CXIV.

"With figs, and plums, and Persian dates they fed me,
And delicate cates after my sunset meal,
And took me by my childish hand, and led me
By craggy rocks crested with keeps of steel,
Whose awful bases deep dark woods conceal,
Staining some dead lake with their verdant dies:
And when the West sparkled at Phoebus' wheel,
With fairy euphrasy they purged mine eyes,
To let me see their cities in the skies.

CXV.

"Twas they first schooled my young imagination
To take its flights like any new-fledged bird,
And showed the span of winged meditation
Stretched wider than things grossly seen or heard.
With sweet swift Ariel how I soared and stirred
The fragrant blooms of spiritual bowers!
'Twas they endeared what I have still preferred,
Nature's blest attributes and balmy powers,

Her hills and vales and brooks, sweet birds and flowers!

CXVI.

"Wherefore with all true loyalty and duty
Will I regard them in my honoring rhyme,
With love for love, and homages to beauty,

And magic thoughts gathered in night's cool clime,
With studious verse trancing the dragon Time,
Strong as old Merlin's necromantic spells;
So these dear monarchs of the summer's prime
Shall live unstartled by his dreadful yells,

Till shrill larks warn them to their flowery cells."

CXVII.

Look how a poisoned man turns livid black,
Drugged with a cup of deadly hellebore,
That sets his horrid features all at rack,—
30 seemed these words into the ear to pour
Of ghastly Saturn, answering with a roar
Of mortal pain and spite and utmost rage,
Wherewith his grisly arm he raised once more,
And bade the clustered sinews all engage,
As if at one fell stroke to wreck an age.

CXVIII.

Whereas the blade flashed on the dinted ground,
Down through his steadfast foe, yet made no scar
On that immortal Shade, or death-like wound;
But Time was long benumbed, and stood ajar,
And then with baffled rage took flight afar,
To weep his hurt in some Cimmerian gloom,
Or meaner fames (like mine) to mock and mar,
Or sharp his scythe for royal strokes of doom,
Whetting its edge on some Old Cæsar's tomb.

CXIX.

Howbeit he vanished in the forest shade,
Distantly heard as if some grumbling pard,
And, like Narcissus, to a sound decayed;
Meanwhile the fays clustered the gracious Bard,
The darling centre of their dear regard:
Besides of sundry dances on the green,
Never was mortal man so brightly starred,
Or won such pretty homages, I ween.

"Nod to him, Elves!" cries the melodious queen.

CXX.

Nod to him, Elves, and flutter round about him, And quite enclose him with your pretty crowd, And touch hirn lovingly, for that, without him, The silk-worm now had spun our dreary shroud; But he hath all dispersed death's tearful cloud, And Time's dread effigy scared quite away: Bow to him then, as though to me ye bowed, And his dear wishes prosper and obey Wherever love and wit can find a way!

CXXI.

"Noint him with fairy dews of magic savors, Shaken from orient buds still pearly wet, Roses and spicy pinks, and, of all favors, Plant in his walks the purple violet,

And meadow-sweet, under the hedges set, To mingle breaths with dainty eglantine And honeysuckles sweet, nor yet forget Some pastoral flowery chaplets to entwine, To vie the thoughts about his brow benign!

CXXII.

"Let no wild things astonish him or fear him,
But tell them all how mild he is of heart,
Till e'en the timid hares go frankly near him,
And eke the dappled does, yet never start;
Nor shall their fawns into the thickets dart,
Nor wrens forsake their nests among the leaves,
Nor speckled thrushes flutter far apart;
But bid the sacred swallow haunt his eaves,

To guard his roof from lightning and from thieves.

CXXIII.

"Or when he goes the nimble squirrel's visiter,
Let the brown hermit bring his hoarded nuts,
For, tell him, this is Nature's kind inquisitor,-
Though man keeps cautious doors that conscience sh",
For conscious wrong all curious quest rebuts,—
Nor yet shall bees uncase their jealous stings,
However he may watch their straw-built huts;
So let him learn the crafts of all small thing3,
Which he will hint most aptly when he sings."

CXXIV.

Here she leaves off, and with a graceful hand
Waves thrice three splendid circles round his head;
Which, though deserted by the radiant wand,
Wears still the glory which her waving shed,
Such as erst crowned the old Apostle's head,
To show the thoughts there harbored were divine
And on immortal contemplations fed:

Goodly it was to see that glory shine
Around a brow so lofty and benign!

CXXV.

Goodly it was to see the elfin brood
Contend for kisses of his gentle hand,
That had their mortal enemy withstood,

And stayed their lives, fast ebbing with the sand.
Long while this strife engaged the pretty band;
But now bold Chanticleer, from farm to farm,
Challenged the dawn creeping o'er eastern land,
And well the fairies knew that shrill alarm,
Which sounds the knell of every elfish charm.

CXXVI.

And soon the rolling mist, that 'gan arise
From plashy mead and undiscovered stream,
Earth's morning incense to the early skies,
Crept o'er the failing landscape of my dream.
Soon faded then the Phantom of my theme-
A shapeless shade, that fancy disavowed,
And shrank to nothing in the mist extreme.
Then flew Titania,-and her little crowd,
Like flocking linnets, vanished in a cloud.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. "TWAS in the prime of summer time, An evening calm and cool,

And four-and-twenty happy boys,

Came bounding out of school: There were some that ran, and some that leapt Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped with gamesome minds,

And souls untouched by sin;

To a level mead they came, and there
They drave the wickets in:
Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran;
Turning to mirth all things of earth,

As only boyhood can;

But the Usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man !

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease:

So he leaned his head on his hands, and rea Ti book between his knees!

Leaf after leaf, he turned it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside;

For the peace of his soul he read that book

In the golden eventide.

Much study had made him very lean,
And pale, and leaden-eyed.

At last he shut the ponderous tome,
With a fast and fervent grasp
He strained the dusky covers close,
And fixed the brazen hasp:
"O God! could I so close my mind,
And clasp it with a clasp !"

Then leaping on his feet upright,

Some moody turns he took;

Now up the mead, now down the mead,

And past a shady nook;

And lo! he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book!

"My gentle lad, what is't you readRomance or fairy fable?

Or is it some historic page,

Of kings and crowns unstable ?"

The young boy gave an upward glance; "It is "The Death of Abel.'"

The Usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain;
Six hasty strides beyond the place,
Then slowly back again;
And then he sat beside the lad,

And talked with him of Cain:

And, long since then, of bloody men Whose deeds tradition saves;

Of lonely folk cut off unseen,

And hid in sudden graves;
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,
And murders done in caves;

And how the sprites of injured men
Shriek upward from the sod;
Ay, how the ghostly hand will point
To show the burial clod;
And unknown facts of guilty acts

Are seen in dreams from God!

He told how murderers walk the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain;
With crimson clouds before their eyes,
And flames about their brain :
For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain!

"And well," quoth he, "I know for truth, Their pangs must be extreme ;

Wo, wo, unutterable wo

Who spill life's sacred stream!

For why? Methought last night, I wrought A murder in a dream!

"One that had never done me wrongA feeble man, and old :

I led him to a lonely field,

The moon shone clear and cold. 'Now here,' said I, 'this man shall die, And I will have his gold!'

Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, And one with a heavy stone; One hurried gash with a hasty knife, And then the deed was done. There was nothing lying at my foot, But lifeless flesh and bore;

"Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, That could not do me ill;

And yet I feared him all the more,

For lying there so still:

There was a manhood in his look,
That murder could not kill!

"And, lo! the unive:sal air
Seemed lit with ghastly flame;
Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes
Were looking down in blame:
I took the dead man by the Land,
And called upon his name!

"O God! It made me quake to see
Such sense within the slain !
But when I touched the lifeless clay,
The blood gushed out amain;
For every clot, a burning spot
Was scorching in my brain!

"My head was like an ardent coa!
My heart as solid ice;

My wretched, wretched soul, I knew,
Was at the devil's price.

A dozen times I groaned; the dead
Had never groaned but twice!

"And now, from forth the frowning sky
From the heaven's topmost height,

I heard a voice-the awful voice
Of the blood-avenging Sprite :-
"Thou guilty man! take up thy dead,
And hide it from my sight!'

"I took the dreary body up,
And cast it in a stream;
A sluggish water, black as ink,
The depth was so extreme.-
My gentle boy, remember this
Is nothing but a dream!

"Down went the corse, with a hollow plunge, And vanished in the pool:

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,

And washed my forehead cool; And sat among the urchins young That evening in the school!

"Oh heaven, to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim!

I could not share in childish prayer,
Nor join in evening hymn :
Like a devil of the pit, I seemed,
Mid holy cherubim !

"And peace went with them, one and all,
And each calm pillow spread;
But Guilt was my grim chamberlain

That lighted me to bed,

And drew my midnight curtains round,
With fingers bloody red!

"All night I lay in agony,

In anguish dark and deep;
My fevered eyes I dared not close,
But stared aghast at sleep;
For sin had rendered unto her
The keys of hell to keep'
"All night I lay in agony,
From weary chime to chime,
With one besetting horrid hint,
That racked me all the time;
A mighty yearning, like the first
Fierce impulse unto crime!

"One stern tyrannic thought that mad
All other thoughts its slave;
Stronger and stronger every pulse,

Did that temptation crave: Still urging me to go and see

The dead ma in his grave!

"Heavily I rose up, as soon

As light was in the sky,
And sought the black accurse pool
With a wild misgiving eye;
And I saw the dead in the river bed,
For the faithless stream was dry!

"Merrily rose the lark, and shook

The dewdrop from its wing;

But I ver marked its morning flight,
I never heard it sing:

For I was stooping once again
Under the horrid thing.

"With breathless speed, like a soul in chase,
I took him up and ran;
There was no time to dig a grave
Before the day began:

In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves,
I hid the murdered man!

"And all that day I read in school,

But my thought was other where; As soon as the mid-day task was done, In Secret I was there:

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves,
And still the corse was bare!

"Then down I cast me on my face,
And first began to weep;
For I knew my secret then was one
That earth refused to keep:
Or land, or sea, though he should be
Ten thousand fathoms deep!

"So wills the fierce avenging Sprite,
Till blood for blood atones!
Ay, though he's buried in a cave,

And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh-
The world shall see his bones!

"O God! that horrid, horrid dream
Besets me now awake!
Again-again, with a dizzy brain,
The human life I take;

And my red right hand grows raging hot,
Like Cranmer's at the stake.

"And still no peace for the restless clay Will wave or mould allow;

The horrid thing pursues my soul

It stands before me now!"
The fearful boy looked up and saw
Huge drops upon his brow!

That very night, while gentle sleep
The urchin eyelids kissed,

Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn,
Through the cold aud heavy mist;
And Eugene Aram walked between,
With gyves upon his wrist.

A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW.

Oн, when I was a tiny boy
My days and nights were full of joy,
My mates were blithe and kind!
No wonder that I sometimes sigh,
And dash the tear-drop from my eye,
To cast a look behind!

A hoop was an eternal round

Of pleasure. In those days I found
A top a joyous thing;

But now those past delights I drop;
My head, alas! is all my top,

And careful thoughts the string!

The late Admiral Burney went to school at an establishment here the unhappy Eugene Arain was usher, subsequent to his ime. The admiral stated, that Aram was generally liked by the

and that he used to discourse to them about murder, in ewhat of the spirit which is attributed to him in this poem.

My marbles-once my bag was stored-
Now I must play with Elgin's lord,

With Theseus for a taw!

My playful horse has slipt his string,
Forgotten all his capering,

And harnessed to the law!

My kite-how fast and far it flew !
Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, drew

My pleasure from the sky!

'Twas papered o'er with studious themesThe tasks I wrote-my present dreams Will never soar so high!

My joys are wingless all and dead;
My dumps are made of more than lead;
My flights soon find a fall.

My fears prevail, my fancies droop,
Joy never cometh with a hoop,
And seldom with a call!

My football's laid upon the shelf;
I am a shuttlecock myself

The world knocks to and fro;
My archery is all unlearned,
And grief against myself has turned
My arrows and my bow!

No more in noontide sun I bask;
My authorship's an endless task;

My head's ne'er out of school.
My heart is pained with scorn and slight,

I have too many foes to fight,

And friends grow strangely cool!

The very chum that shared my cake
Holds out so cold a hand to shake
It makes me shrink and sigh;
On this I will not dwell and hang,
The changeling would not feel a pang
Though these should meet his eye!

No skies so blue or so serene
As then ;-no leaves look half so green
As clothed the playground tree!
All things I loved are altered so,
Nor does it ease my heart to know
That change resides in me!

O, for the garb that marked the boy,
The trowsers made of corduroy,

Well inked with black and red;
The crownless hat, ne'er deemed an ill-
It only let the sunshine still
Repose upon my head!

O, for the riband round the neck!
The careless dog's ears apt to deck
My book and collar both!
How can this formal man be styled
Merely an Alexandrine child,

A boy of larger growth?

O for that small, small beer anew!
And (heaven's own type) that mild sky-blue
That washed my sweet meals down;
The master even!-and that small Turk
That fagged me !-worse is now my work-
A fag for all the town!

O for the lessons learned by heart! Ay, though the very birch's smart Should mark those hours again; I'd "kiss the rod," and be resigned Beneath the stroke, and even find Some sugar in the cane!

The Arabian Nights rehearsed in bed!
The Fairy Tales in school-time read,
By stealth, 'twixt verb and noun !
The angel form that always walked
In all my dreams, and looked and talked
Exactly Miss Brown!

The omne bene-Christmas come:
The prize of merit, won for home-

Merit had prizes then!

But now I write for days and days
For fame-a deal of empty praise,

Without the silver pen!

Then home, sweet home! the crowded coach-
The joyous shout-the loud approach-

The winding horns like rams'!
The meeting sweet that made me thrill,
The sweetmeats almost sweeter still,
No "satis" to the "jams."

When that I was a tiny boy
My days and nights were full of joy,
My mates were blithe and kind!
No wonder that I sometimes sigh,
And dash the tear-drop from my eye,
To cast a look behind!

FAIR INES.

O SAW ye not fair Ines?
She's gone into the west,

To dazzle when the sun is down,
And rob the world of rest.

She took our daylight with her,
The smiles that we love best,

With morning blushes on her cheek,
And pearls upon her breast.

O turn again, fair Ines,
Before the fall of night,

For fear the moon should shine alone,
And stars unrivalled bright;
And blessed will the lover be
That walks beneath their light,

And breathes the love against thy cheek
I dare not even write!

Would I had been, fair Ines,

That gallant cavalier,

Who rode so gayly by thy side,
And whispered thee so near!—
Were there no bonny dames at home,
Or no true lovers here,

That he should cross the seas to win
The dearest of the dear?

I saw thee, lovely Ines,

Descend along the shore,

With bands of noble gentlemen,
And banners waved before;

And gentle youth and maidens gay,
And snowy plumes they wore :

It would have been a beauteous dream,

If it had been no more!

Alas, alas, fair Ines!

She went away with song,

With Music waiting on her steps,

And shoutings of the throng;

But some were sad and felt no mirth,

But only Music's wrong,

In sounds that sang, Farewell, farewell,
To her you've loved so long.
Farewell, farewell, fair Ines
That vessel never bore
So fair a lady on its deck,

TO A COLD BEAUTY.

LADY, wouldst thou heiress be,
To Winter's cold and cruel part?
When he sets the rivers free,

Thou dost still lock up thy heart;That thou shouldst outlast the snow, But in the whiteness of thy brow?

Scorn and cold neglect are made

For winter gloom and winter wind; But thou wilt wrong the summer air, Breathing it to words unkind; Breath which only should belong To love, to sunlight, and to song!

When the little buds unclose,

Red and white and pied and blue, And that virgin flower, the rose, Opes her heart to hold he dew, Wilt thou lock thy bosom up, With no jewel in its cup?

Let not cold December sit

Thus in Love's peculiar throne ;~ Brooklets are not prisoned now,

But crystal frosts are all agone, And that which hangs upon the spray, It is no now, but flower of May!