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in his brain, and could only attain was grotesque but pleasant, and his end by elaboration. Such men I looked at him with a sort of ought to correct. Giusti, the amused interest. After staying Italian poet, did the same. Fie there a little while, he crept along never wearied of correcting, and to the opposite post, and perched his poems, which seem so spon- himcelf there, and we smiled and taneous and unstudied, cost him nodded at each, other. Then he infinite labour. Shelley's manu- slipped along the bed, got up be

, scripts, also, are almost illegible hind my pillow, drew out the portfrom corrections and elaborations folio, placed it before me, opened and second thoughts. Landor also it, and turned slowly over the rewrote and revised very much, or leaves. I would I could see that so, at least, he told me. "Nothing,” book again, for of all books I ever he said, “ can be too good. I have saw it was the most remarkable. thrown away as much as I have As he turned over each leaf, there written, and most people would was a new picture, and every picthink it the best half of what I ture was alive. Now it was a have done."

vast landscape with gloomy clouds Bel. I wanted to say something piled on the horizon, and lofty about dreams. Let me see- —what mountains whose close platoons of was it? Oh, I remember. Did pointed pines went clambering up you ever have delusions during their slopes, and gleaming snowfever?

peaks with flashing glaciers, over Mal. Yes; why?

which grey, loitering clouds drooped Bel. Is it not strange that dur- and trailed. I heard the simmering ing the delirium our visions alone of the wind in the pines. I heard are real, while the realities about the far roar of the torrents that us are purely visionary. The eyes whitened in the cloven gorges. A are open, the senses exceedingly dark eagle sailed around high up acute; a rustling dress distresses in the deep air, and swept his large us, a ray of light annoys us; and circles over the valley.—Then the yet the things which do not exist leaf was turned. I saw the interior to our outward senses are the only of a splendid Gothic cathedral. Banreal things.

The nurse is vague, ners were floating from its pillars, we scarcely notice her; but the the sunlight streamed through dream - figures are absolute. Do gorgeous painted windows upon a ve not really see these ghosts of dense and murmurous crowd that the mind ? Can you persuade a were gathered to some great cerefever patient that they have no mony. As I looked, a procession existence ?

with splendid dresses - knights, Mal. It is unaccountable. I re- soldiers, priests—came streaming member to this day, with perfect in, and a wild burst of trumpets vividness, figures which moved shook the vaulted and groined before me, many years ago, during roof, and thrilled every sense. a severe fever-one in particular. The crowd fell on their knees. It was a queer little dwarf, with a Theodorous incense-smoke wavlarge head surmounted by a capered in the air from swinging and feathers, who came one day censers, and saluted the sense ; and perched himself on one of the -and then came a solemn stillbed-posts at the foot of the bed. ness, and a symphony of music, He had a large portfolio under his such as I never heard before and arm, which he held closely, and never shall hear again, swelled and there he sat and smiled at me. He died and rose again, and filled my

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whole being with delight. And down upon me until it seemed as

— then again the leaf was turned, if they would overwhelm me; and and so on at every turning came a then, when it seemed impossible to new picture; and I lay there en- bear it longer-when they were tranced gazing at them. Never close upon me—they would sudshall I forget this book.

denly disappear, and all would be Bel. And you remember these blank. pictures now!

Bel. This was giddiness, I supMal. I have described the two which impressed me most. I never Mal. Yes, I suppose it was; can forget them.

I shall never but that was the vision I saw. hear any symphony, even of Beet- Now we are on this question, I hoven, played by the perfectest will tell you another experience I orchestra, that will ever come up had. I used to dream constantly to that. Good heavens! could I of being on a smooth slope, on only have written it down. Do which I could not keep iny footyou know that I would not give hold. Many other persons were up that experience of fever for there beside me, but all of them many a day of tame life. I came walked calmly to and fro, as if out of it a different being.

they felt no such difficulty. I, Bel. Did you in that fever have however, ever slipped and slipped any such sensation as I once or towards a terrible precipice that twice have heard described, of bounded the slope, and over which being two persons ?

I knew, if I could not stay myself, Mal. Exactly. I was for a I should surely fall. This dream week two persons.

Of course I had haunted me for years at intertook no cognisance of time. Night vals. One night it was worse than and day were one, and I was

ever. I was, as usual, sliding sweeping down for a time, as it slowly towards this awful gulf, seemed to me, over a glassy slope, which was to be my fate, when in where there was no hold. At last my

dream I said to myself,

" Life is I reached a landing, and then I not worth this torture : I will fling became two persons.

I used to myself down the precipice and over tell my watchers, when they came it.” No sooner had I formed this to my bedside, to turn over one, resolution than I determined to for he was uncomfortable, and let carry it out.

Turning round, I the other remain as he was; and rushed towards the precipice as they often spoke to me of this fast as I could, and suddenly the afterwards. And this reminds me whole vision disappeared. And, of another experience, which I what is curious, it never again mention as curious. I used, as a returned. boy, to have nightmares of a sin. Bel. That is indeed strange. gular kind, and this was one of Mal. No; it never again rethem.

a single spot of turned. That was the end of it. light far off in the distance, and There! I think I have told you as I gazed it began to enlarge enough about myself. Now, if and grow into a ring, and from you please, we will go and take our this flew forth other rings, and walk. I want a little fresh air from each of these others and after these fevers and nightmares. others and others, until the whole Bel. “There are more things in range of vision was of wheeling heaven and earth than are dreamt rings of light that came rushing of in our philosophy."

I saw

POESIES FROM ABROAD.

FROM THE SPANISH OF GUSTAVE BECQUER.

I.

We were together,—her eyes were wet,

But her pride was strong, and no tears would fall : And I would not tell her I loved her yet,

And yearned to forgive her all !

So, now that our lives are for ever apart,

She thinks: “Oh! had I but wept that day!” And I ask in vain of my lonely heart:

“Ah! why did I turn away?”

II.

When you've drunk one draught of this rosy wine,

To set it aside were fitter;
Though the taste is sweet and the scent divine,

The dregs, alas! are bitter.

So when passion and youth shall have passed away,

Would we feel no sting, no sorrow,Oh, my dear, let us madly love to-day,

But say good-bye to-morrow !

FROM THE GERMAN OF H. HEINE.

She has given a ring to me, knowing

It was meant for another than me,
Yet from her dear eyes there are flowing

Bright tears that come fast and free.

I have taken her ring, and unspoken

Is my thought of another more fair ;
Of a ring, and a faith that are broken

Yet I laugh out aloud in despair.

“AN APPEAL.”

(AFTER SULLY PRUDHOMYE.)

Ah! could you see me weep in anguish sore

By the sad hearth I dare not call a home, Sometimes, I think, dear one, before my door

Would you not come ?

Could you but guess my joy when your eyes meet

My wearied eyes in one divinest glance,
Up at my window you would look, my sweet,

As if by chance.

If to my wounded heart you knew the balm

Of sympathy, and love that has no guile, Under my porch,-a sister sweet and calm,

You'd rest awhile.

Ah! darling, if you knew I loved, and how,

A love so great and pure your love must win Perhaps you'd lift the latch,-yes, even now,

And come within !

“ALONE.”

(AFTER SULLY PRUDHOMME.)

Our deepest joy in silence flows,

Like some pure stream, unseen, apart;
What lover tells the bliss he knows ?

His mistress only reads his heart.

O well-known tread of lightest feet !

O lips more red than June's red rose I
O sighs and kisses passing sweet !

Words that are neither verse nor prose !

What tenderest rhyme, what thrilling tone

Might speak of you, nor do you wrong?
Ah! happy ones Love makes his own!

Small need have you of lyre or cong!

But he, who all in vain must wait

For arms that fold, or lip that clings,
Will grasp a lute inanimate,

And pour his soul out on its strings;

For glory's fading wreath he lives,

And, to the callous world, and chill,
Fragments of the sad heart he gives

That one great love may never fill.

“A PARTING."

(AFTER SULLY PRUDHOMME.)

Why, no, I should not have told you, dear,
But I could not keep back one traitor tear,

It has fallen,-see, on your little hand, -
So the burning confession is written clear,

In letters you cannot but understand

And our laughter, and dancing of footsteps fleet
Are gone with the joy of the spring-tide sweet;

I tremble,—your blushes come and g,-
We cannot meet as we used to meet,

We cannot be friends as of old, I know.

But perhaps our hearts, in their love new-born
(Like two birds in their nest in that pale pink thorn),

Have their wings still weak, and their songs unsung;
For fear they should fly on the morrow morn,

Oh! tear them asunder, they still are young!

Oh! part them ere ever they learn to fly,
Lest in some dark future,-like you and I,-.

They may hunger and yearn for each other again;
And through dreary vistas of earth and sky,

Go wearily seeking,-in vain, in vain !

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In an old-world temple two blocks of stone,

Where the sky of Athens burns hotly blue,
Have been standing stately, and still, and lone,

Dreaming together the ages through.

There were two pearls hid in the self-same shell

(Like sweet sea-tears that for Venus weep); They have whispered secrets that none may tell,

Side by side in the heart of the deep.

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