Less profoundly skilled in the prognostics of the sky.

Crowd on others' brain,

Waiting such repast,

Thy inaugural strain

Lavishly and fast ;

Nor deny the wondering groves the knowledge that

thou hast.

Fill the air with speech,

As does heaven with light,

Till its fervour reach

The very star-lit height

Accessible, as yet, to nought but unrestricted sight!

REFLECTIONS ON SHELLEY.

Ut, mala quem scabies aut morbus regius urget,
Aut fanaticus error, et iracunda Diana,
Vesanum tetigisse timent fugiuntque Poëtam,

Qui sapiunt agitant pueri, incautique sequuntur.
HORACE. DE ART. POET.

WHAT a type of confusion, yet further confounded,
Is this enigmatical Percy Bysshe Shelley!

Whose morbid conceptions, however expounded,
Are worth nothing more than are those of the ***

His Pegasus, poor little fanciful jockey,

He rides up and down at so daring a rate,

That oft in his flight he grows fearfully rocky,

And then with Bellerophon shares a like fate.

And who can lament his deserved prostration,

Since having once reached unto heaven's vast steep,

He wantonly held that the stars in creation

Rolled on to his view like a huge flock of sheep!

When goaded less on by inordinate phrensy,

No better control has the bard of his steed; And yet will he court the defeat that attends the Unwary who mount one of high-mettled breed.

Great fountain and head of the wildest emotions

That ever yet raged in the deep-stricken breast! The tempest that howls on the wide spreading ocean's Rude bosom is not more untimely at rest.

And the storm that once rends, with a shout of dread

thunder,

The bark we have chosen to glide o'er the main, Though it ravish the soul with unspeakable wonder, We never more wish to play round us again.

And the spirit that wakes by intemperate rapture
A glow of extravagant warmth through the frame,
Must leave a delight, on reflection, to capture

The heart that burns not with a juvenile flame.

AN IMPRECATION.

ON Earth's delusive toilsome way

Have I the fair meridian past,

And now I feel life's transient day
Is ebbing fast.

The morning of existence teemed

With promise of so bright a reign,

That pleasures in succession seemed
To banish pain.

But love that prompts the warm desire It vainly struggles to conceal, Betrayed at length the quenchless fire I inly feel.

And she who vowed that no control

Should e'er disturb her pure design, Save that of her own spotless soul,

Since deaf to mine

Hath yielded to the sterner will

Of those who plead that from above,

They gain divine permission still

To rule in love.

And sweets that once profusely flowed
From every accent of her tongue,

And lent a charm that always glowed

Throughout my song —

I taste no more: on others now

Those sweets like heavenly manna fall,

And leave me but the cheerless vow

My thoughts recal.

Ye Fates! if ever yet ye poured

Avenging wrath beyond the power

Of soul-subduing fire and sword,

In fiercest hour

P