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They said; this is no human foe !-Nor less
Of wonder filled the Spaniards, when they saw
How flight and terror went before his way,
And slaughter in his path. Behold, cries one,
With what command and knightly ease he sits
The intrepid steed, and deals from side to side
His dreadful blows! Not Roderick in his
power

Bestrode with such command and majesty
That noble war-horse. His loose robe this day
Is death's black banner, shaking from its folds
Dismay and ruin. Of no mortal mould
Is he, who, in that garb of peace, affronts
Whole hosts, and sees them scatter where he
turns!

Beneath, the tide with idle fury raves
To undermine it through a thousand caves;
Rent from its roof, though thundering frag-

ments oft

Plunge to the gulf, immoveable aloft,
From age to age, in air, o'er sea, on land,
Its turrets heighten and its piers expand.
Midnight hath told his hour; the moon, yet

young,

Hangs in the argent west her bow unstrung;
Larger and fairer, as her lustre fades,
Sparkle the stars amidst the deepening shades;
Jewels more rich than night's regalia gem
The distant Ice-Blink's spangled diadem ;
Like a new morn from orient darkness, there

Auspicious Heaven beholds us, and some saint Phosphoric splendors kindle in mid air,
Revisits earth!

§ 168. Ice-Blink and Aurora Borealis.
MONTGOMERY.

"Tis sunset to the firmament serene
The Atlantic wave reflects a gorgeous scene:
Broad in the cloudless west, a belt of gold
Girds the blue hemisphere; above unroll'd
The keen, clear air grows palpable to sight,
Imbodied in a flush of crimson light,
Through which the evening star, with milder
gleam,

Descends to meet her image in the stream.
Far in the east, what spectacle unknown
Allures the eye to gaze on it alone?
-Amidst black rocks, that lift on either hand
Their countless peaks, and mark receding land;
Amidst a tortuous labyrinth of seas,
That shine around the arctic Cyclades;
Amidst a coast of dreariest continent,
In many a shapeless promontory rent;
-O'er rocks, seas, islands, promontories,

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As though from heaven's self-opening portals
Legions of spirits in an orb of flame, [came
-Flame, that from every point an arrow sends,
Far as the concave firmament extends:
Spun with the tissue of a million lines,
Glistening like gossamer, the welkin shines
The constellations in their pride look pale
Through the quick trembling brilliance of that
veil :

Then, suddenly converged, the meteors rush
O'er the wide south; one deep vermilion blush
O'erspreads Orion glaring on the flood,
And rabid Sirius foams through fire and blood;
Again the circuit of the pole they range,
Motion and figure every moment change,
Through all the colors of the rainbow run,
Or blaze like wrecks of a dissolving sun;
Wide ether burns with glory, conflict, flight,
And the glad ocean dances in the light.

§ 169. Azim visits the Haram of Mokanna.
MOORE.

Now, through the Haram chambers, moving

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one-

While some bring leaves of Henna, to imbue
The finger's ends with a bright roseate hue,
So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem
Like tips of coral branches in the stream;
To give that long, dark languish to the eye,
And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye,
Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud
to cull

From fair Circassia's vales, so beautiful!

All is in motion; rings and plumes and pearls
Are shining every where:-some younger girls
Are gone by moonlight to the garden beds,
To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads.
Gay creatures! sweet, though mournful, 'tis

to see

How each prefers a garland from that tree

2 B

Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent| About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food Whose scent hath lur'd them o'er the summer flood;

day,

And the dear fields and friendships far away.
The maid of India, blest again to hold
In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold,
Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' flood,
Her little play-mates scattered many a bud
Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam
Just dripping from the consecrated stream;
While the young Arab, haunted by the smell
Of her own mountain flowers, as by a spell;-
The sweet Elcaya, and that courteous tree
Which bows to all who seek its canopy-
Sees, call'd up round her by these magic
scents,

The well, the camels, and her father's tents;
Sighs for the home she left with little pain,
And wishes even its sorrows back again!

Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls,
Silent and bright, where nothing but the falls
Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound
From many a jasper fount, is heard around,
Young Azim roams bewilder'd,-nor can guess
What means this maze of light and loneliness.
Here the way leads, o'er tesselated floors
Or mats of Cairo, through long corridors,
Where, rang'd in cassolets and silver urns,
Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns;
And spicy rods, such as illume at night
The bowers of Tibet, send forth odorous light.
Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road
For some pure spirit to its blest abode !-
And here, at once, the glittering saloon

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Peeping like stars through the blue evening
Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair
That sat so still and melancholy there —
And now the curtains fly apart, and in
From the cool air, mid showers of jessamine,
Which those without fling after them in play,
Two lightsome maidens spring, lightsome as
they

Who live in th' air on odours, and around
The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the
ground,

Chase one another, in a varying dance
Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance,
Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit :—
While she, who sang so gently to the lute
Her dream of home, steals timidly away,
Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,-
But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by

Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain,
Creatures of light we never see again!

noon;

Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays
In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays
High as th' enamell'd cupola, which towers
All rich with Arabesques of gold and flowers:
And the mosaic floor beneath shines through
The sprinkling of that fountain's silvery dew,
Like the wet, glistening shells, of every dye,
That on the margin of the Red Sea lie.

Here, too, he traces the kind visitings
Of woman's love in those fair, living things
Of land and wave, whose fate-in bondage
thrown

For their weak loveliness-is like her own!
On one side, gleaming with a sudden grace
Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase
In which it undulates, small fishes shine,
Like golden ingots from a fairy mine;-
While, on the other, lattic'd lightly in
With odoriferous woods of Comorin,
Each brilliant bird that wings the air is seen;-
Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between
The crimson blossoms of the coral tree
In the warm isles of India's sunny sea:
Mecca's blue sacred pigeon, and the thrush
Of Hindostan, whose holy warblings gush,
At evening, from the tall Pagoda's top ;-
Those golden birds that, in the spice time
drop

Around the white necks of the nymphs who
danc'd

Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanc'd
More brilliant than the sea-glass glittering o'er
The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore;
While, from their long, dark tresses, in a fall
Of curls descending, bells, as musical

As those that, on the golden-shafted trees
Of Eden, shake in the eternal breeze,
Rang round their steps, at every bound more
sweet,

As 'twere th' ecstatic language of their feet.
At length the chase was o'er, and they stood
wreath'd
[breath'd
Within each other's arms; while soft there
Through the cool casement, mingled with the

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His breath is the soul of flowers like these, And his floating eyes-oh! they resemble Blue water-lilies, when the breeze

Is making the stream around them tremble!
Hail to thee, hail to thee, kindling Power!
Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss!
Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, [this.
And there never was moonlight so sweet as

By the fair and brave,
Who, blushing, unite,
Like the sun and wave,
When they meet at night!
By the tear that shows
When passion is nigh,
As the rain-drop flows
From the heat of the sky!

By the first love-beat

Of the youthful heart,
By the bliss to meet,
And the pain to part!
By all that thou hast

To mortals given,
Which-oh! could it last,

This earth were heaven!

We call thee hither, entrancing Power!

Spirit of Love, Spirit of Bliss!

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Of citron, honeysuckle, and jessamine,
With orange, whose warm leaves so finely suit,
And look as if they 'd shade a golden fruit!
And midst the flowers, turfed round beneath a
shade

Thy holiest time is the moonlight hour, [this. And 'twixt their shafts you saw the water bright, Of circling pines, a babbling fountain played,

And there never was moonlight so sweet as

Impatient of a scene, whose luxuries stole, Spite of himself, too deep into his soul, And where, midst all that the young heart

loves most,

Flowers, music, smiles, to yield was to be lost, The youth had started up, and turn'd away From the light nymphs and their luxurious lay, To muse upon the pictures that hung round,Bright images, that spoke without a sound, And views, like vistas into fairy ground.

Which through the darksome tops glimmered with showering light.

So now you walked beside an odorous bed
Of gorgeous hues, white, azure, golden, red;
And now turned off into a leafy walk,
Close and continuous, fit for lovers' talk;
And now pursued the stream, and, as you trod
Onward and onward o'er the velvet sod,
Felt on your face an air, watery and sweet,
And a new sense in your soft-lighting feet;
And then, perhaps, you entered upon shades,

But here again new spells came o'er his Pillowed with dells and uplands 'twixt the

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[then,

glades, Through which the distant palace, now and Looked lordly forth with many-windowed ken; A land of trees, which, reaching round about, In shady blessing stretched their old arms out, With spots of sunny opening, and with nooks, To lie and read in, sloping into brooks, Where at her drink you started the slim deer, Retreating lightly with a lovely fear. And, all about, the birds kept leafy house, And sung and sparkled in and out the boughs; And all about, a lovely sky of blue Clearly was felt, or down the leaves laughed through;

And here and there, in every part, were seats, Some in the open walks, some in retreats; With bowering leaves o'erhead, to which the

eye

Looked up half sweetly and half awfully,Places of nestling green, for poets made, Where, when the sunshine struck a yellow shade

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While their forgotten urns, lying about
In the green herbage, let the water out.
Never, be sure, before or since, was seen
A summer-house so fine in such a nest of green.
All the green garden, flower-bed, shade, and
plot,

Francesca loved, but most of all this spot.
Whenever she walked forth, wherever went
About the grounds, to this at last she bent:
Here she had brought a lute and a few books;
Here would she lie for hours with grateful
looks,

Thanking at heart the sunshine and the leaves, The summer rain-drops counting from the

eaves,

And all that promising, calm smile we see [bowers; In nature's face, when we look patiently. Then would she think of heaven; and you might hear,

Heaped towards the centre, and with citron
And, in the midst of all, clustered about
With bay and myrtle, and just gleaming out,
Lurked a pavilion,-a delicious sight,
Small, marble, well-proportioned, mellowy
white,
more,
With yellow vine-leaves sprinkled, but no
And a young orange either side the door.
The door was to the wood, forward, and square,
The rest was domed at top, and circular;
And through the dome the only light came in,
Tinged, as it entered, with the vine leaves
thin.

It was a beauteous piece of ancient skill,
Spared from the rage of war, and perfect

still;

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[clear, Sometimes, when every thing was hushed and Her gentle voice from out those shades emerging,

Singing the evening anthem to the Virgin. The gardeners and the rest, who served the place,

And blest whenever they beheld her face, Knelt when they heard it, bowing and uncovered,

And felt as if in air some sainted beauty hovered.

171. Paulo and Francesca. L. HUNT.

ONE day, 'twas on a summer afternoon, When airs and gurgling brooks are best in tune, And grasshoppers are loud, and day-work done, And shades have heavy outlines in the sun,The princess came to her accustomed bower To get her, if she could, a soothing hour, Trying, as she was used, to leave her cares Without, and slumberously enjoy the airs, And the low-talking leaves, and that cool light The vines let in, and all that hushing sight Of closing wood seen through the opening door, And distant plash of waters tumbling o'er, And smell of citron blooms, and fifty luxuries

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As though she had been rapt since morning there.

And, snatching from the fields her thoughtful | There's apt to be, at conscious times like these,
look,
[book, An affectation of a bright-eyed ease,
She reached o'er-head, and took her down a An air of something quite serene and sure,
And fell to reading with as fixed an air As if to seem so, was to be secure :
With this the lovers met, with this they spoke,
With this they sat down to the self-same book;
And Paulo, by degrees, gently embraced,
With one permitted arm, her lovely waist;
And both their cheeks, like peaches on a tree,
And o'er the book they hung, and nothing said,
Leaned with a touch together thrillingly;
And every lingering page grew longer as they

"Twas Launcelot of the Lake, a bright ro

mance,

read.

[first: Smiled upon Launcelot when he kissed her That touch, at last, through every fibre slid, And Paulo turned, scarce knowing what he did,

Only he felt he could no more dissemble,
And kissed her, mouth to mouth, all in a trem-
ble.
[kiss:

That, like a trumpet, made young pulses dance,
Yet had a softer note that shook still more;
She had begun it but the day before,
And read, with a full heart, half sweet, half sad,
How old King Ban was spoiled of all he had
But one fair castle: how, one summer's day, As thus they sat, and felt with leaps of heart
With his fair queen and child, he went awayTheir color change, they came upon the part
To ask the great King Arthur for assistance; Where fond Geneura, with her flame long
How, reaching by himself a hill at distance,
nurs'd,
He turned to give his castle a last look,
And saw its far white face: and how a smoke,
As he was looking, burst in volumes forth,
And good King Ban saw all that he was worth,
And his fair castle, burning to the ground,
So that his wearied pulse felt over-wound;
And he lay down, and said a prayer apart
For those he loved, and broke his poor old
heart.
[child,
Then read she of the queen with her young
How she came up, and nearly had gone wild;
And how, in journeying on, in her despair,
She reached a lake, and met a lady there,
Who pitied her, and took the baby sweet
Into her arms, when lo, with closing feet
She sprang up all at once, like bird from brake,
And vanished with him underneath the lake.
The mother's feelings we as well may pass :-
The fairy of the place that lady was,
And Launcelot (so the boy was called) became
Her inmate, till, in search of knightly fame,
He went to Arthur's court, and played his part
So rarely, and displayed so frank a heart,
That, what with all his charms of look and
limb,

The Queen Geneura fell in love with him :-
And here, with growing interest in her reading,
The princess, doubly fixed, was now proceed-
ing.

Ready she sat with one hand to turn o'er
The leaf, to which her thoughts ran on before,
The other propping her white brow, and throw-
ing

Its ringlets out, under the skylight glowing.
So sat she fixed; and so observed was she
Of one, who at the door stood tenderly,-
Paulo,-who, from a window seeing her
Go straight across the lawn, and guessing
where,

[day Had thought she was in tears, and found that His usual efforts vain to keep away.

May I come in ?" said he-it made her start,

That smiling voice ;-she colored, pressed her

heart

Sad were those hearts, and sweet was that long
Sacred be love from sight, whate'er it is.
The world was all forgot, the struggle o'er,
Desperate the joy. That day they read no

more.

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§ 172. From Alastor: or the Spirit of
Solitude. SHELLEY.

THERE was a poet, whose untimely tomb
No human hands with pious reverence reared;
But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds
Of mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness:
Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramid
With weeping flowers, or white cypress wreath,
A lovely youth,—
,—no mourning maiden decked
Gentle, and brave, and generous,—no lorn
The lone couch of his everlasting sleep:-

bard

He lived, he died, he sang, in solitude.
Breathed o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh;
Strangers have wept to hear his passionate

notes,

And virgins, as unknown he pass'd, have pined
And wasted for fond love of his wild eyes.
The fire of those orbs has ceased to burn,
And silence, too enamoured of that voice,
Locks its mute music in her rugged cell.

By solemn vision, and bright silver dream,
His infancy was nurtured. Every sight
And sound, from the vast earth and ambient
air,
Sent to his heart its choicest impulses
The fountains of divine philosophy
Fled not his thirsting lips, and all of great,
Or good, or lovely, which the sacred past
In truth or fable consecrates, he felt
And knew. When early youth had pass'd, he
His cold fireside and alienated home

[left

A moment, as for breath, and then, with free,To seek strange truths in undiscovered lands, And usual tone, said, "O yes,-certainly."

Many a wide waste and tangled wilderness

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