For sure she deemed her mortal part was o'er,

And she was sailing to the heavenly shore ;
And that angelic form, who moved beside,

Was some good Spirit sent to be her guide.
Daughter of Earth! therein thou deem'st aright;

And never yet did form more beautiful,
In dreams of night descending from on high,
Bless the religious Virgin's gifted sight,

Nor, like a vision of delight,
Rise on the raptured Poet's inward eye.

Of human form divine was he,
The immortal Youth of Heaven, who floated by,

Even such as that divinest form shall be
In those blest stages of our onward race,

When no infirmity,
Low thought, nor base desire, nor wasting care
Deface the semblance of our heavenly Sire.

The wings of Eagle or of Cherubim

Had seemed unworthy him :

Angelic power and dignity and grace
Were in his glorious pennons; from the neck
Down to the ancle reached their swelling web,
Richer than robes of Tyrian dye,4 that deck

Imperial majesty;
Their colour like the winter's moonless sky

When all the stars of midnight's canopy
Shine forth ; or like the azure deep at noon,

Reflecting back to heaven a brighter blue. Such was their tint when closed, but when outspread,

Tyrian dye, Tyrian purple, ob

ned fr

a shell-f

M

The permeating light
Shed through their substance thin a varying hue;

Now bright as when the Rose,
Beauteous as fragrant, gives to scent and sight
A like delight; now like the juice that flows

From Douro's generous vine,
Or ruby when with deepest red it glows;
Or as the morning clouds refulgent shine
When, at forthcoming of the Lord of Day,

The Orient, like a shrine,
Kindles as it receives the rising ray,

And heralding his way,
Proclaims the presence of the power divine.

Thus glorious were the wings
Of that celestial Spirit, as he went
Disporting through his native element.

Nor these alone
The gorgeous beauties that they gave to view :
Through the broad membrane branched a pliant bone,
Spreading like fibres from their parent stem;
Its veins like interwoven silver shone,

Or as the chaster hue
Of pearls that grace some Sultan's diadem.
Now with slow stroke and strong, behold him smite

The buoyant air, and now in gentler flight,
On motionless wing expanded, shoot along.

Through air and sunshine sails the Ship of Heaven,

Far far beneath them lies

The gross and heavy atmosphere of earth;

And with the Swerga gales,

The Maid of mortal birth

At every breath a new delight inhales. And now toward its port the Ship of Heaven,

Swift as a falling meteor, shapes its flight,

Yet gently as the dews of night that gem,
And do not bend the harebell's slenderest stem.

“ Daughter of Earth,” Ereenia cried, " alight;
This is thy place of rest, the Swerga this;

Lo, here my bower of bliss !”
He furled his azure wings, which round him fold

Graceful as robes of Grecian chief of old,
The happy Kailyal knew not where to gaze,
Her

eyes around in joyful wonder roam, Now turned upon the lovely Glendoveer,

Now on his heavenly home.

22

CAMPBELL.--Born, 1777; Died, 1814

Thomas Campbell was born in Glasgow, and became famous at the age of 18, by the publication of “ The Pleasures of Hope.” His lyrics, of which the finest are here given, are perhaps unequalled.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
Ye mariners of England !

That guard our native seas;
Whose flag has braved a thousand years

The battle and the breeze;

Your glorious standard launch again,
To match another foe!

And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow

The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave!
For the deck it was their field of fame,

And ocean was their grave;
Where Blakel and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,

As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain waves,

Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak?
She quells the floods below,

As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor-flag of England

Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart,

And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors !
Our song and feast shall flow

To the fame of your name,
When the storm hath ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.

- 23

BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.1

On Linden, where the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle blade,