"The Mighty Hour, in which our hearts shall leap "As at a trumpet, from their Pagan sleep;

"And light shall burst into our souls, that we

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May know the faith which bids God's images be free! "For this at morn,--ere the exulting sun

"Flush o'er the Eastern heav'n-as the grey light

"Toils up the rear of Darkness;-hath begun "My solemn orison-for this, the Night

"Hath by a thousand shadows, dreams, and signs,

"Fill'd my stern heart with Hope, whose truth it now

divines!

"Yea, ere I loved thee, Zoe-ere I asked,

"Ev'n if the love of women were for me,

"There was one Shape, one Queen, for whom I tasked
"The powers and prowess of my infancy.
"Still, shining, pure, and circumfus'd in all
"The calmness and the glory of old days,
"Oft, (as in loneliest cell,) in haughtiest hall,
"Unseen by others, gleam'd she on my gaze.
"And when I ask'd the name on which to call,

"When chaf'd beneath the pomp, the power, the gaud,

"Which the dup'd Many deck with hollow laud,

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Mydeep soul sickened that fair face to see,

"Truth from the womb of Time did answer Liberty!" "And now she calls me with an angel's voice "Homeward, o'er land and ocean to her cause; "And my blood burns within me, that the choice "Of hour and clime, in which His loftiest laws

"HE rights our God hath cast, albeit in strife,
"Upon the age and land, in which I drank my life!"

She look'd upon that brow so fair and high,
Too bright for sorrow, as too bold for fear;
She look'd upon the light of that large eye

Which dreamt not of the blindness glooming near.
She look'd, and sigh'd; and with a trembling hand,
Touch'd his young arm: he turn'd-the knit command
The fiery spirit of his features grew

Soft and more soft-until, as clouds pursue
Each other, shadowing o'er some star, above,
All sternness fled, and left his face to Love!

"Come, then, my Zoe, on this pilgrimage,
"This high and noble travail of the soul;
"Come, be my guide, my partner, and my staff,

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My hope in youth, my haven in my age!

"Come, if the world forsake, or Fate control,
"Or Fortune leave me—and the bitter rage
"Of Foes, in love with Fetters, make me quaff
"Ev'n to the last the hemlock of the bowl,
"Reserv'd for those, who, vanquish'd, chafe the tide
"Of Custom's ire, its passions, and its pride
"Come be my spendthrift-heart's last lonely hoard,
"My wealth, my world-my solace, my reward.

"Come-though from marble domes, and orange bowers"Come to a humble roof, a northern sky;

"Love's fairy halls and temples shall be our's, "And our heart's sun the ice of earth defy,

“Trust me, though Fate may turn each hope to gall, "Thou at thy choice, belov'd, shalt ne'er repine; "Trust me, whatever storm on me may fall,

"My breast shall ward the blast, the bolt, from thine! "Yes! as the bird on yonder oak which breathes "Soul into night, thy love shall be to me! "Yes! I will be that oak which ever wreathes "Its boughs, though leafless, into bowers for thee! "And when the sunshine of thy life be set, "And beams, and joy, and pomp, and light depart, "There is one shelter that will shield thee yet, "Thy nest, my bird-thy refuge in my heart!"

He ceased; and drew her closer to his breast;
Wildly her bosom heav'd beneath his own;
From her sweet lips beneath his kisses prest,
Gush'd her heart's fullness in a murmur'd tone;
And o'er her bent her lover; and the gold
Of his rich locks with her dark tresses blended;
And still, and soft, and tenderly, the lone
And mellowing night upon their forms descended;
And thus amid the ghostly walls of old,
And curtain'd by the blue and starry air,
They seem'd not wholly of an earth-born mould,
But suited to the memories breathing there—
Two Genii of the mixt and tender race,

From fairest fount or tree, their homes who singled

Last of their order doom'd to haunt the place, And bear sweet being interfused and mingled, Draw through their life the same delicious breath, And fade together into air in death!

Oh! what then burned within her, as her fond

And pure lips yearn'd to breathe the' enduring vow?

All was forgot, save him before her now—

A blank, a non-existence, lay beyond

All was forgot-all feeling, thought, but this-
For ever parted, or for ever his!

The voice just stirs her lip-what sound is there?
The cleft-stone sighing to the rushing air?

The night-bird rustling through the startled tree?—
The loose earth

With a wild, yet stifled cry,

Sprang Zoe from her lover. "Can it be?—

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Mercy, oh Heav'n !"

END OF PART II.

MILTON.

PART III.

argue not

Against Heaven's hand or will-nor bate a jot
Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer
Right onward-what supports me, dost thou ask?
The conscience, Friend!

MILTON'S SONNET TO CYRIAC SKINNER.

I.

LONG years have flown!-and where the Minstrel now?Manhood hath set in clouds upon his brow!

Midnight is past—the solitary lamp

Burns in his cell-and o'er his cheek the ray

Doth like the dim smile of a sick man play

Pale is his lordly front, and toil and thought
Have darkly there their furrow'd witness wrought:
Still as he bends him to his task-the damp

Wrung from the frame which fails the' unconquered will,
Grows o'er the hueless forehead, fast, and chill,

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