amu vai a neighbouring stream

khasí a múð áttd slumbrous dream,

the Worm replied,

aring pride,

y lustre shine; momently thy rays

; s the breathing haze ܡܘܓ

waither mist, nor thickest cloud
in heaven its murky shroud,

wwwer to injure mine.

for this do I aspire

match the spark of local fire,

hat at my will burns on the dewy lawn,

wth thy acknowledged glories;-No!

Yet, thus upbraided, I may show
What favours do attend me here,
Till, like thyself, I disappear
Before the purple dawn."

When this in modest guise was said,
Across the welkin seemed to spread
A boding sound-for aught but sleep unfit!
Hills quaked, the rivers backward ran;
That Star, so proud of late, looked wan;

And reeled with visionary stir

In the blue depth, like Lucifer

Cast headlong to the pit!

Fire raged: and, when the spangled floor

Of ancient ether was no more,

New heavens succeeded, by the dream brought forth:
And all the happy Souls that rode
Transfigured through that fresh abode,
Had heretofore, in humble trust,
Shone meekly mid their native dust,

The Glow-worms of the earth!

This knowledge, from an Angel's voice
Proceeding, made the heart rejoice
Of Him who slept upon the open lea:
Waking at morn he murmured not;

ted the earth born Star,

A 20 which glittered from afar;

to witness!) from the frame

ch sào põhutval Orb, there came

Was to the Pilgrim's soul endeared,

Where by that dream he had been cheered Beneath the shady tree.

1818.

You call it, "Love lies bleeding,”—so you may,
Though the red Flower, not prostrate, only droops,
As we have seen it here from day to day,
From month to month, life passing not away :
A flower how rich in sadness! Even thus stoops,
(Sentient by Grecian sculpture's marvellous power)
Thus leans, with hanging brow and body bent
Earthward in uncomplaining languishment,
The dying Gladiator. So, sad Flower!
('Tis Fancy guides me willing to be led,
Though by a slender thread,)

So drooped Adonis bathed in sanguine dew

Of his death-wound, when he from innocent air
The gentlest breath of resignation drew;
While Venus in a passion of despair
Rent, weeping over him, her golden hair
Spangled with drops of that celestial shower.
She suffered, as Immortals sometimes do;
But pangs more lasting far, that Lover knew
Who first, weighed down by scorn, in some lone

bower

Did press this semblance of unpitied smart
Into the service of his constant heart,

His own dejection, downcast Flower! could share With thine, and gave the mournful name which thou wilt ever bear.

XXIX.

COMPANION TO THE FOREGOING.

NEVER enlivened with the liveliest ray
That fosters growth or checks or cheers decay,
Nor by the heaviest rain-drops more deprest,
This Flower, that first appeared as summer's guest,

Preserves her beauty mid autumnal leaves
And to her mournful habits fondly cleaves.
When files of stateliest plants have ceased to bloom,
One after one submitting to their doom,
When her coevals each and all are fled,
What keeps her thus reclined upon her lonesome
bed?

The old mythologists, more impress'd than we Of this late day by character in tree Or herb, that claimed peculiar sympathy, Or by the silent lapse of fountain clear, Or with the language of the viewless air By bird or beast made vocal, sought a cause To solve the mystery, not in Nature's laws But in Man's fortunes. Hence a thousand tales Sung to the plaintive lyre in Grecian vales. Nor doubt that something of their spirit swayed The fancy-stricken Youth or heart-sick Maid, Who, while each stood companionless and eyed This undeparting Flower in crimson dyed, Thought of a wound which death is slow to cure, A fate that has endured and will endure, And, patience coveting yet passion feeding, Called the dejected Lingerer, Love lies bleeding.

ΧΧΧ.

RURAL ILLUSIONS.

SYLPH was it? or a Bird more bright
Than those of fabulous stock?

A second darted by ;-and lo!
Another of the flock,

Through sunshine flitting from the bough
To nestle in the rock.

Transient deception! a gay freak

Of April's mimicries!

Those brilliant strangers, hailed with joy

Among the budding trees,

Proved last year's leaves, pushed from the spray To frolic on the breeze.

Maternal Flora! show thy face,
And let thy hand be seen,
Thy hand here sprinkling tiny flowers,
That, as they touch the green,
Take root (so seems it) and look up

In honour of their Queen.
Yet, sooth, those little starry specks,
That not in vain aspired

Sporting with the leaves that fall,

Withered leaves one-two-and three-
From the lofty elder-tree!
Through the calm and frosty air
Of this morning bright and fair,
Eddying round and round they sink
Softly, slowly: one might think,
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf conveyed

Sylph or Faery hither tending,-
To this lower world descending,
Each invisible and mute,

In his wavering parachute.

-But the Kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts!
First at one, and then its fellow
Just as light and just as yellow;
There are many now-now one-
Now they stop and there are none :
What intenseness of desire
In her upward eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half way
Now she meets the coming prey,
Lets it go as fast, and then
Has it in her power again :

Now she works with three or four,
Like an Indian conjurer;
Quick as he in feats of art,

Far beyond in joy of heart.

Were her antics played in the eye

Of a thousand standers-by,
Clapping hands with shout and stare,
What would little Tabby care
For the plaudits of the crowd?
Over happy to be proud,
Over wealthy in the treasure
Of her own exceeding pleasure!

"Tis a pretty baby-treat; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet; Here, for neither Babe nor me, Other play-mate can I see. Of the countless living things, That with stir of feet and wings (In the sun or under shade, Upon bough or grassy blade) And with busy revellings, Chirp and song, and murmurings, Made this orchard's narrow space, And this vale so blithe a place; Multitudes are swept away Never more to breathe the day: Some are sleeping; some in bands Travelled into distant lands; Others slunk to moor and wood, Far from human neighbourhood; And, among the Kinds that keep With us closer fellowship, With us openly abide,

All have laid their mirth aside.

Where is he that giddy Sprite, Blue-cap, with his colours bright, Who was blest as bird could be,

Feeding in the apple-tree;
Made such wanton spoil and rout,
Turning blossoms inside out;

Hung-head pointing towards the groundFluttered, perched, into a round

Bound himself, and then unbound;

Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin !
Prettiest Tumbler ever seen!

Light of heart and light of limb;
What is won become of Him?
Lambs, that through the mountains went

Frisking, bleating merriment,

When the year was in its prime,

They are sobered by this time.
If you look to vale or hill,

K