His foot, in bony whiteness, glitter'd there, Saul saw, At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke. 66 11. Why is my sleep disquieted? (1) ["Since we have spoken of witches," said Lord Byron at Cephalonia, in 1823," what think you of the witch of Endor? I have always thought this the finest and most finished witch-scene that ever was written or conceived; and you will be of my opinion, if you consider all the circumstances and the actors in the case, together with the gravity, simplicity, and dignity of the language. It beats all the ghost scenes I ever read. The finest conception on a similar subject is that of Goethe's Devil, Mephistopheles; and though, of course, you will give the priority to the former, as being inspired, yet the latter, if you know it, will appear to you — at least it does to me- one of the finest and most sublime specimens of human conception."- E.] "ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER." I. FAME, wisdom, love, and power were mine, And health and youth possess'd me; And lovely forms caress'd me; II. I strive to number o'er what days There rose no day, there roll'd no hour And not a trapping deck'd my power III. The serpent of the field, by art And spells, is won from harming; WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING CLAY. I. WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay, But leaves its darken'd dust behind. By steps each planet's heavenly way? II. Eternal, boundless, undecay'd, A thought unseen, but seeing all, III. Before Creation peopled earth, Its eye shall roll through chaos back; And where the furthest heaven had birth, The spirit trace its rising track. And where the future mars or makes, Its glance dilate o'er all to be, While sun is quench'd or system breaks, IV. Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, An age O'er all, through all, its thought shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die. VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. I. THE King was on his throne, In Judah deem'd divine- The godless Heathen's wine. II. In that same hour and hall, And wrote as if on sand: The fingers of a man ;· Along the letters ran, And traced them like a wand. III. The monarch saw, and shook, But now they were not sage, They saw-but knew no more. V. A captive in the land, A stranger and a youth, The morrow proved it true. |