But O, what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height | Avaunt! and quit my sight. Let the earth hide
Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll?
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes,
Which thou dost glare with!
So withered, and so wild in their attire ;
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on 't?
The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,
And these are of them. -
MACBETH. Into the air, and what seemed
corporal melted
As breath into the wind.
Macbeth, Acti. Sc. 3.
Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart.
They're fairies! he that speaks to them shall die:
I'll wink and couch; no man their sports must
eye.
Merry Wives of Windsor, Act v. Sc. 5,
This is the fairy land: O, spite of spites!
We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites..
Comedy of Errors, Act ii. Sc. 2.
PUCK. How now, spirit, whither wander you?
FAIRY. Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green :
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favors,
In those freckles live their savors:
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Midsummer Night's Dream, Act ii. Sc. 1.
Quite spent and out of breath he reached the tree,
And, listening fearfully, he heard once more
The low voice murmur "Rhocus!" close at hand:
Whereat he looked around him, but could see
Naught but the deepening glooms beneath the
oak.
Then sighed the voice, "O Rhocus! nevermore
Shalt thou behold me or by day or night,
Me, who would fain have blessed thee with a love
More ripe and bounteous than ever yet
Filled up with nectar any mortal heart;
But thou didst scorn my humble messenger,
And sent'st him back to me with bruised wings.
We spirits only show to gentle eyes,
We ever ask an undivided love.
And he who scorns the least of Nature's works Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. Farewell for thou canst never see me more." J. R. LOWELL.
And though the land is thronged again, O Sea, Strange sadness tricles all that
The small birds flaming notes, the wild, sharp call. spirite it is sadness all!
Share thine own
How dark & stein
Zonder tool bleff! a be with the bow wo
And see! Those sable Pines along the steep
tre come to join thy requiem, gloomy Deap!
Like stoled monks they stand & chant the dingss
Owse the dead with they low-beating surges.
This is love, who, deaf to prayers,
Floods with blessing unewares.
Draw, if then cauft, the mystic line
Severing rightly his from theres
Which is human, which divine.
Rev. Emerson.
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