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Did place upon his Brother's head the Crown,

Relinquished by his own;

Then to his people cried, «) Receive your Lord,
Gorbonian's first-born Son, your rightful King restored!»>
The People answered with a loud acclaim:
Yet more;-heart-smitten by the heroic deed,
The reinstated Artegal became

Earth's noblest penitent; from bondage freed
Of vice, thenceforth unable to subvert

Or shake his high desert.

Long did he reign; and, when he died, the tear
Of universal grief bedewed his honoured bier.
Thus was a Brother by a Brother saved;
With whom a Crown (temptation that hath set
Discord in hearts of men till they have braved
Their nearest kin with deadly purpose met)
Gainst duty weighed, and faithful love, did seem
A thing of no esteem,

And, from this triumph of affection pure,
He bore the lasting name of « pious Elidure!»>

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TO A BUTTERFLY.

I've watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!-not frozen seas
More motionless! and then

What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of Orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Hlere lodge as in a sanctuary!

Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us, on the bough!

We'll talk of sunshine and of song;

And summer days when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

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Thus often would he leave our peaceful home,
And find elsewhere his business or delight;
Out of our Valley's limits did he roam :
Full many a time, upon a stormy night,

His voice came to us from the neighbouring height:
Oft did we see him driving full in view
At mid-day when the sun was shining bright;
What ill was on him, what he had to do,

A mighty wonder bred among our quiet crew.

Ah! piteous sight it was to see this Man
When he came back to us, a withered flower,--
Or like a sinful creature, pale and wan.
Down would he sit; and without strength or power
Look at the common grass from hour to hour:
And oftentimes, how long I fear to say,
Where apple-trees in blossom made a bower,
Retired in that sunshiny shade he lay;

And, like a naked Indian, slept himself away.

Great wonder to our gentle Tribe it was
Whenever from our Valley he withdrew;
For happier soul no living creature has
Than he had, being here the long day through.
Some thought he was a lover, and did woo:
Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong:
But Verse was what he had been wedded to;
And his own mind did like a tempest strong

Come to him thus, and drove the weary Wight along.

With him there often walked in friendly guise,
Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree,
A noticeable man with large grey eyes,
And a pale face that seem'd undoubtedly
As if a blooming face it ought to be;
Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear
Deprest by weight of musing Phantasy;
Profound his forehead was, though not severe;

Yet some did think that he had little business here:

Sweet heaven forefend! his was a lawful right;
Noisy he was, and gamesome as a boy;
His limbs would toss about him with delight
Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy.

Nor lacked his calmer hours device or toy
To banish listlessness and irksome care;
He would have taught you how you might employ
Yourself; and many did to him repair,-
And, certes, not in vain; he had inventions rare.

Expedients, too, of simplest sort he tried:

Long blades of grass, plucked round him as he lay,
Made-to his car attentively applied-

A Pipe on which the wind would deftly play;
Glasses he had, that little things display,
The beetle panoplied in gems and gold,
A mailed angel on a battle day;

The mysteries that cups of flowers enfold,

And all the gorgeous sights which fairies do behold.

He would entice that other Man to kear

His music, and to view his imagery:

And, sooth, these two did love each other dear,

As far as love in such a place could be;

There did they dwell-from earthly labour free,
As happy spirits as were ever seen;

If but a bird, to keep them company,

Or butterfly sate down, they were, I ween,

As pleased as if the same had been a Maiden Queen.

LOUISA.

I MET Louisa in the shade;

And having seen that lovely Maid, Why should I fear to say

That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong; And down the rocks can leap along, Like rivulets in May?

And she hath smiles to earth unknown;
Smiles, that with motion of their own
Do spread, and sink, and rise;
That come and go with endless play,
And ever, as they pass away,
Are hidden in her eyes.

She loves her fire, her Cottage-home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak;

And, when against the wind she strains,

Oh might I kiss the mountain rains
That sparkle on her cheek!

Take all that's mine «beneath the moon,» If I with her but half a noon

May sit beneath the walls

Of some old cave, or mossy nook,
When up she winds along the brook
To hunt the waterfalls.

STRANGE fits of passion I have known:
And I will dare to tell,

But in the Lover's ear alone,
What once to me befel.

When she I loved was strong and gay,
And like a rose in June,

I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath the evening Moon.

Upon the Moon I fixed my eye, All over the wide lea;

My Horse trudged on-and we drew nigh Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reached the orchard plot;
And as we climbed the hill,
Towards the roof of Lucy's cot
The Moon descended still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending Moon.

My Horse moved on; hoof after hoof

He raised, and never stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright Moon dropped.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a Lover's head!

«O mercy!» to myself I cried, « If Lucy should be dead!»

SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A Maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love.

A Violet by a mossy stone
Half-hidden from the eye!

-Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her Grave, and, oli,
The difference to me!

I TRAVELLED among unknown Men,
In Lands beyond the Sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire;

And She I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings shewed, thy nights concealed
The bowers where Lucy played;
And thine is too the last green field
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

Ear with cold beads of midnight dew

Had mingled tears of thine,

I grieved, fond Youth! that thou shouldst sue To haughty Geraldine.

Immoveable by generous sighs,

She glories in a train

Who drag, beneath our native skies, An Oriental Chain.

Pine not like them with arms across,
Forgetting in thy care

How the fast-rooted trees can toss
Their branches in mid air.

The humblest Rivulet will take

Its own wild liberties;

And, every day, the imprisoned Lake Is flowing in the breeze.

Then, crouch no more on suppliant knee,
But scorn with scorn outbrave;

A Briton, even in love, should be
A subject, not a slave!

TO ******

Look at the fate of summer Flowers,
Which blow at daybreak, droop ere even-song;
And, grieved for their brief date, confess that ours,
Measured by what we are and ought to be,
Measured by all that trembling we foresce,
Is not so long!

If human Life do pass away,

Perishing yet more swiftly than the Flower
Whose frail existence is but of a day;

What
space hath Virgin's Beauty to disclose
Her sweets, and triumph o'er the breathing Rose?
Not even an hour!

The deepest grove whose foliage hid
The happiest Lovers Arcady might boast,
Could not the entrance of this thought forbid:
O be thou wise as they, soul-gifted Maid!
Nor rate too high what must so quickly fade,
So soon be lost.

Then shall Love teach some virtuous Youth
«To draw out of the Object of his eyes,»
The whilst on Thee they gaze in simple truth,
Hlues more exalted, « a refined Form,»
That dreads not age, nor suffers from the worm,
And never dies.

"T is said, that some have died for love:
And here and there a church-yard grave is found
In the cold North's unhallowed ground,-
Because the wretched Man himself had slain,

His love was such a grievous pain.

And there is one whom I five years have known; He dwells alone

Upon Helvellyn's side:

He loved the pretty Barbara died,

And thus he makes his moan:

Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid

When thus his moan he made;

Oh, move, thou Cottage, from behind that oak!

Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,

That in some other way yon smoke

May mount into the sky!

The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart :
I look-the sky is empty space;
I know not what I trace;

But when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart.

«O! what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves, When will that dying murmur be supprest! Your sound my heart of peace bereaves,

It robs my heart of rest.

Thou Thrush, that singest loud-and loud and free, Into yon row of willows flit,

Upon that alder sit;

Or sing another song, or choose another tree.

«Roll back, sweet Rill! back to thy mountain bounds, And there for ever be thy waters chained!

For thou dost haunt the air with sounds

That cannot be sustained;

If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough
Headlong yon waterfall must come,

Oh let it then be dumb!

Be any thing, sweet Rill, but that which thou art now.

«Thou Eglantine, whose arch so proudly towers, (Even like a rainbow spanning half the vale) Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,

And stir not in the gale.

For thus to see thee nodding in the air,-
To see thy arch thus stretch and bend,
Thus rise and thus descend,-

Disturbs me till the sight is more than I can bear.>>

The Man who makes this feverish complaint
Is one of giant stature, who could dance
Equipped from head to foot in iron mail.
Ah gentle Love! if ever thought was thine
To store up kindred hours for me, thy face
Turn from me, gentle Love! nor let me walk
Within the sound of Emma's voice, or know
Such happiness as I have known to-day.

ΤΟ

LET other Bards of Angels sing,
Bright Suns without a spot;
But thou art no such perfect Thing;
Rejcice that thou art not!

Such if thou wert in all men's view,
A universal show,

What would my Fancy have to do, My Feelings to bestow?

The world denies that Thou art fair;
So, Mary, let it be

If nought in loveliness compare
With what thou art to me.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,
Whose veil is unremoved

Till heart with heart in concord beats,
And the Lover is beloved.

How rich that forehead's calm expanse!
How bright that Heaven-directed glance!
-Waft her to Glory, winged Powers,
Ere Sorrow be renewed,

And intercourse with mortal hours
Bring back a humbler mood!

So looked Cecilia when she drew

An Angel from his station;

So looked-not ceasing to pursue
Her tuneful adoration!

But hand and voice alike are still;
No sound here sweeps away the will
That
gave it birth;-in service meek
One upright arm sustains the cheek,
And one across the bosom lies-
That rose, and now forgets to rise,
Subdued by breathless harmonies
Of meditative feeling;

Mute strains from worlds beyond the skies,
Through the pure light of female eyes
Their sanctity revealing!

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LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS,

ON THE EVE OF A NEW YEAR.

« Smile of the Moon!-for so I name
That silent greeting from above;
A gentle flash of light that came

From Her whom drooping Captives love;
Or art thou of still higher birth?
Thou that didst part the clouds of earth,
My torpor to reprove!

«Bright boon of pitying Heaven-alas!
I may not trust thy placid cheer!
Pondering that Time to-night will pass
The threshold of another year;
For years to me are sad and dull;
My very moments are too full
Of hopelessness and fear.

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«Farewell desire of human aid,
Which abject mortals vainly court,
By friends deceived, by foes betrayed,
Of fears the prey, of hopes the sport;
Nought but the world-redeeming Cross
Is able to supply my loss,
My burthen to support.

« Hark! the death-note of the year
Sounded by the castle-clock!»>
From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear
Stole forth, unsettled by the shock;
But oft the woods renewed their green,
Ere the tired head of Scotland's Queen
Reposed upon the block!

THE COMPLAINT

OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN.

[When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue hist journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with Deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he is unable to follow, or overtake them, he perishes alone in the Desert; unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other Tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, HEANNE'S Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high Northern Latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the Northern Lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise, as alluded to in the following Poem.]

BEFORE I see another day,
Oh let my body die away!

In sleep I heard the northern gleams;
The stars were mingled with my dreams;
In rustling conflict through the skies,
I heard, I saw the flashes drive,
And yet they are upon my eyes,
And yet I am alive;

Before I see another day,
Oh let my body die away!

My fire is dead: it knew no pain;
Yet is it dead, and I remain.
All stiff with ice the ashes lie;
And they are dead, and I will die.
When I was well, I wished to live,

For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire;

But they to me no joy can give,
No pleasure now, and no desire.
Then here contented will I lie!
Alone I cannot fear to die.

Alas! ye might have dragged me on
Another day, a single one!

Too soon I yielded to despair;

Why did ye listen to my prayer?

When ye were gone my limbs were stronger;
And oh how grievously I rue,
That, afterwards, a little longer,
My Friends, I did not follow you!
For strong and without pain I lay,
My Friends, when ye were gone away.

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