Sweet is a legacy, and passing sweet
The unexpected death of some old lady
Or gentleman of seventy years complete,
Who've made "us youth" wait too-too long already For an estate, or cash, or country seat,
Still breaking, but with stamina so steady,
That all the Israelites are fit to mob its
Next owner for their double-damn'd post-obits.
'Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels
By blood or ink; 'tis sweet to put an end
To strife; 'tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,
Particularly with a tiresome friend;
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels ;
Dear is the helpless creature we defend
Against the world; and dear the schoolboy spot
We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot.
But sweeter still than this, than these, than all,
Is first and passionate love.
"The angels Haruth and Maruth had spoken arrogantly of their power to resist the temptations which made man so often culpable, and they were sent down to earth to give proof of their virtue. A spirit was sent in the shape of a woman to tempt them, they withstood her seduetions until she had prevailed on them to drink wine; they then gave way to all excesses at once, by revealing the words that raised men to angels; they were judged, and exiled from Heaven."
THE Angel sat enthroned within a dome
Of alabaster, raised on pillars slight,
Curtain'd with tissues that the earthly loom
Had never equalled, web of blossoms bright, Of all the flowers that drink the morning light. The roof was starr'd with buds, the flower festoon Waved from the columns of translucent white, Breathing fresh odours to the mystic throne,
That in their purple shade, one glorious diamond shone.
And still at night, round pedestal and plinth,
Those dewy flowers were lamps before the throne,
All-coloured radiance; there the hayacinth
Beamed amethyst; the broad carnation shone
In circling rays of pearl and ruby stone;
The myrtle buds poured down a diamond shower;
The tulip was the opal's changeful moon;
An urn of lovely lustre every flower,
Burning before the king of that illumin'd bower.
And nestling in that arbour's leafy twinę,
From cedar's top to violet's perfumed bell, Were birds, now hushed, of forms and plumes divine, That, ever as the rays upon them fell,
Shot back such hues as stain the Indian shell,
Touching the deep green shades with light from eyes
Jacinth and jet, and blazing carbuncle,
And gold dropt coronets, and wings of dyes
Touched by the flowers and stars of t'ir own Paradise.
The angel knew the warning of that storm,
But saw the shuddering minstrel's step draw near,
And felt the whole deep witchery of her form,
Her sigh was music's echo to his ear;
He loved and true love ever banished fear.
Now night had drooped on earth her raven wing;
But in the arbour all was splendour clear;
And like twin spirits in its charmed ring
Shoné that sweet child of earth, and that star diademed king.
For, whether 'twas the lights' unusual glow,
Or that some natural change had on her come,
Her look, though lovely still, was loftier now,
Her tender cheek was flushed with brighter bloom;
Yet in her azure eye there gathered gloom,
Like evening's clouds across its own blue star,
Then would a sudden flash its depths illume;
And wore she but the wing and gemmed tiar,
She seemed instinct with power to make the clouds her car.
She slowly raised her arm, that, bright as snow,
Gleamed like a rising meteor thro' the air,
Shedding white lustre on her turban'd brow;
She gazed on heaven, as wrapt in solemn prayer;
She still looked woman, but more proudly fair;
And as she stood and pointed to the sky,
With that fixed look of loveliness and care,
The Angel thought, and checked it with a sigh,
He saw some Spirit fallen from immortality.
The silent prayer was done, and now she moved
Faint to his footstool, and upon her knee,
Besought her lord, if in his heaven they loved,
That, as she never more his face must see,
She there might pledge her heart's fidelity.
She turned, and plucked a cluster from the vine,
And o'er a chalice waved it, with a sigh,
Then, with bowed forehead, reared before the shrine
The crystal cup. The Angel rose in wrath-'twas wine!
She stood, she shrank, she tottered-down he sprang,
With one hand clasped her waist, with one upheld
The vase his ears with giddy murmurs rang;
His eye upon her dying cheek was spelled ;
He glanced upon the brim-its bright draught swelled
Like liquid rose, its odour touched his brain;
He knew his ruin, but his soul was quelled;
He shuddered-gazed upon her cheek again,
Pressed her pale lip, and to the last that cup did drain.
Th' Enchantress smiled, as still in some sweet dream,
Then wakened in a long, delicious sigh,
And on the bending spirit fixed the beam
Of her deep, dewy, melancholy eye.
The undone angel gave no more reply
Than hiding his pale forehead in the hair
That floated on her neck of ivory,
And breathless pressing, with her ringlets fair,
From his bright eyes the tears of passion and despair.
EARLY PREDILECTION FOR A SEA-FARING LIFE.
I LOVED to walk where none had walk'd before,
About the rocks that ran along the shore;
Or far beyond the sight of men to stray,
And take my pleasure when I lost my way;
For then 'twas mine to trace the hilly heath,
And all the mossy moor that lies beneath;
Here had I favourite stations, where I stood
And heard the murmurs of the ocean flood,
With not a sound beside, except when flew
Aloft the lapwing, or the grey curlew,
Who with wild notes my fancied power defied,
And mock'd the dreams of solitary pride.
I loved to stop at every creek and bay
Made by the river in its winding way,
And all to memory-not by marks they bare,
But by the thoughts that were created there.
Pleasant it was to view the sea-gulls strive
Against the storm, or in the ocean dive,
With eager scream, or when they dropping gave
Their closing wings to sail upon the wave:
Then as the winds and waters raged around,
And breaking billows mix'd their deafening sound;
They on the rolling deep securely hung,
And calmly rode the restless waves among;
Nor pleased it less around me to behold,
Far up the beach, the yesty sea-foam roll'd;
Or from the shore úpborne, to see on high,
Its frothy flakes in wild confusion fly :
While the salt spray that clashing billows form,
Gave to the taste a feeling of the storm.
MOONLIGHT VIEW OF RYLSTONE HALL.
FROM cloudless ether looking down,
The Moon, this tranquil evening, sees
A camp, and a beleaguered town,
And castle like a stately crown
On the steep rocks of winding Tees ;~
|