Starward, then swooping down the hemi

sphere

Upon the lengthening javelins of the blast.
Why paus'd I in the palace-groves to dream
Of bliss, with all its substance in my reach?
Why not at once, with thee enfolded, whirl
Deep down the abyss of ecstasy, to melt
All brain and being where no reason is,
Or else the source of reason? But the roar
Of Time's great wings, which ne'er had
driven me

By dread events, nor broken-down old age,
Back on myself, the close experience

Of false mankind, with whispers cold and dry

As snake-songs midst stone hollows, thus has taught me,

The giant hunter, laugh'd at by the world, Not to forget the substance in the dream Which breeds it. Both must melt and merge in one.

Now shall I overcome thee, body and soul, And like a new-made element brood o'er thee

With all devouring murmurs! Come, my love!

Come, life's blood-tempest !-come, thou blinding storm,

And clasp the rigid pine- this mortal frame

Wrap with thy whirlwinds, rend and wrestle down,

And let my being solve its destiny,
Defying, seeking, thine extremest power;
Famish'd and thirsty for the absorbing
doom

Of that immortal death which leads to life,
And gives a glimpse of Heaven's parental

Of cedar was it, lofty in its glooms When the sun hung o'erhead, and, in its darkness,

Like Night when giving birth to Time's first pulse.

Silence had ever dwelt there; but of late Came faint sounds, with a cadence droning low,

From the far depths, as of a cataract Whose echoes midst incumbent foliage died. From one high mountain gush'd a flowing stream,

Which through the forest pass'd, and found a fall

Within, none knew where, then roll'd tow'rds the sea.

There, underneath the boughs, mark where the gleam

Of sunrise through the roofing's chasm is

thrown

yur inmest powers, fresh wing'd, shall soar and dream

In realms of Elysian gleam, whose air light-flowers,

Will ever be, though vague, most fair, most sweet,

Better than memory. - Look yonder, love! What solemn image through the trunks is straying?

And now he doth not move, yet never turns
On us his visage of rapt vacancy!
It is Oblivion. In his hand - though nought
Knows he of this — a dusky purple flower
Droops over its tall stem. Again, ah see!
He wanders into mist, and now is lost.
Within his brain what lovely realms of
death

Are pictur'd, and what knowledge through the doors

Of his forgetfulness of all the earth
A path may gain? Then turn thee, love,

to me :

Was I not worth thy winning, and thy toil, O earth-born son of Ocean? Melt to rain."

EOS

Level with the summit of that eastern mount,

By slow approach, and like a promontory Which seems to glide and meet a coming ship,

The pale-gold platform of the morning came Towards the gliding mount. Against a sky Of delicate purple, snow-bright courts and halls,

Touch'd with light silvery green, gleaming

across,

Fronted by pillars vast, cloud-capitall'd, With shafts of changeful pearl, all rear'd upon

An isle of clear aerial gold, came floating;
And in the centre, clad in fleecy white,
With lucid lilies in her golden hair,
Eos, sweet Goddess of the Morning, stood.

From the bright peak of that surrounded mount,

One step sufficed to gain the tremulous floor Whereon the palace of the Morning shone, Scarcely a bow-shot distant; but that step, Orion's humbled and still mortal feet Dared not adventure. In the Goddess' face Imploringly he gaz'd. "Advance!" she said,

In tones more sweet than when some heavenly bird,

Hid in a rosy cloud, its morning hymn Warbles unseen, wet with delicious dews, And to earth's flowers, all looking up in prayer, Tells of the coming bliss. "Believe-advance !

Or, as the spheres move onward with their song

That calls me to awaken other lands, That moment will escape which ne'er returns."

Forward Orion stepp'd: the platform bright

Shook like the reflex of a star in water Mov'd by the breeze, throughout its whole expanse ;

And even the palace glisten'd fitfully,
As with electric shiver it sent forth
Odors of flowers divine and all fresh life.
Still stood he where he stepp'd, nor to