scene.

Nought meet to mar the spell-upon the
Such group-they were as old Boccacio drew;
Or fairest samples of some galliard throng,
Born to the zest of Chaucer's lusty song.

The warm Sun's darling offspring-Wines and Fruit-
Were idly scattered o'er the sod—nor there
Forget Italia's living voice-the Lute-

And sweet, I ween, the whisper'd tones, the air

Bore only to her ear for whom they burn'd;

Ah, sound! for which whoe'er hath loved-so oft hath yearn'd.

IX.

But, mid that graceful meeting, there were none
Who yielded not to him—that English guest.
Nor by sweet lips half wooing to be won,

Were witching words and brightest smiles supprest:
And starry eyes "rained influence" round the form
Where Beauty never set a nobler thrall

For heart or fancy-and the wild and warm

Thoughts of that sunny clime took wing and pour'd
Into such verse as yet Time's crypt hath stor❜d.
Oh! little dream'd those flatterers as they gazed
On him the radiant cynosure of all,

When on their eyes his youth's fresh glory blazed,
What that bright heart was destined to befal!
That worst of wars-the Battle of the Soil-

Which leaves but Crime unscath'd on either side;

The daily fever, and the midnight toil;
The hope defeated, and the name belied;
Wrath's fierce attack, and Slander's slower art,
The watchful viper of the evil tongue ;—
The sting which Pride defies-but not the heart-
The noblest heart is aye the easiest wrung;
The flowers, the fruit, the summer of rich life,
Cast on the sands and weariest paths of earth;
The march-but not the action of the strife
Without; and Sorrow coil'd around his hearth:
The film, the veil, the shadow, and the night,
Along those eyes which now in al survey
A tribute and a rapture the despite

Of Fortune wreaked on his declining day;

The heap'd clouds labouring upward round his heart ;—
Oh! little dreamt they this !-or less what light
Should from those clouds-a new-born glory-start;-
And from the spot man's mystic Father trod,
Circling the round Earth with a solemn ray,
Cast its great shadow to the Throne of God!

X.

The festive rite was o'er-the group was gone,
Yet still our wanderer lingered there alone—
For round his eye, and in his heart there lay
The tender spells which cleave to solitude.
Who, when some gay delight hath passed away,
Feels not a charmed musing in his mood,

A poesy

of thought which yearns to pour Still worship to the Spirit of the Hour?

Ah! they who bodied into Deity

The rosy Hours, I ween, did scarcely err.

Sweet Hours, ye have a life, and holily

That life is worn! and when no rude sounds stir
The quiet of our hearts-we inly hear
The hymn-like music of your floating voice,
Telling us mystic tidings of the sphere
Wherein—in linked chorus-ye rejoice ;

And filling us with calm and solemn thought,
Diviner far than all our earth-born lore hath taught.
With folded arms and upward brow, he leant

Against the pillar of a sleeping tree,

When, hark! the still boughs rustled, and there went

A murmur and a sigh along the air,

And a light footstep like a melody

Passed by the flowers-he turned-What Nymph is there?
What Nymph! what Dryad from the green recess !
Emerging into Beauty like a Star!—

He gazed-sweet Heaven! 'tis she whose loveliness
Had in his England's gardens first (and far

From these delicious groves) upon him beamed,
And looked to life-the wonders he had dreamed.

XI.

They met again, and oft! what time the Star
Of Hesperus hung his rosy lamp on high;
And the Witch Night shook from her solemn car
A liquid magic o'er the breathless sky.

And Mystery o'er their lonely meeting threw
A charm earth's common ties can ne'er bestow-
Her name-her birth-her home he never knew;
And she-his love was all she sought to know.
And when in anxious or in tender mood
He prayed her to disclose at least her name,
A look from her the unwelcome prayer subdued;
So sad the cloud that o'er her features came :
Her lip grew blanch'd, as with an ominous fear,
And all her heart seemed trembling in her tear.
So worshipped he in silence and sweet wonder,
The unknown Egeria of his haunted soul;

And Hope-life's chequering moonlight-smiled asunder
The doubts that cloud-like o'er him sought to roll.
And thus his love grew daily, and, perchance,

Was all the stronger circled by romance.

He found a name for her, if not her own,
Haply as soft, and to her heart as dear-
His life his "Zoe"-Ah! of all names, none
Make so divine a music to the ear

As that by lovers coin'd-the child-like art

That breathes to vulgar words the fond thoughts of the heart!

Creep slowly on, thou grey and wizard Time

Thou grey and wizard Time, creep slowly on-
Ev'n I would linger in my truant rhyme,

Nor tell too soon how soon those hours were gone.
Flowers bloom again-leaves glad once more the tree-
Poor life, there comes no second Spring to thee!

END OF PART I.