THE ROCK OF CADER IDRIS.

[It is an old tradition of the Welsh bards, that on the summit of the mountain Cader Idris is an excavation resembling a couch; and that whoever should pass a night in that hollow, would be found in the morning either dead, in a frenzy, or endowed with the highest poetical inspiration.]

I LAY on that rock where the storms have their

dwelling,

The birthplace of phantoms, the home of the cloud;

Around it for ever deep music is swelling,

The voice of the mountain-wind, solemn and loud. 'Twas a midnight of shadows all fitfully streaming, Of wild waves and breezes, that mingled their

moan;

Of dim shrouded stars, as from gulfs faintly gleaming;

And I met the dread gloom of its grandeur alone.

I lay there in silence-a spirit came o'er me;
Man's tongue hath no language to speak what I

saw;

Things glorious, unearthly, pass'd floating before me,
And my
heart almost fainted with rapture and awe.
I view'd the dread beings around us that hover,
Though veil'd by the mists of mortality's breath;
And I call'd upon darkness the vision to cover,

For a strife was within me of madness and death.

I saw them—the powers of the wind and the ocean, The rush of whose pinion bears onward the storms; Like the sweep of the white-rolling wave was their motion

I felt their dim presence, but knew not their forms!

I saw them the mighty of ages departed

The dead were around me that night on the hill: From their eyes, as they pass'd, a cold radiance they darted,

There was light on my soul, but my heart's blood was chill.

I saw what man looks on, and dies-but my spirit Was strong, and triumphantly lived through that hour;

And, as from the grave, I awoke to inherit

A flame all immortal, a voice, and a power! Day burst on that rock with the purple cloud crested, And high Cader Idris rejoiced in the sun;— But oh! what new glory all nature invested, When the sense which gives soul to her beauty

was won!

NOTE

ΤΟ

WELSH MELODIES.

"The Welsh Melodies, which first introduced Mrs Hemans to the public as a song-writer, had already made their appearance. Some of them are remarkable for the melody of their numbers-in particular, the song to the well-known air, Ar hyd y nos.' Her fine feeling for music, in which, as also in drawing, she would have signally excelled, could she have bestowed the time and patient labour requisite for obtaining mastery over the mechanical difficulties of these arts, assisted her not only in her choice of measures, but also of her words; and although, in speaking of her songs, it must be remarked that some of the later ones are almost too full of meaning to require the further clothing of sweet sound, instead of their being left, as in outline, waiting for the musician's colouring hand, they must be all praised as flowing and expressive; and it is needless to remind the reader how many of them, united with her sister's music, have obtained the utmost popularity. She had well studied the national character of the Welsh airs; and the allusions to the legendary history of the ancient Britons, which her songs contain, are happily chosen. But it was an instinct with Mrs Hemans to catch the picturesque points of national character, as well as of national music: in the latter she always delighted."-CHORLEY'S Memorials of Mrs Hemans, p. 80-1.

HYMNS FOR CHILDHOOD.

INTRODUCTORY VERSES.

OH! blest art thou whose steps may rove
Through the green paths of vale and grove,
Or, leaving all their charms below,
Climb the wild mountain's airy brow;

And gaze afar o'er cultured plains,
And cities with their stately fanes,
And forests, that beneath thee lie,
And ocean mingling with the sky.

For man can show thee naught so fair
As Nature's varied marvels there;
And if thy pure and artless breast
Can feel their grandeur, thou art blest!

For thee the stream in beauty flows,
For thee the gale of summer blows;
And, in deep glen and wood-walk free,
Voices of joy still breathe for thee.

But happier far, if then thy soul
Can soar to Him who made the whole,

If to thine eye the simplest flower
Portray His bounty and His power!

If, in whate'er is bright or grand,
Thy mind can trace His viewless hand;
If Nature's music bid thee raise
Thy song of gratitude and praise;

If heaven and earth, with beauty fraught,
Lead to His throne thy raptured thought,-
If there thou lovest His love to read,
Then, wand'rer, thou art blest indeed!

THE RAINBOW.

"I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth."-GENESIS, ix. 13.

SOFT falls the mild reviving shower
From April's changeful skies,

And rain-drops bend each trembling flower
They tinge with richer dyes.

Soon shall their genial influence call
A thousand buds to-day,

Which, waiting but that balmy fall,
In hidden beauty lay.

E'en now full many a blossom's bell
With fragrance fills the shade;
And verdure clothes each grassy dell,
In brighter tints array'd.