CHRISTABEL.

And the Spring comes slowly up this way.

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.

Parti.

Part ii.

Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place,

(Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism,
Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon,
Drops his blue fringed lids, and holds them close,
And hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven,

Cries out, 'Where is it?'

Fears in Solitude.

And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin

Is pride that apes humility.

The Devil's Thoughts.

All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Love.

Strongly it bears us along in swelling and limitless

billows,

Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and

the ocean.

The Homeric Hexameter. Translated from Schiller.

In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column;

In the pentameter aye falling in melody back.

The Ovidian Elegiac Metre

Blest hour! it was a luxury-to be!

Reflections on having left a Place of Retirement.

Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.

Ibid.

To know, to esteem, to love—and then to part,
Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart!
On Taking Leave of -

Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade,

Death came with friendly care;

The opening bud to Heaven conveyed,
And bade it blossom there.

1817.

Epitaph on an Infant.

* Imitated from SCHILLER.

Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud,
We in ourselves rejoice!

And thence flows all that charms, or ear or sight,

All melodies the echoes of that voice,

All colours a suffusion from that light.

Dejection. An Ode. Stanza 5.

Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends!
Hath he not always treasures, always friends,
The good great man? three treasures, love and light,
And calm thoughts, regular as infants' breath ;
And three firm friends, more sure than day and night,
Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.

Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn.

Reproof.

A Christmas Carol. viii.

The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doth wash your city of Cologne ;
But tell me, nymphs! what power divine
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?

The intelligible forms of ancient poets,
The fair humanities of old religion,

The power, the beauty, and the majesty,

Cologne.

That had their haunts in dale, or piny mountain,

Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,

Or chasms and watery depths; all these have vanished, They live no longer in the faith of reason.

Wallenstein. Parti. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Clothing the palpable and familiar

With golden exhalations of the dawn.

The Death of Wallenstein. Acti. Sc. 1.

Often do the spirits

Of great events stride on before the events,
And in to-day already walks to-morrow.

The Death of Wallenstein. Act v. Sc. 1.

I have heard of reasons manifold

Why love must needs be blind,

But this the best of all I hold

His eyes are in his mind.

To a Lady. Offended by a Sportive Observation.

What outward form and feature are

He guesseth but in part;

But what within is good and fair

He seeth with the heart,

My eyes make pictures, when they are shut.

Ibid.

A Day-Dream.

Be that blind bard, who on the Chian strand,

By those deep sounds possessed with inward light,
Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee,

Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea. Fancy in Nubibus.

JAMES MONTGOMERY. 1771-1854.

HEN the good man yields his breath

WHEN

(For the good man never dies).*

The Wanderer of Switzerland. Part▾.

Θνήσκειν μὴ λέγε τοὺς ἀγαθούς. CALLIM. Ερ. κ.

If God hath made this world so fair,

Where sin and death abound,
How beautiful beyond compare
Will paradise be found.

Here in the body pent;

The Earth full of God's Goodness.

Absent from Him I roam.

Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
A day's march nearer home.

At home in Heaven.

'T

THOMAS CAMPBELL. 1777-1844.

PLEASURES OF HOPE.

IS distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.

Parti. Line 7.

O Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save.

Ibid. Line 359.