The lovely members of the mighty whole, As from God's scheme Chance wanes and disappears; How his pride lessens, how augments his love! So, scattering blooms, the still guide Poetry Leads him through paths, though hid, that mount on high, Shall as God's own swift inspiration burst, And flash in glory, on that youngest day,— One with the truth to which it wings the way! O sons of Art! into your hands consigned, O heed the trust, O heed it and revere! — The liberal dignity of human-kind! With you to sink, with you to reappear. The hallowed melody of Magian song Does to creation as a link belong, Blending its music with God's harmony, As rivers melt into the mighty sea. Truth, when the age she would reform expels, Far-glimmering on your wizard mirror, see Through all life's thousandfold entangled maze, As in seven tints of variegated light Breaks the lone shimmer of the lucid white, As the seven tints that paint the Iris bow And floods the world with light—a single stream! Bulwer's Translation. EXTRACTS FROM THE SONG OF THE BELL' EE the mold of clay, well heated, SEE In the earth walled firmly, stand. Be the bell to-day created! Come, my comrades, be at hand! From the glowing brow So the work the master showeth; The work we earnestly are doing Befitteth well an earnest word; What through weak strength originates: To him no reverence can we render, See how brown the pipes are getting! If it show a glazèd coating, Then the casting may begin. Now my lads, enough! Prove me now the stuff, The brittle with the tough combining, For when the strong and mild are pairing, See ye, who join in endless union, Be the casting now beginning; Let us breathe a pious strain. God protect us now! Through the bending handle hollow Benignant is the might of flame, When man keeps watch and makes it tame; It steps forth on its own fierce way, With naught her power to withstand, Waves she high her monstrous brand! By the elements is hated What is formed by mortal hand. From the tower, Heavy and slow, Tolls the funeral Note of woe, Sad and solemn, with its knell attending Ah! the wife it is, the dear one, Ah! it is the faithful mother, |