Have stoop'd from their high sphere! How love
Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook
Beside the sceptre! Thus I made my home
In the soft palace of a fairy future.
My father died, and I, the peasant born,
Was my own Lord. Then did I seek to rise
Out of the prison of my mean estate,

And with such jewels as the exploring mind
Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom
From those twin jailors of the daring heart,
Low birth, and iron fortune.-Thy bright image
Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory,
And lured me on to those inspiring toils
By which man masters man.-For thee I grew
A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages-
For thee I sought to borrow from each grace,
And every muse, such attributes as lend
Ideal charms to love-I thought of thee,
And passion taught me poesy-of thee,
And on the painter's canvas grew the life
Of beauty;-art become the shadow

Of the dear starlight of thy haunting eyes!
Men call'd me vain-some mad-I heeded not,
But still toil'd on, hoped on ;-for it was sweet-
If not to win-to feel more worthy of thee!"

"My

MY BIRTH DAY.

By THOMAS Moore.

birth-day!"-What a different sound
That word had in my youthful ears!
And how, each time the day comes round,
Less and less white its mark appears.

When first our scanty years are told,
It seems like pastime to grow old;
And, as youth counts the shining links
That time around him binds so fast,
Pleased with the task, he little thinks

How hard that chain will press at last.

Vain was the man, and false as vain,
Who said, "were he ordain'd to run
His long career of life again,

He would do all that he had done."-
Ah! 'tis not thus the voice that dwells
In sober birth-days speaks to me;
Far otherwise-of time it tells
Lavish'd unwisely, carelessly—
Of counsel mock'd--of talents, made
Haply for high and pure designs,
But oft, like Israel's incense, laid
Upon unholy, earthly shrines-
Of nursing many a wrong desire--
Of wandering after Love too far,
And taking every meteor fire

That cross'd my pathway for his star!
All this it tells, and could I trace
Th' imperfect picture o'er again,
With power to add, retouch, efface

The lights and shades, the joy and pain
How little of the past would stay!
How quickly all should melt away-

All--but that freedom of the mind

Which hath been more than wealth to me:

Those friendships in my boyhood twin'd,
And kept till now unchangingly.

And that dear home, that saving ark,

Where love's true light at last I've found,
Cheering within, when all grows dark,
And comfortless and stormy round!

THE ANGEL WORLD.

From a poem under this title, by P. J. BAILEY, we take some passages. At once we plunge into the Angel World.

FAR round the infinite extremes of space
Star unto star spake gladness, as they sped
On their resplendent courses; and a smile,
Enkindling on the countenances of the suns,
Thrill'd to the heart of nature, while there rose,
Expressive of divine felicity,

A clear bright strain of music, like a braid

Of silver round a maiden's raiment, all

Imbounding and adorning.

There, in one

Of those most pure and happy stars which claim
Identity with heaven, high raised in bliss,
Each lofty spirit luminous with delight,

Sat God's selectest angels.

Into this conclave there steps a young and shining angel from some distant orb, which he had ruled with supreme powers.

A land

It showed of fountains, flowers, and honey'd fruits,
Of cool green umbrage, and incessant sun;
The rainbow there in permanent splendour spann'd
The skies by ne'er a cloud deform'd, of hue
Sterner than amber; while on every hand
The clear blue streams, singing and sparkling, ran
The bloomy meads to fertilize; while some
With honey, nectar, manna, milk, and wine,
Fit for angelic sustenance, slow flow'd.
Here palaces and cities, midst of groves,
Like giant jewels set in emerald rings;
There, too, the bowery coverture of wood,
Ancient and dense, laced with all-tinted flowers,
Wherein were wont to sojourn in all peace,
Lamb, lion, eagle, ox, dog, serpent, goat,
And snow-white hart, each sacred animal
Cleansed from all evil quality, sin-instill'd,
Speaking one common tongue, and gather'd oft
In wisest parley, 'neath the sacred tree
Centering each mazy pleasance intersect
With an invisible bound; so sweet the force
Of nature, heavenly sanctioned.

In this happy spot were two angel sisters:

:

Yet how unlike

Their nature and their loveliness; in one
A soul of lofty clearness, like a night
Of stars, wherein the memory of day
Seems trembling through the meditative air—
In whose proud eye, one fix'd and arklike thought
Held only sway; that thought a mystery;-
In one a golden aspect like the dawn-

Beaming perennial in the beavenly cast
Of paly light; she ever brightening look'd
As with the boundless promise unfulfill'd
Of some supreme perfection; in her heart
That promise aye predestinate, always sure,
Her breast with joy suffusing, and so wrought,
Her sigh seem'd happier than her sister's smile :
Yet patient she and humble.

ALFARABI.

THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES, the noted author of The Bride's Tragedy, and Death's Jest Book, was the son of Dr. Thomas Beddoes of Clifton, who was the early friend and introducer of Sir Humphrey Davy, and whose wife was the sister of the famous Maria Edgeworth. Beddoes at an early period evinced great powers of mind, and gained high reputation as a student both at Charter-House, and subsequently at Oxford, which he left on attaining his Bachelor's degree in 1825, frcm which time, until his recent death, he resided chiefly in various parts and universities of Germany, devoting himself most assiduously to the study of anatomy and physic, as well as of the modern sciences. His profession seems to explain the command he had of anatomical similes, so thickly clustering in his dramas. His admiration seems to have been absorbed almost by Shelley alone, and he with two others guaranteed the publishing of Shelley's posthumous works. He wrote poems in the German tongue, and laughingly called himself "a popular German poet." His sympathies, both literary and political, were nestled in Germany, where his memory is held sacred, the mystic and grotesque character of its literature having so deeply imbued his own poetry, and thus gained a hold upon the German intellect.

The following passage is extracted from a short and grotesque poem called Alfarabi, belonging rather to Wonderful than to "Beautiful Poetry," but it gives a good idea of the general style of his verse, and his love of the vast, the terrible, and the unknown, so apparent in that Stygian sepulchre of deathly thoughts,-Death's Jest Book.

BEDDOES was born in Clifton on the 20th July, 1803, and died at Basle on the 26th January, 1849, leaving no issue.

ON soar'd they, like the bright thought of an eye,
Mid the infinity of elements.

First through the azure meads of night and day,
Among the rushing of the million flames,

They pass'd the bearded dragon star unchain'd,
From Hell (of old its sun), flashing its way

Upon those wings, compact of mighty clouds
Bloodshot and black, or flaring devilish light,
Whose echo racks the shrieking universe,
Whose glimpse is tempest. O'er each silent star
Slept like a tomb that dark, marmoreal bird,
That spell-bound ocean, Night,-her breast o'erwrit
With golden secresies. All these he pass'd,
One after one: as he, who stalks by night,
With the ghost's step, the shaggy murderer
Leaves pass'd the dreamy city's sickly lamps.
Then through the horrid twilight did they plunge,
The universe's suburbs; dwelling dim

Of all that sin and suffer; midnight shrieks
Upon the water when no help is nigh;

The blood-choked curse of him who dies in bed
By torch-light, with a dagger in his heart;
The parricidal and incestuous laugh,

And the last cry of those whom devils hale
Quick into hell; deepen'd the darkness.

And there were sounds of wings, broken and swift;
Blows of wrench'd poignards, muffled in thick flesh;
Struggles and tramplings wild, splashes and falls,
And inarticulate yells from human breasts.
Nought was beheld: but Alfarabi's heart
Turn'd in his bosom, like a scorched leaf,
And his soul faded. When again he saw,
His steed had paused. He was within a space-
Upon the very boundary and brim

Of the whole universe, the outer edge
Which seem'd almost to end the infinite zone;
A chasm in the almighty thoughts, forgotten
By the Omnipotent; a place apart,

Like some great ruinous dream of broken worlds
Tumbling through heaven, or Tartarus' panting jaws
Open above the sun. Sky was there none,
Nor earth, nor water: but confusion strange;
Mountainous ribs and adamantine limbs

Of bursten worlds, and brazen pinions vast

Of planets shipwreck'd; many a wrinkled sun

Ate to the core by worms, with lightning crush'd;
And drossy bolts melting like noonday snow.

Old towers of heaven were there, and fragments bright
Of the cerulean battlements, o'erthrown

When the gods struggled for the throne of light;