice!

Still echoes the dread name that o'er the earth
Let slip the storm, and woke the brood of hell:
And now advance, in saintly jubilee,

Justice and Truth! They, too, have heard thy spell,
They, too, obey thy name, divinest Liberty!

Departing year! 'twas on no earthly shore
My soul beheld thy vision! Where alone,
Voiceless and stern, before the cloudy throne,
Aye Memory sits: thy robe inscribed with gore,
With many an unimaginable groan

Thou storied'st thy sad hours! Silence ensued,
Deep silence o'er the ethereal multitude,

Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths with glories shone;
Then, his eye wild ardours glancing,

From the choirèd gods advancing,

The Spirit of the earth made reverence meet,
And stood up, beautiful, before the cloudy seat.

HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE

IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI.

HAST thou a charm to stay the morning-star
In his steep course? So long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc!
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base

Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form!
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee and above,

Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
An ebon mass; methinks thou piercest it,
As with a wedge! But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity!

O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee,
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer,
I worshipped the Invisible alone.

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,

So sweet we know not we are listening to it,
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought,
Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy;
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing-there,
As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven!
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy. Awake,
Voice of sweet song! awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.

FROM "CHRISTABEL."

ALAS! they had been friends in youth;
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;
And life is thorny; and youth is vain;
And to be wroth with one we love
Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline.

Each spake words of high disdain

And insult to his heart's best brother:
They parted-ne'er to meet again!
But never either found another

To free the hollow heart from paining—
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder;
A dreary sea now flows between ;-

But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,

The marks of that which once hath been.

Mrs Mary Tighe.

Born 1773.

Died 1810.

AN Irish poetess, daughter of Rev. M. Blackford, County Wicklow, her chief poem is "Psyche."

FROM "PSYCHE."

GENTLY ascending from a silvery flood,
Above the palace rose the shaded hill,
The lofty eminence was crowned with wood,
And the rich lawns, adorned by nature's skill,
The passing breezes with their odours fill;
Here ever blooming groves of orange glow,
And here all flowers, which from their leaves distil
Ambrosial dew, in sweet succession blow,
And trees of matchless size a fragrant shade bestow.
The sun looks glorious 'mid a sky serene,
And bids bright lustre sparkle o'er the tide;
The clear blue ocean at a distance seen,
Bounds the gay landscape on the western side,
While closing round it with majestic pride,
The lofty rocks 'mid citron groves arise;
"Sure some divinity must here reside,"

As tranced in some bright vision, Psyche cries,
And scarce believes the bliss, or trusts her charmèd eyes.
When lo! a voice divinely sweet she hears,
From unseen lips proceeds the heavenly sound;
"Psyche approach, dismiss thy timid fears,
At length his bride thy longing spouse has found,
And bids for thee immortal joys abound;

For thee the palace rose at his command,
For thee his love a bridal banquet crowned;
He bids attendant nymphs around thee stand,
Prompt every wish to serve-a fond obedient band."
Increasing wonder filled her ravished soul,
For now the pompous portals opened wide,
There, pausing oft, with timid foot she stole
Through halls high-domed, enriched with sculptured pride,
While gay saloons appeared on either side,
In splendid vista opening to her sight;
And all with precious gems so beautified,
And furnished with such exquisite delight,

That scarce the beams of heaven emit such lustre bright.

Robert Southey.

{

Born 1774.

Died 1843.

ROBERT SOUTHEY, LL.D., was born at Bristol, on 12th August 1774. His father was a respectable linendraper in Wine Street. So early as twelve, Southey began to write verses; and during the whole period of his boyhood he seems to have been giving promise of the eminence to which he afterwards attained. In his fourteenth year he was placed at Westminster School, where he remained three years; but having, in conjunction with some of his school-companions, published a lampoon on Dr Vincent, Southey, as the chief actor, was dismissed from the school. Southey from this time till about 1811 was a revolutionist: he disliked all the established institutions of the day; in religion he became a Unitarian, and in conjunction with Coleridge he formed a new scheme of colonization, which they named a Pantisocracy, where the happy people were to have neither king nor priest to mar their comfort. These castles in the air were soon dissipated, however, and Southey applied himself to the stern realities of life. In 1794 he married a Miss Fricker. To support himself he commenced giving lectures, and afterwards he began the study of the law. In 1796 Southey published his "Joan of Arc," which he afterwards greatly altered. The study of the law went on very slowly; and at last, from bad health, he in 1800 proceeded to Portugal to recruit, where he wrote his "Thalaba," which was published in 1801. In 1804, he issued "Metrical Tales;" in 1805, "Madoc;" in 1810 "The Curse of Kehama;" and in 1814, "Roderick, the Last of the Goths." Southey, though a very voluminous writer, has never been a popular one; his admirers are chiefly among the class of students and critics, but there are some of his small pieces which have ever been the delight of general readers, such as "Lord William," "Mary the Maid of the Inn," &c. Southey's poems and his other literary work, together with a pension of L.200 a-year from Government which he received in 1807, enabled him to live in comfort, and even luxury. His Unitarian views gradually disappeared, and he became a Trinitarian from conviction. In 1813 he was appointed poet-laureate, and received the degree of LL.D. from Oxford. In 1837 his wife died, and in 1839 he married a Miss Bowles, herself an authoress. He was also offered a baronetage and a seat in Parliament, which however he declined. Southey's house at the Lakes was open to all who had any decent pretence for enjoying his hospitality; and his amiable and genial demeanour endeared him to all his friends. At his death, on 21st March 1843, Southey left above L.12,000 to his wife and family. He died at Greta Bridge, and was interred at Crossthwaite, where a marble monument has been erected to his memory.

FROM "JOAN OF ARC."

Lo! on the bridge he stands, the undaunted man,
Conrade! the gathered foes along the wall
Throng opposite, and on him point their pikes,
Cresting with armèd men the battlements.
He, undismayed, though on that perilous height,
Stood firm, and hurl'd his javelin; the keen point