From the No mortal object did these eyes behold
Same When first they met the placid light of thine,
And my Soul felt her destiny divine,

To the

Supreme
Being

And hope of endless peace in me grew bold :
Heaven-born, the Soul a heaven-ward course
must hold;

Beyond the visible world she soars to seek
(For what delights the sense is false and weak)
Ideal Form, the universal mould.

The wise man, I affirm, can find no rest

In that which perishes: nor will he lend
His heart to aught which doth on time depend.
'Tis sense,
unbridled will, and not true love,
That kills the soul: love betters what is best,
Even here below, but more in heaven above.

From the THE prayers I make will then be sweet indeed
Same. If Thou the spirit give by which I pray :
My unassisted heart is barren clay,
That of its native self can nothing feed:
Of good and pious works Thou art the seed,
That quickens only where Thou say'st it may:
Unless Thou show to us thine own true way
No man can find it: Father! Thou must lead.
Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my
mind

By which such virtue may in me be bred
That in thy holy footsteps I may tread;
The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind,
That I may have the power to sing of Thee,
And sound thy praises everlastingly.

SURPRISED by joy-impatient as the Wind

How could I

I turned to share the transport-Oh! with whom forget thee?
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee? Through what

power,

Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?—That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

METHOUGHT I saw the footsteps of a throne
Which mists and vapours from mine eyes did
shroud-

Nor view of who might sit thereon allowed;
But all the steps and ground about were strown
With sights the ruefullest that flesh and bone
Ever put on; a miserable crowd,
Sick, hale, old, young, who cried before that cloud,
"Thou art our king, O Death! to thee we groan."
Those steps I clomb; the mists before me gave
Smooth way; and I beheld the face of one
Sleeping alone within a mossy cave,

With her face up to heaven; that seemed to have
Pleasing remembrance of a thought foregone;
A lovely Beauty in a summer grave!

A Vision

The Vision EVEN so for me a Vision sanctified
Fulfilled The

sway of Death; long ere mine eyes had seen
Thy countenance-the still rapture of thy mien
When thou,dear Sister! wertbecome Death's Bride:
No trace of pain or languor could abide
That change-age on thy brow was smoothed
-thy cold

Wan cheek at once was privileged to unfold
A loveliness to living youth denied.

Oh! if within me hope should e'er decline,
The lamp of faith, lost Friend! too faintly burn;
Then may that heaven-revealing smile of thine,
The bright assurance, visibly return:

And let my spirit in that power divine

Rejoice, as, through that power, it ceased to mourn.

Sunset and IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
Sea The holy time is quiet as a Nun

Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;

The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,

And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder-everlastingly.

Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.

ing Ship

WHERE lies the Land to which yon Ship must go? The depart-
Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day,
Festively she puts forth in trim array;

Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?

What boots the inquiry?—Neither friend nor foe

She cares for; let her travel where she may,
She finds familiar names, a beaten way
Ever before her, and a wind to blow.
Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark?
And, almost as it was when ships were rare,
(From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there
Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark,
Of the old Sea some reverential fear,

Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark!

WITH Ships the sea was sprinkled far and nigh, Among
Like stars in heaven, and joyously it showed;

Some lying fast at anchor in the road,

Some veering up and down, one knew not why.

A goodly Vessel did I then espy

Come like a giant from a haven broad;
And lustily along the bay she strode,
Her tackling rich, and of apparel high.
This Ship was nought to me, nor I to her,
Yet I pursued her with a Lover's look ;
This Ship to all the rest did I prefer :

When will she turn, and whither? She will brook
No tarrying; where She comes the winds must

stir:

On went She, and due north her journey took.

B

many, One

The World THE world is too much with us; late and soon, is too much Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours;

with Us

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon ;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for every thing, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.-Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

The building A VOLANT Tribe of Bards on earth are found, Mind Who, while the flattering Zephyrs round them

play,

On "coignes of vantage" hang their nests of clay;
How quickly from that aery hold unbound,
Dust for oblivion ! To the solid ground
Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye;
Convinced that there, there only, she can lay
Secure foundations. As the year runs round,
Apart she toils within the chosen ring;
While the stars shine, or while day's purple eye
Is gently closing with the flowers of spring;
Where even the motion of an Angel's wing
Would interrupt the intense tranquillity
Of silent hills, and more than silent sky.