Above, with a majestic gaze, and eye
The sun, as though he felt himself akin
To his pre-eminence, and throned state :
The other, in her fair perfection seem'd
A shape apparell'd by her own pure smiles,
Surpassing beauty and subduing love;
While, ever as she moved, the blush of flowers
O'erveil'd her, and a breezy host of sounds,
Like magic birds, embosom'd in the air,
In sweet attendance caroll'd round her path.
Never hath sunny mood, or shaping dream,
Divined the vision which in Eden lay,-
Each sound was music, and each sight a heaven!
PETRARCH'S ADORATION OF LAURA.
How touching are those mental tears,
Delighted throbs, and dazzled fears,-
The penance by his genius paid,
Whenever recreant fancy stray'd
Beyond the tone of pure desire!-
"Twas Laura tuned his pensive lyre:
Madonna-like, and sweetly mild,
And pure as an untempted child,
Amid her white-robed virgin throng
He saw her beauty glide along,
When lilies deck'd her sun-bright hair
Amid the walls of lone St. Claire.-
That hour became his second birth!
Her glory overveil'd the earth;
And never did a Ghebir kneel
Before his orb with truer zeal
Than Petrarch at that living shrine,
Where dwelt the soul he knew divine !-
To him she was a spotless thing,
Too bright for earthly bard to sing;
A miracle of life and love,
A dream embodied from above.
A seraph, whose unclouded eyes
Reflected back their native skies!
From her his inspiration came;
Each song enshrined her hidden name;
And not a shadow, tint, or sound,
Creation could invent around,
But he beguiled with beauteous art
To typify her taintless heart!
How fervently his homage glows!
Pure from the mind it springs and flows,
Exhausting, as his numbers roll,
The life-blood of a feeling soul !
For Laura seem'd his spirit's breath,
And ruled it when she sunk in death;
Then, day and darkness, scene and hour,
Were haunted with her holy power;
And, when her smile illumed it not,
The faded world was soon forgot:
Since only to embalm her name
He panted for eternal fame.-
PRESENT STATE OF JERUSALEM.
JERUSALEM!-alas! the wailing harp
All truly mourn'd: a throneless captive thou, In sha dust: thy robes of beautiferay Have wither'd: tears on thy faded cheek; And nothing, save a glorious past, is thine!— Those mountains, branded by th' almighty curse, Ascend, and look down yon sepulchral vales, Where silence by the tramp of desert steeds Alone is echo'd: paths of lifeless length, Dim walls, and dusky fanes, fragmental homes, And Arab huts,-how eloquently sad The ruin, how sublime the tale it tells !Jerusalem! the clank of heathen chains In iron wrath hath sounded o'er thy doom For ages; sword and savage on thy blood Have feasted; fatal martyrdom was thine From Roman, Frank, and fiery Mameluke: E'en now, thy wreck is made Pollution's prey; And minarets their flashing spires uplift Where once the palace of Jehovah blazed!
But round thy desolation lives a dream Of what thou wert when Heav'n o'ershadow'd thee. Religion, fame, and glory—all endow'd With mingled light thy once celestial home. There, 'tween thy cherubim, th' Eternal dwelt! From out the cloud his utter'd meaning came; The hymn of David, and the voice of seers By vision raptured, through thy streets are roll'd; And He who spakc, as never mortal did,
In temple, dome, and synagogue proclaim'd
His awful mission:-well might kings adore,
The poet chant, and pure apostles bend
Before thee, casting down their sacred wreaths,
Queen of the desert! once by angels walk'd,
And still where murmurs of Jehovah's lip
In dreams of melody thy vales entrance!
In thy dominions, hath not Pride a throne,
Which none but Deity itself can shake?
'Twas by her spirit Hell was fired,—she reigns
The monarch passion of the human breast:
And yet so dread, that e'en by Intellect inspired,
Or from the pureness of a perfect heart
Derived, too daringly a sense of worth
Indulged, for Wisdom to embrace her own.
But rank, whose patent was a paltry soul,
Can make a being proud; an affluent lot,
Where Folly may pre-eminently shine,
Breeds Pride; some, arrogant with beauty, move
As though the air grew lovely in the light
Of perfect feature, and majestic form;
While others their renowned birth display,
Untombing honour from ancestral dust
To dignify their own :-and Time hath breathed
A sanction o'er such artificial rank,
To season Life, and harmonise her laws.
So, where the heart beats glorious, and is link'd By ages of nobility, to minds
Of fame,-high ancestry a virtue proves:
But little souls, with mighty title graced,
Like beggars, trick'd in robes of royalty,
Are burden'd with a pomp they cannot bear,
And lend to meanness but a brighter shame.
AND Melody!-an echo breathed from heaven!
By her, ineffable delight is given;
Whether she melt a passion from the mind,
Or with Æolian languish lull the wind;
Whether she madden in the mingled roar
Of alpine billows bounding to the shore;
Or on the elfin pinions of a breeze
Float o'er the flowers, and woo the vernal trees,-
Alike divine !-But deeper in the soul
Sinks melody's omnipotent control,
When, from the fluted organ, full and deep,
Billows of music through the dim aisles sweep!
Ear, eye, and heart confess the awful spell,
While soul and being with the magic swell,
And as the spiral echoes upward wind,
Die off-and scarcely leave the man behind.
THUS prophecy from Heaven itself began-
Oh, miracle! beyond all utt'rance deep;
Immeasurably vast; outmarching time,
Subduing space, and with colossal might
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