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We paused amid the pines that stood

The giants of the waste, Tortured by storms to shapes as rude

As serpents interlaced. And soothed by every azure breath,

That under heaven is blown,
To harmonies and hues beneath,

As tender as its own;
Now all the tree-tops lay asleep,

Like green waves on the sea,
As still as in the silent deep

The ocean woods may be.

How calm it was! the silence there

By such a calm was bound, That even the busy woodpecker

Made stiller by her sound The inviolable? quietness;

The breath of peace we drew. With its soft motion made not less

The calm that round us grew. There seemed from the remotest seat

Of the wide mountain waste,
To the soft flower beneath our feet,

A magic circle traced,
A spirit interfused around

A thrilling, silent life,
To momentary peace it bound

Our mortal nature's strife;

2 inviolable, that may not be pro

faned, or broken.

3 interfused, poared between

And still I felt the centre of

The magic circle there
Was one fair form that filled with love

The lifeless atmosphere.

We paused beneath the pools that lie

Under the forest bough,
Each seemed as 'twere a little sky

Gulfed in a world below;
A firmament of purple light,

Which in the dark earth lay,
More boundless than the depth of night,

And purer than the day-
In which the lovely forests grew,

As in the upper air,
More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.
There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn,

And, through the dark greenwood,
The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.
Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen,
Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green,
And all was interfused beneath

With an Elysian glow,

4 atmosphere, the air that sur

rounds the earth. 5 firmament, the arch of the skies ;

anciently thought to be a firm vault.

6 Pertaining to Elysium, tho fabled

abcde, in antiquity, of the blessed, after death.

An atmosphere without a breath,

A softer day below.
Like one beloved the scene had lent

To the dark water's breast,

leaf and lineament?
With more than truth exprest,
Until an envious wind crept by,

Like an unwelcome thought,
Which from the mind's too faithful eye

Blots one dear image out.
Though thou art ever fair and kind,

The forests ever green,
Less oft is peace in S(helley)'s mind,

Than calm in waters seen.

34 MRS. HEMANS.-Born, 1794; Died, 1835. Felicia Dorothea Hemans was born at Liverpool, and married a Captain Hemans, who, however, left her after she had had five sons. She was a woman of true genius_sweet, natural, and pleasant. Her poems fill a number of volumes, but among them her lyrics rank highest.

THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. What hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ?Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-coloured shells, Bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in vain.Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!

We ask not such from thee.

unrecked of, upregarded.

lineament, feature-distinguishing form,


Yet more, the depths have more! What wealth untold,
Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies!
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal argosies.2 —
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main!

Earth claims not these again!

Yet more, the depths have more! Thy waves have rolled
Above the cities of a world gone by!
Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,
Sea-weed o’ergrown the halls of revelry !3-
Dash o'er them, ocean, in thy scornful play!

Man yields them to decay !

Yet more, the billows and the depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast !
They hear not now the booming waters roar;
The battle-thunders will not break their rest!-
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!

Give back the true and brave!

Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom
The place was kept, at board and hearth, so long,
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke ʼmidst festal song !
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown-

But all is not thine own!

To thee the love of woman hath gone down,
Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,

2 argosies, richly-laden merchant


3 revelry, festivity.

O’er youth's bright locks and beauty's flowery crown;
Yet must thou hear a voice-Restore the dead!
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!

Restore the dead, thou sea!

- 35

J. G. LOCKHART.-Born, 1794; Died, 1854. John Gibson Lockhart, author of the “Life of Sir Walter Scott," and other valuable contributions to literature, was born in Scotland in 1794, and married the eldest daughter of Sir Walter Scott in 1820. In 1826 he became editor of the “ Quarterly Review," and continued to be so till 1853, the year before he died. In early life he wrote several tales and biographies, and published his translations of the Spanish Ballads, from which the following is taken. In the original it is one of the most admired of the ballads of Spain, and it has been often imitated by modern poets.


A Moorish Ballad.

“Rise up, rise up, Xarifa; lay the golden cushion down; Rise up; come to the window, and gaze with all the Town. From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing, And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet's lordly

blowing, And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere, And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats

proudly in the air. Rise rise

up, Xarifa; lay the golden cushion down; Rise up; come to the window, and gaze with all the Town. · Arise, arise, Xarifa; I see Andalla's face; He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace: Through all the land of Xeres, and banks of Guadalquiver, Rode out bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely,



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