Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight, With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings. THE STREAMLET. LINGER awhile upon some bending planks, That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, And watch intently Nature's gentle doings: They will be found softer than ring-doves' cooings. [bend! How silent comes the water round that Not the minutest whisper does it send To the o'erhanging sallows: blades of grass Slowly across the chequered shadows pass. Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach [preach To where the hurrying freshnesses aye A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds; Where swarms of minnows show their little heads, [streams, Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the To taste the luxury of sunny beams Tempered with coolness. How they ever [nestle wrestle And cool themselves among the emerald The while they cool themselves, they freshness give, [live; And moisture, that the bowery green may So keeping up an interchange of favours, Like good men in the truth of their behaviours. [drop Sometimes goldfinches one by one will From low-hung branches; little space they stop, But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek; Then off at once, as in a wanton freak; Or perhaps, to show their black and golden wings, Pausing upon their yellow flutterings. Were I in such a place, I sure should pray That nought less sweet might call my PRIMROSES. WHAT next? A tuft of evening primroses, But that 'tis ever startled by the leap Or by the moon lifting her silver rim Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams, Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clear ness To woo its own sad image into nearness. Deaf to light Zephyrus, it would not move; But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love. So while the Poet stood in this sweet spot, Some fainter gleamings o'er his fancy shot; Nor was it long ere he had told the tale Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's bale. SCENE IN A CHAMBER. A CASEMENT high and triple arched there was, All garlanded with carven imageries Of fruits and flowers, and bunches of knotgrass, And diamonded with panes of quaint device. Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, As are the tiger-moth's deep-damasked wings; [ries, And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldAnd twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of queens and kings. Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, [breast, And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair As down she knelt for Heaven's grace and boon; [prest, Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together And on her silver cross soft amethyst, And on her hair a glory, like a saint: She seemed a splendid angel, newly drest, Save wings, for heaven :-Porphyro grew faint: [mortal taint. She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from Anon his heart revives: her vespers done, Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one; Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees; Half-hidden, like a mermaid in seaweed, Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees, In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed, [is fled. But dares not look behind, or all the charm Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest, In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed she lay, Until the poppiedwarmth of sleep oppressed Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away; Flown, like a thought, until the morrowday; Blissfully havened both from joy and pain; Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims pray : Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. Stolen to this Paradise, and so entranced, Then by the bedside, where the faded moon And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep, heap [gourd; Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and With jellies soother than the creamy curd, And lucent syrups, tinct with cinnamon; Manna and dates, in argosy transferred From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one, From silken Samarcand to cedared Leba non. [hand These delicates he heaped with glowing And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake! Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite: Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake, Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache." Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream By the dusk curtains: 'twas a midnight charm Impossible to melt as iced stream: The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies; It seemed he never, never could redeem From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes, So mused awhile, entoiled in woofed phantasies. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,Tumultuous, and, in chords that tenderest be, [mute, He played an ancient ditty, long since In Provence called "La belle dame sans mercy: Close to her ear touching the melody, Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan; He ceased, she panted quick, and suddenly Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smoothsculptured stone. :0: PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1792-1822. THE PINE FOREST. WE wandered to the pine forest The whispering waves were half asleep, The smile of heaven lay; It seemed as if the hour were one We paused amid the pines that stood And soothed by every azure breath Now all the tree-tops lay asleep, Like green waves on the sea, As still as in the silent deep How calm it was !--the silence there By such a chain was bound, That even the busy woodpecker 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 ;And still, I felt, the centre of The magic circle there Was one fair form, that filled with love We paused beside the pools that lie More perfect both in shape and hue And through the dark green wood The white sun twinkling like the dawn Out of a speckled cloud. Sweet views, which in our world above Were imaged by the water's love An atmosphere without a breath, Like one beloved the scene had lent With more than truth exprest, And winds with short turns down the precipice; And in its depth there is a mighty rock, Sustained itself with terror and with toil Raging among the caverns; and a bridge The meeting boughs and implicated leaves He sought in Nature's dearest haunt, some In rainbow and in fire, the parasites, Starred with ten thousand blossoms, flow around The grey trunks, and as gamesome infants' eyes, With gentle meanings and most innocent wiles, [that love, Fold their beams round the heart of those These twine their tendrils with the wedded boughs, Uniting their close union; the woven leaves Make network of the dark blue light of day, And the night's noontide clearness, mutable As shapes in the weird clouds. Soft mossy lawns Beneath these canopies extend their swells, Fragrant with pèrfumed herbs, and eyed with blooms Minute yet beautiful. One darkest glen Sends from its woods of musk-rose, twined with jasmine, A soul-dissolving odour, to invite To some more lovely mystery. Through the dell, Silence and Twilight here, twin-sisters, keep Their noonday watch, and sail among the shades [a well, Like vaporous shapes half seen; beyond, Dark, gleaming, and of most translucent wave, Images all the woven boughs above, noon. A MOUNTAIN SCENE. ON every side now rose Rocks, which in unimaginable forms Lifted their black and barren pinnacles In the light of evening, and its precipice Obscuring the ravine, disclosed above, 'Mid toppling stones, black gulfs, and yawning caves, [tongues Whose windings gave ten thousand various To the loud stream. Lo! where the pass expands Its stony jaws, the abrupt mountain breaks, And seems, with its accumulated crags, To overhang the world: for wide expand Beneath the wan stars and descending moon Islanded seas, blue mountains, mighty streams, [gloom Dim tracts and vast, robed in the lustrous Of leaden-coloured even, and fiery hills Mingling their flames with twilight, on the verge Of the remote horizon. The near scene, In naked and severe simplicity, Made contrast with the universe. A pine, Rock-rooted, stretched athwart the vacancy Its swinging boughs, to each inconstant blast Yielding one only response at each pause, In most familiar cadence, with the howl, The thunder, and the hiss of homeless streams [river, Mingling its solemn song, whilst the broad Foaming and hurrying o'er its rugged path, Fell into that immeasurable void, Scattering its waters to the passing winds. Yet the grey precipice, and solemn pine, And torrent, were not all: one silent nook Was there. Even on the edge of that vast mountain, Upheld by knotty roots and fallen rocks, It overlooked in its serenity [stars. The dark earth, and the bending vault of It was a tranquil spot, that seemed to smile Even in the lap of horror. Ivy clasped The fissured stones with its entwining arms, And did embower with leaves for ever green, And berries dark, the smooth and even space bore, Of its inviolate floor; and here Rival the pride of summer. 'Tis the haunt Of every gentle wind, whose breath can teach The wilds to love tranquillity. :0: THOMAS CAMPBELL. 1777-1844. THE FALL OF POLAND. O SACRED Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile, [smile, And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to When leagued Oppression poured to Nor[hussars, thern wars Her whiskered pandoors and her fierce Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, [trumpet horn; Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her |