The Cyclades seem'd to swim amid the main,

And hill 'gainst hill, and mount 'gainst mountain smote; With such great fury met those armies twain,

Here burnt a ship, there sunk a bark or boat;
Here darts and wildfire flew, there drown'd or slain
Of princes dead the bodies fleet and float;
Here Cæsar wins, and yonder conquer'd been
The eastern ships, there fled th' Egyptian queen :

Antonius eke himself to flight betook,

The empire lost to which he would aspire;
Yet fled not he, nor fight for fear forsook,

But follow'd her, drawn on by fond desire:
Well might you see, within his troubled look,
Strive and contend love, courage, shame, and ire ;
Oft look'd he back, oft gazed he on the fight,
But oft'ner on his mistress and her flight:

Then in the secret creeks of fruitful Nile,

Cast in her lap he would sad death await, And in the pleasure of her lovely smile

Sweeten the bitter strokes of cursed fate. All this did art with curious hand compile

In the rich metal of that princely gate.

The knights these stories viewed first and last,
Which seen, they forward press'd and in they pass'd.

As through his channel crook'd Meander glides

With turns and twines, and rolls now to now fro,
Whose streams run forth there to the salt sea-sides,
Here back return, and to their spring-ward go :
Such crooked paths, such ways this palace hides;
Yet all the maze their map described so,

That through the labyrinth they go in fine,
As Theseus did by Ariadne's line.

When they had passed all those troubled ways,

The garden sweet spread forth her green to shew,

The moving crystal from the fountains plays,

Fair trees, high plants, strange herbs, and flow'rets new,

Sunshiny hills, dales hid from Phoebus' rays,

Groves, arbours, mossy caves, at once they view; And that which beauty most, most wonder brought, No where appear'd the art which all this wrought. So with the rude the polish'd mingled was, That natural seem'd all and every part Nature would craft in counterfeiting pass, And imitate her imitator art.

Mild was the air, the skies were clear as glass,

The trees no whirlwind felt nor tempest's smart,
But ere their faint drop off the blossom comes;
This springs, that falls, that rip'neth, and this blooms.
The leaves upon the selfsame bough did hide,

Beside the young, the old and ripen'd fig;
Here fruit was green, there ripe with vermeil side,
The apples new and old grew on one twig;
The fruitful vine her arms spread high and wide,

That bended underneath their clusters big;

The grapes were tender here, hard, young, and Şour,
There purple, ripe, and nectar sweet forth pour.
The joyous birds, hid under greenwood shade,
Sung merry notes on every branch and bough;
The wind, that in the leaves and waters play'd,
With murmur sweet now sang, and whistled now;
Ceased the birds, the wind loud answer made,

And while they sung it rumbled soft and low :
Thus, were it hap or cunning, chance or art,
The wind in this strange music bore his part..
With party-colour'd plumes and purple bill,

A wondrous bird among the rest there flew,
That in plain speech sung lovelays loud and shrill,
Her leden * was like human language true;
So much she talk'd-and with such wit and skill,

That strange it seemed how much good she knew;
Her feather'd fellows all stood hush'd to hear,
Dumb was the wind, the waters silent were.

"The gently-budding rose (quoth she) behold,

That first scant peeping forth with virgin beams,
Half ope, half shut, her beauties doth up-fold

In their dear leaves, and less seen fairer seems,
And after spreads them forth more broad and bold,
Then languisheth and dies in last extremes:
Nor seems the same that decked bed and bow'r
Of many a lady late and paramour:

"So in the passing of a day doth pass

The bud and blossom of the life of man,
Nor e'er doth flourish more, but like the grass
Cut down, becometh withered, pale, and wan:
O gather then the rose while time thou has,

Short is the day, done when it scant began;
Gather the rose of love while yet thou mayst,
Loving be loved, embracing be embraced.

She ceased; and, as approving all she spoke,

The choir of birds their heav'nly tunes renew; The turtles sigh'd and sighs with kisses broke,

The fowls to shades unseen by pairs withdrew;
It seem'd the laurel chaste, and stubborn oak,

And all the gentle trees on earth that grew,
It seem'd the land, the sea, and heav'n above,
All breath'd out fancy sweet, and sigh'd out love.
Through all this music rare and strong consent

Of strange allurements, sweet 'bove mean and measure,
Severe, firm, constant, still the knights forth went,
Hard'ning their hearts 'gainst false enticing pleasure,
"Twixt leaf and leaf their sight before they sent,
And after crept themselves at ease and leisure,
Till they beheld the queen sit with their knight
Beside the lake, shaded with boughs from sight.

END OF VOL. III.

G. Woodfall and Son, Printers, Angel Court, Skinner Street, London.

NOTICE.

THE attention of the Editor of 'HALF-HOURS' has been directed to an erroneous statement at page 56 of volume ii. It is there said, "The present excellent Bishop of Chester, Dr. John Bird Sumner, is the son of Dr. Sumner, who was a contemporary with Dr. Parr at Harrow, and became Head Master of that celebrated school." We have to apologize for this inaccuracy, which was the result of imperfect remembrance of conversations many years ago. At the moment in which we are writing the Gazette announces that the Bishop of Chester is raised to the highest ecclesiastical dignity in the realm. It is therefore more

necessary that we should not wait for a second edition to correct our error. The nominated Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Bishop of Winchester, are the surviving sons of the Reverend Robert Sumner, Vicar of Kenilworth and Stoneleigh, in Warwickshire, and grandsons of Dr. John Sumner, formerly Canon of Windsor, and Provost of King's College, Cambridge. Dr. Sumner, of Harrow, was cousin to the Rev. Robert Sumner.

February 23, 1848.