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as, mountains, and the horizon's verge | Are all thy dealings, but in this they pass

for bars,

The limits of man's common malice, for Which shut him from the sole small spot All that a citizen could be I was;

of earth

Raised by thy will,all thine in peace or war, Where — whatsoe'er his fate — he still And for this thou hast warr'd with me. were hers,

Tis done : s country's, and might die where he had I may not overleap the eternal bar

birth

Built up between us, and will die alone, Florence! when this lone spirit shall return Beholding, with the dark eye of a seer, To kindred spirits, thou wilt feel my The evil days to gifted souls foreshown,

worth,

Foretelling them to those who will not hear, id seek to honour with an empty urn As in the old time, till the hour be come The ashes thou shalt ne'er obtain.--Alas! When Truth shall strike their eyes "What have I done to thee, my people?" ||

through many a tear, Stern

And make them ovu the Prophet in his tomb.

THE DRE A M.

Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own But a most living landscape, and the wave

world,

Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodeg boundary between the things misnamed

of men eath and existence: Sleep hath its own Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoke

world,

Arising from such rustic roofs; - the hill ad a wide realm of wild reality;

Was crown'd with a peculiar diadem nd dreams in thcir development have Of trees, in circular array, so fix'd,

breath,

Not by the sport of nature, but of man: nd tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; These two, a maiden and a youth, were there hey leave & weight upon our waking Gazing-the one on all that was beneath

thoughts

Fair as herself - but the boy gazed on her; hey take a weight from offour waking toils, And both were young and one was beautiful: hey do divide our being; they become and both were young – yet not alike in portion of ourselves as of our time,

youth. nd look like heralds of eternity;

As the sweet moon on the horizon's verge 'hey pass like spirits of the past ,- they The maid was on the eve of womanhood;

speak

The boy had fewer sumjners, but his heart ike sibyls of the future; they have power- | Had far outgrown his years, and to his eyo he tyranny of pleasure and of pain; | There was but one beloved face on earth, 'hey make us what we were not- what And that was shining on him ; he had look'd

they will, Upon it till it could not pass away; nd shake us with the vision that's gone by, He had no breath, no being, but in hers, 'he dread of vanish'd shadows_Are they so? She was his voice; he did not speak to her, s not the past all shadow? What are they? But trembled on her words; she was his Creation of the mind ? _The mind can make ubstance, and people planets of its own For his eye follow'd hers, and saw with hers, Vith beings brighter than have been, and Which colour'd all his objects :-ho had give

ceased I breath to forms which can outlive all flesh. To live within himself; she was his life, would recal a vision which I dream'd The ocean to the river of his thoughts, Serchance in sleep-for in itself a thought, Which terminated all: upon a tone,

slunbering thought, is capable of years, A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and Ind curdles a long life into one hour.

And his cheek change tempestuously-his

heart I saw two beings in the hues of youth Unknowing of its cause of agony. tanding upon a hill, a gentle hill, | But she in these fond feelings had no share : Treen and of mild declivity, the last Her sighs were not for him; to her he was Is 'twere the cape of a long ridge of such, Even as a brother but no more; 'twas much, save that there was no sea to lavc its base, 1 For brotherless she was, save in the naine

sight,

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side

Her infant-friendship had bestow'd on him; | Reposing from the noon-tide sultriness, Herself the solitary scion left

Couch'd among fallen columns, in the shade Of a time-honour'd race.--It was a name of ruin'd walls that had survived the name Which pleased him, and yet pleased him of those who rcard them; by his sleeping

not-and why? Time taught him a deep answer -- when Stood camels grazing, and some goodly she loved

steeds Another; even now she loved another, Were fasten'd near a fountain; and a mu And on the summit of that hill she stood Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while Looking afar if yet her lover's steed While many of his tribe slumber'd around Kept pace with her expectancy, and flew. And they were canopied by the blue sky,

So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful

That God alone was to be seen in Heaven A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. There was an ancient mansion, and before Its walls there was a steed caparison'd: A change came o'er the spirit of my dream Within an antique Oratory stood

| The Lady of his love was wed with One The Boy of whom I spake;- he was alone Who did not love her better:-in her bom And pale, and pacing to and fro; anon A thousand leagues from his,- her natin He sate him down, and seized a pen, and

home, traced

She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy, Words which I could not guess of; then Daughters and sons of Beauty,- but behold

he lean'd

Upon her face there was the tint of griel, His bow'd head on his hands, and shook as The settled shadow of an inward strife,

'twere

And an unquiet drooping of the eye With a convulsion-then arose again, As if its lid were charged with unshed tears And with his teeth and quivering hands What could her grief be? - she had all shal did tear

loved, What he had written, but he shed no tears, And he who had so loved her was not ther And he did calm himself, and fix his brow To trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish, Into a kind of quiet; as he paused, Or ill-repress'd affliction, her pure thoughts The Lady of his love re-entered there; What could her grief be? - she had loved She was serene and smiling then, and yet

him not, She knew she was by him beloved ,- she Nor given him cause to deem himsell

beloved, For quickly comes such knowledge, that Nor could he be a part of that which preyi

his heart

Upon ber mind -a spectre of the past. Was darken'd with her shadow, and she saw That he was wretched, but she saw not all. He rose, and with a cold and gentle grasp A change came o'er the spirit of my drewn. He took her hand; a moment o'er his face The Wanderer was return'd.- I saw him A tablet of unutterable thoughts

stand Was traced, and then it faded, as it came; Before an Altar-with a gentle bride; He dropped the hand he held, and with Her face was fair, but was not that which slow steps i

made Retired, but not as bidding her adieu, The Starlight of his Boyhood ;- as he stood For they did part with mutual smiles : he Even at the altar, o'er his brow there came

pass'd

The selfsame aspect, and the quivering shock From out the massy gate of that old Hall, That in the antique Oratory shook And mounting on his steed he went his way ; | His bosom in its solitude; and then And ne'er repass'd that hoary threshold more. As in that hour- a moment o'er his face

The tablet of unutterable thoughts

Was traced,--and then it faded, as it came, A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. And he stood calm and quiet, and be spoke The Boy was sprung to manhood: in the The fitting vows, but heard not his o wilds

words, Of fiery climes he made himself a home, And all things reel'd around him; be And his soul drank their sunbeams; he was

could see girt

Not that which was, nor that which should With strange and dusky aspects; he was not

have been Himself like what he had been; on the sea Bat the old mansion and the accustom dhali And on the shore he was a wanderer; And the remember'd chambers, and the place There was a mass of many images | The day, the hour, the sunshine, and the Crowded like waves upon me, but he was

shade, A part of all; and in the last he lay All things pertaining to that place and bour,

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id her who was his destiny, came back | The beings which surrounded him weregone, id tbrust themselves between him and the Or were at war with him; he was a mark

light:

For blight and desolation, compass'd round hat business had they there at such a time? With Hatred and Contention; Pain was mix'd

In all which was served up to him, until A change came o'er the spirit of iny dream. Like to the Pontic monarch of old days, be Lady of his love :-Oh! she was changed He fed on poisons, and they had no power,

by the sickness of the soul; her mind | But were a kind of nutriment; he lived ad wander'd from its dwelling,and her eyes

Through that which had been death to hey had not their own lustre, but the look

many men, hich is not of the earth; she was become

And made him friends of mountains: with he queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts

the stars lere combinations of disjointed things;

And the quick Spirit of the Universe nd forms iin palpable and unperceived

He held his dialogues; and they did teach fothers' sight familiar were to hers.

To him the magic of their mysteries; nd this the world calls phrensy; but the

• bot the To him the book of Night was opend wide, wise

And voices from the deep abyss reveal'd lave a far deeper madness, and the glance A marvel and a secret-Be it so. f melancholy is a fearful gift; That is it but the telescope of truth?

My dream was past; it had no further Thich strips the distance of its phantasies,

change. nd brings life near in utter nakedness, It was of a strange order, that the doom laking the cold reality too real !

of these two creatures should be thus

traced out A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. Almost like a reality, the one The Wanderer was alone as heretofore, To end in madaess—both in misery.

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I nad a dream, which was not all a dream. Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits l'he bright sun was extinguish'd, and the The flashes fell upon them; soine lay down

stars

And hid their eyes and wept; and soine bid wander darkling in the eternal space,

did rest Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Their chins upon their clenched hands, and iwung blind and blackening in the moon

smiled; less air;

| And others hurried to and fro, and fed Horn came, and went-and came, and Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up

brought no day, With mad disquietude on the dull sky, Ind men forgot their passions in the dread | The pall of a past world; and then again of this their desolation ; and all hearts With curses cast them down upon the dust, Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light: And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild And they did live by watchfires, and the

birds shriek'd, thrones,

And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, The palaces of crowned kings—the huts, And flap their useless wings; the wildest The habitations of all things which dwell,

brutes Were burnt for beacons; cities were con- Came tame and tremulous; and vipers sumed,

crawlid And men were gathered round their blazing And twined themselves among the multitude,

homes

Hissing, but stingless -- they were slain for To look once more into each other's face;

food: Happy were those who dwelt within the eye And War, which for a moment was no of the volcanos and their inountain-torch :

more, A fearful hope was all the world contain'd; Did glut himself again; a meal was bought Forests were set on fire -- but hour by hour With blood, and each sate sullenly apart They fell and faded - and the crackling Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;

trunks

All carth was but one thought-and that Extinguish'd with a crash-and all was

was death, black.

Immediate and inglorious; and the pang The brows of men by the despairing light | Of famine fed upon all entrails ; mca

Died, and their bones were tombless as their Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld

flesh;

Each other's aspects-saw, and shriek'd, The meagre by the meagre were devoured,

and diedEven dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, Even of their mutual hideousness they died, And he was faithful to a corse and kept Unknowing who he was upon whose brow The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, Famine had written Fiend. The world was Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead

void, Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out The populous and the powerful was a lump.

no food,

Seasonless,herbless treeless.manless, lifeless, But with a piteous and perpetual moan A lamp of death-a chaos of hard clay. And a qnick desolate cry licking the hand The rivers, lakes, and ocean all stood still Which answered not with a caress - he died. And nothing stirred within their silent The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two

depths; Of an enormous city did survive,

Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, And they were enemies; they met beside And their masts fell down piecemeal; s The dying embers of an altar-place

they droppd Where had been heap'd a mass of holy They slept on the abyss without a surge

things

The waves were dead; the tides were in For an unholy usage; they raked up,

their grave, And shivering scraped with their cold ske-The moon their mistress had expired befare;

leton-hands The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had » Blew for a little life, and made a flame

need Which vas a mockery; then they lifted up of aid from them -- She was the univers

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TITAN! to whose immortal eyes

And in thy Silence was his Sentence, The sufferings of mortality,

And in his Soul a vain repentance, Seen in their sad reality,

And evil dread so ill dissembled Were not as things that gods despise ; That in his hand the lightnings tremble What was thy pity's recompense ? A silent suffering, and intense;

Thy godlike crime was to be kind, The rock, the vulture, and the chain,

To render with thy precepts less All that the proud can feel of pain,

The sum of human wretchedness, The agony they do not show,

And strengthen Man with his own mind; The suffocating sense of woe,

But baffled as thou wert from high, Which speaks but in its loneliness,

Still in thy patient energy, And then is jealous lest the sky

In the endurance, and repulse Should have a listener, nor will sigh

Of thine impenetrable Spirit, Until its voice is echoless.

Which Earth and Heaven could not con

vulse, Titan! to thee the strife was given

A mighty lesson we inherit: Between the suffering and the will, Thou art a symbol and a sign

Which torture where they cannot kill; To Mortals of their fate and force; And the inexorable Heaven,

Like thee, Man is in part divine, And the deaf tyranny of Fate,

A troubled stream from a pure source, The ruling principle of Hate,

And Man in portions can foresee Which for its pleasure doth create

His own funereal destiny;
The things it may annihilate,

His wretchedness, and his resistance,
Refused thee even the boon to die: And his sad unallied existence:
The wretched gift eternity

To which his Spirit may oppose
Was thine--and thou hast borne it well. Itself- an equal to all woes,
All that the Thunderer wrong from thee And a firm will, and a deep sense,
Was but the menace which flung back Which even in torture can descry
On him the torments of thy rack:

Its own concentred recompense,
The fate thou didst so well foresce, Triumphant where it dares defy,
But wouldst not to appease him tell: I And making Death a Victory.

A FACT LITERALLY BENDERED.

I stood beside the grave of him who were it not that all life must end in one,

blazed

Of which we are but dreamers ;-- as he he comet of a season, and I saw

caught he humblest of all sepulchres, and gazed As 'twere the twilight of a former Sun, Pith not the less of sorrow and of awe Thus spoke he:-“I believe the man of in that neglected turf and quiet stone,

whom Tith name no clearer than the names You wot, who lies in this selected tomb,

unknown

Was a most famous writer in his day, Thich lay unread around it; and I ask'd And therefore travellers step from out their 'heGardener of that ground,why it might be

way 'hat for this plant strangers his memory To pay him honour,-- and myself whate'er

task'd

Your honour pleases," – then most pleased through the thick deaths of half a century;

I shook ad thus he answered—“Well, I do not From out my pocket's avaricious nook

know

Some certain coins of silver, which as Vhy frequent travellers turn to pilgrimsso;

'twere le died before my day of Sextonship, Perforce I gave this man, though I could nd I had not the digging of this grave." nd is this all ? I thought, and do we rip So much but inconveniently ;-Ye smile, 'he veil of Immortality ? and crave I see ye, ye profane ones! all the while, know not what of honour and of light Because my homely phrase the truth would through unborn ages, to endure this blight?

tell. o suon and so successless ? As I said, You are the fools, not I-for I did dwell The Architect of all on which we tread, With a deep thought, and with a softfor Earth is but a tombstone, did essay

end eye, 'o extricate remembrance from the clay, On that Old Sexton's natural homily, Vhose minglings might confuse a Newton's In which there was Obscurity and Fame,

thought | The Glory and the Nothing of a Name.

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M ON O D Y

ON THB
DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAN.

SPOKEN AT DRURY - LANE THEATRE.

WAEN the last sunshine of expiring day | A holy concord—and a bright regret, 1. summer's twilight weeps itself away, A glorious sympathy with sung that set ? Nho hath not felt the softness of the hour 'Tis not harsh sorrow_but a tenderer woe, link on the heart, as dew along the flower? | Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below, With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes Felt without bitterness - but full and clear, While Nature makes that melancholy pause, A sweet dejection-a transparent tear ler breathing-moment on the bridge where Unmix'd with worldly grief or selfish stain,

Time

Shed without shame - and secret without Oflight and darkness forms an arch sublime;

pain. Who hath not shared that calm so still and Even as the tenderness that hour instils

deep,

When Summer's day declines along the hills, The voiceless thought which would not So feels the fulness of our heart and eyes

speak but weep, When all of Genius which can perish dies.

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