And charm me from my fate with its sweet tone ;- Frustrate the storm shall drive along the plain, I reck ye not, for I am tempest-proof." These lines were balm to him,—there was comfort in their very echo. "They came from the heart," he said, "and therefore go to mine." "Alas! Despair and genius are too oft connected:" and this was the exultation of despair. But when things come to the worst they must change, is a Spanish proverb; and nothing is more true than that hope is so constant a companion of the human breast, springing eternal there, as Pope hath it, that it over-aboundeth in despair, like a fountain in a desart. In the desart a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, Despair hath most of hope,-for it hath all to hope, and nothing to fear. Thus it was with him. There was an energy in his spirit, which, though it looked in vain for "green spots in memory's waste," and sighed for recollections of verdant fields and mountain scenery, that the eye of the mind had only contemplated, and the eye of the flesh been a stranger to, sustained him still. Hope was triumphant. This energy, this hope, he was expending on the composition of a tragedy. "With fixed gaze He marks the rising phantoms, now compares Their different forms, now blends them, now divides, Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands, And infinitely varies: hither now, Now thither, fluctuates his inconstant aim, With endless choice perplexed. At length, his plan Begins to open, lucid order dawns ; And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds The fairer eminent in light advance, Not long after, he presented his dramatic first fruit to Old Drury. The great lessee returned it with a printed circular, declining its acceptance; thus, with the insolence of authority, anticipating his return to the vulgar crowd whence he had dared for a fond moment to emerge. He had no fields to roam in, whose verdure might soothe the frantic eye of disappointment with cool refreshment; no uninterrupted expanse of the blue heaven bending over all alike, and therefore over him, with undiminished serenity, equal in the distribution of its beauty and love, though man be partial and the world forget. He might not lie at noon "by the forest's edge." "Beneath the branches high, The soft blue sky did never melt The witchery of the soft blue sky!" No more-Verily the poet of Cockaigne is a hapless wight. Verily to him the CONDITION OF HAPPINESS is denied-if it consists, as Madame De Stael states, in the CORRESPONDENCE OF DISPOSITION WITH DESTINY-wholly denied. In him extremes meet-Disposition and destiny the most opposite. Wherefore wonder ye, that he cometh forth in the morning pale-emaciated-dejected-torpid? And is there none "To lead him up the hill of fame, And twine the laurels round his humble name?" None-the great and the wealthy have not the genius to feel for the situation of such an one-and Genius is afraid of a rival. SONNET. SEVERN! down the fresh waves of thy smooth stream, To a most musical and gentle swell, In multitudinous unity, his soul Numbering a thought for each ?-Thou hast a spell! H. ASTREA: A POEM; ADDRESSED TO MYRA. THE SIXTH CANTO. "That day's celebration "When (bridegrooms) think, or Phoebus' steeds are foundered, "Or night kept chained below." SHAKESPEARE. "Blood into the banquet❞— BEN JONSON. I. WELL-SAID the Muse that pensive memory will With the grim visage of futurity? The past was pleasant, and the present is Thee first she sung, Aristes-thou, whose mind Takes in the family of human kind! Thou art all things to all men they may need, Lord of the feeling heart and generous deed! Though less perchance than one debauch had spent ; An open palm, and liberal competence! What heaven beyond his simple want supplied? Wondered not Pride to see such frugal store, A heart, which shall all other's sorrows feel, Jove hath no more,—and thine, beloved, is this. For deep in earth, unseen by mortal eyes, Such of Aristes' blest nativity, The edict was-ethereal harmony Whose love should bless him, and bless him alone. II. What was the promise of that golden day, Which seemed as tho' it never would decay, And night were foundered in delay below, Though pleasure swayed the hour, and joy was on tip-toe, And all was smiles and happiness, as much as earth can know! And now this morn returns that happy day, Devoted to be festive, blithe, and gay; And now, as then, sport, joy, and pleasure all, The golden morn hath risen with roses wreathed, Temper thy glory, Phoebus, with cool gales, Soul of my thought, delight of every view, When Pluto forced her to his gloomy sway. Nor viewed the poor with murmuring discontent The bridal vestment so magnificent, As what themselves possessed not, nor could e'er, While all unheard, and spurned their sorrows were— No, but they blessed the hands that wrought the vest, And her whom it adorned they also blest; For those same hands for them the distaff sped ;- III. Truc to Aristes' heart, thy heart replies: |