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IV.

Wordsworth informs us he was nineteen years
Considering and retouching Peter Bell;
Watering his laurels with the killing tears

Of slow, dull care, so that their roots to hell Might pierce, and their wide branches blot the spheres

Of heaven, with dewy leaves and flowers;

this well

May be, for Heaven and Earth conspire to foil The over-busy gardener's blundering toil.

V.

My Witch indeed is not so sweet a creature
As Ruth or Lucy, whom his graceful praise
Clothes for our grandsons-but she matches

Peter,

Though he took nineteen years, and she three

days

In dressing. Light the vest of flowing metre

She wears; he, proud as dandy with his stays, Has hung upon his wiry limbs a dress

Like King Lear's "looped and windowed raggedness."

VI.

'you strip Peter, you will see a fellow Scorched by Hell's hyperequatorial climate Into a kind of a sulphureous yellow:

A lean mark, hardly fit to fling a rhyme at;

In shape a Scaramouch, in hue Othello,

If you unveil my Witch, no priest nor primate

Can shrive you of that sin,-if sin there be
In love, when it becomes idolatry.

END OF VOL. III

POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820.

(Continued.)

THE WITCH OF ATLAS.

I.

BEFORE those cruel Twins, whom at one birth
Incestuous Change bore to her father Time,
Error and Truth, had hunted from the earth
All those bright natures which adorned its
prime,

And left us nothing to believe in, worth

The pains of putting into learned rhyme, A lady-witch there lived on Atlas' mountain Within a cavern by a secret fountain.

II.

Her mother was one of the Atlantides:

The all-beholding Sun had ne'er beholden In his wide voyage o'er continents and seas So fair a creature, as she lay enfolden

In the warm shadow of her loveliness.

He kissed her with his beams, and made all golden

The chamber of gray rock in which she lay ;
She, in that dream of joy, dissolved away.

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III.

Tis said, she was first changed into a vapour, And then into a cloud, such clouds as flit, Like splendour-winged moths about a taper, Round the red west when the sun dies in it; And then into a meteor, such as caper

On hill-tops when the moon is in a fit; Then, into one of those mysterious stars

Which hide themselves between the Earth and

Mars.

IV.

Ten times the Mother of the Months had bent Her bow beside the folding-star, and bidden With that bright sign the billows to indent

The sea-deserted sand: like children chidden, At her command they ever came and went:—

Since in that cave a dewy splendour hidden, Took shape and motion: with the living form Of this embodied Power, the cave grew warm.

V.

A lovely lady garmented in light

From her own beauty-deep her eyes, as are Two openings of unfathomable night

Seen through a tempest's cloven rocf;-her hair

Dark-the dim brain whirls dizzy with delight,

Picturing her form ;-her soft smiles shone afar, And her low voice was heard like love, and drew All living things towards this wonder new.

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