TO THE SINGER, PASTA.

BY BARRY CORNWALL.

NEVER till now

I.

never till now, O queen

And wonder of the enchanted world of sound! Never till now was such bright creature seen,

Startling to transport all the regions round!Whence com'st thou-with those eyes and that fine mien, Thou sweet, sweet singer? Like an angel found Mourning alone, thou seem'st (thy mates all fled), A star 'mongst clouds,-a spirit 'midst the dead!

II.

Melodious thoughts hang round thee:-Sorrow sings
Perpetual sweetness near,-divine despair!

Thou speak'st, and music, with her thousand strings,

Gives golden answers from the haunted air!

Thou mov'st, and 'round thee Grace her beauty flings!

Thou look'st, and Love is born! Oh! songstress rare,

Lives there on earth a power like that which lies
In those resistless tones,-in those dark eyes?

III.

Oh, I have lived-how long!-with one deep treasure-
One fountain of delight unlocked, unknown;
But thou, the prophetess of my new pleasure,
Hast come at last, and struck my heart of stone :
And now outgushes without stint or measure
The endless rapture,- and in places lone
I shout it to the stars and winds that flee;

And then I think on all I owe to thee!

In every shape thou tak'st, or passionate path :
Now art thou like some winged thing that cries
Over a city flaming fast to death :—

Now, in thy voice, the mad Medea dies :-
Now Desdemona yields her gentle breath :-
All things thou art by turns-from wrath to love,
From the queen eagle to the vestal dove!

V.

Horror is stern and strong, and Death (unmasked
In slow pale silence, or 'midst brief eclipse);
But what are they to thy sweet strength, when tasked
To its height with all the God upon thy lips?
Not even the cloudless days and riches, asked
By one who in the book of darkness dips,
Vies with that radiant wealth which they inherit
Who own, like thee, the Muse's deathless spirit.

VI.

Would I could crown thee as a king can crown!
Yet what are kingly gifts to thy great fame,
Whose echoes shall all vulgarer triumphs drown,-
Whose light shall darken every meaner name?
The gallant courts thee,- for his own renown;
Mimicking thee, he plays love's pleasant game;
The critic brings thee praise, which all rehearse;
And I-alas!-I can but bring my verse!

THEY came upon a green wood rich in trees,
O'er which went sighing the eve-wandering breeze,
Bending the tops of some with his sweet kiss,
Yet tender as the new-linked lover is :

Here shot up the white ash, and there the larch,
And there the wild witch-elm did overarch
The gladed silence with his showering boughs,
Round which the subtle ivy creeps and blows
Until it blasts the tree to youthful death;

And woodbines cast abroad their odorous breath,
Between whose leaves the clear-blue landscape broke;
And there all grandly grew the broad-armed oak,
Like a centurion, midst his branched peers,

The eldest Sylvan of a thousand years!

A MANUSCRIPT FOUND IN A

MADHOUSE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF PELHAM.'

noble in

I AM the eldest son of a numerous family, birth, and eminent for wealth. My brothers are a vigorous and comely race,- - my sisters are more beautiful than dreams. By what fatality was it that I alone was thrust into this glorious world distorted, and dwarf-like, and hideous, my limbs a mockery, my countenance a horror, myself a blackness on the surface of creation,a discord in the harmony of nature, a living misery, an animated curse? I am shut out from the aims and objects of my race;-with the deepest sources of affection in my heart, I am doomed to find no living thing on which to pour them. Love!-out upon the word—I am its very loathing and abhorrence: friendship turns from me in disgust; pity beholds me, and withers to aversion. Wheresoever I wander, I am encompassed with hatred as with an atmosphere. Whatever I attempt, I am in

the impassable circle of a dreadful and accursed doom. Ambition -pleasure—philanthropy-fame-the common blessing of social intercourse-are all as other circles, which mine can touch but in one point, and that point is torture. I have knowledge to which the wisdom of ordinary sages is as dust to gold;- I have energies to which relaxation is pain;-I have benevolence which sheds itself in charity and love over a worm! For whatmerciful God!-for what are these blessings of nature or of learning?—The instant I employ them, I must enter among men: the moment I enter among men, my being blackens into an agony. Laughter grins upon me—— terror dogs my steps;-I exist upon poisons, and my nourishment is scorn!

At my birth the nurse refused me suck; my mother saw me and became delirious; my father ordered that I should be stifled as a monster. The physicians saved my life-accursed be they for the act! One woman-she was old and childless-took compassion upon me; she reared and fed me. I I grew up-I asked for something to love; I loved every thing; the common earththe fresh grass-the living insect-the household brute; -from the dead stone I trod on, to the sublime countenance of man, made to behold the stars and to scorn me; -from the noblest thing to the prettiest-the fairest to the foulest-I loved them all! I knelt to my mother, and besought her to love me- -she shuddered. I fled to my father, and he spurned me! The lowest minion