Its seat is deeper in the savage breast
Than in the man of cities; in the child
Than in maturer bosoms. Ait may prune
Its rank and wild luxuriance, and may train
Its strong out-breakings, and its vehement gusts,
To soft refinement and amenity;

But all its energy has vanished, all

Its maddening and commanding spirit gone,
And all its tender touches, and its tones
Of soul-dissolving pathos, lost and hid
Among the measured notes, that move as dead
And heartless as the puppets in a show.

Well I remember, in my boyish days,

How deep the feeling, when my eye looked forth
On Nature, in her loveliness and storms;

How my heart gladdened, as the light of spring
Came from the sun, with zephyrs, and with showers,
Waking the earth to beauty, and the woods
To music, and the atmosphere to blow
Sweetly and calmly, with its breath of balm.
O, how I gazed upon the dazzling blue
Of summer's heaven of glory, and the waves,
That rolled, in bending gold, o'er hill and plain;
And on the tempest when it issued forth,
In folds of blackness, from the northern sky,
And stood above the mountains, silent, dark,
Frowning, and terrible; then sent abroad
The lightning, as its herald, and the peal,
That rolled in deep, deep volleys, round the hills,
The warning of its coming, and the sound
That ushered in its elemental war!

And, O, I stood, in breathless longing fixed,
Trembling, and yet not fearful, as the clouds
Heaved their dark billows on the roaring winds
That sent, from mountain top, and bending wood,
A long, hoarse murmur, like the rush of waves
That burst, in foam and fury, on the shore.
Nor less the swelling of my heart, when high
Rose the blue arch of autumn, cloudless, pure
As Nature, at her dawning, when she sprang
Fresh from the hand that wrought her; where the eye
Caught not a speck upon the soft serene,
To stain its deep cerulean, but the cloud,
That floated, like a lonely spirit, there,

White as the snow of Zemla, or the foam
That on the mid-sea tosses, cinctured round,
In easy undulations, with a belt

Woven of bright Apollo's golden hair.
These I have seen,

And felt to madness; but my full heart gave
No utterance to the ineffable within.

Words were too weak; they were unknown; but still
The feeling was most poignant: it has gone;
And all the deepest flow of sounds, that e'er
Poured, in a torrent fullness, from the tongue
Rich with the wealth of ancient bards, and stored
With all the patriarchs of British song
Hallowed and rendered glorious, can not tell
Those feelings which have died to live no more.

Ex. CXVIII.-THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR.

THERE WAS a sound of hurrying feet,

A tramp on echoing stairs,

There was a rush along the aisles,
It was the hour of prayers.

And on, like ocean's midnight wave,
The current rolled along,
When, suddenly, a stranger form
Was seen amidst the throng.

He was a dark and swarthy man,
That uninvited guest;

A faded coat of bottle-green

Was buttoned round his breast.

There was not one among them all
Could say from whence he came;
Nor beardless boy, nor ancient man,
Could tell the stranger's name.

All silent as the sheeted dead,
In spite of sneer and frown,
Fast by a gray-haired senior's side
He sat him boldly down.

O. W. HOLMES.

There was a look of horror flashed
From out the tutor's eyes:
When all around him rose to pray,
The stranger did not rise!

A murmur broke along the crowd,
The prayer was at an end,
With ringing heels and measured tread
A hundred forms descend.

Through sounding aisle, o'er grated stair,
The long procession formed,
Till all were gathered on the seats
Around the common's board.

That fearful stranger! down he sat
Unasked, yet undismayed;
And on his lips a rising smile
Of scorn or pleasure played.

He took his hat and hung it up,
With slow but earnest air;

He stripped his coat from off his back,
And placed it on a chair.

Then from his nearest neighbor's side
A knife and plate he drew;
And, reaching out his hand again,
He took his tea-cup too.

How fled the sugar from the bowl!
How sunk the azure cream!

They vanished like the shapes that float
Upon a summer dream.

A long, long draught,—an out-stretched hand,— And crackers, toast, and tea,

They faded from the stranger's touch,

Like dew upon the sea.

Then clouds were dark on many a brow,

Fear sat upon their souls,

And, in a bitter agony,

They clasped their buttered rolls.

A whisper trembled through the crowd,-
Who could the stranger be?

And some were silent, for they thought
A cannibal was he.

What, if the creature should arise,—
For he was stout and tall,—
And swallow down a sophomore,
Coat, crowsfoot, cap, and all!

All suddenly the stranger rose;
They sat in mute despair;
He took his hat from off the peg,
His coat from off the chair.

Four freshmen fainted on the seat,
Six swooned upon the floor;
Yet on the fearful being passed,
And shut the chapel door.

There is full many a starving man,
That walks in bottle-green,
But never more that hungry one
In Common's-hall was seen.

Yet often at the sunset hour,
When tolls the evening bell,
The freshman lingers on the steps
That frightful tale to tell.

Ex. CXIX.-DEATH OF AGUILAR.

FERNANDO, King of Aragon, before Granada lies,

LOCKHART

With dukes and barons many a one, and champions of em

prise;

With all the captains of Castile that serve his lady's crown, He drives Boabdil from his gates, and plucks the crescent

down.

The cross is reared upon the towers, for our Redeemer's sake: The king assembles all his powers, his triumph to partake;

Yet at the royal banquet, there's trouble in his eye:"Now speak thy wish, it shall be done, great king!" the lordlings cry.

Then spake Fernando:-"Hear, grandees! which of ye all will go,

And give my banner in the breeze of Alpuxar to blow? Those heights along, the Moors are strong; now who, by dawn of day,

Will plant the cross their cliffs among, and drive the dogs away ?"

Then champion on champion high, and count on count doth

look;

And faltering is the tongue of lord, and pale the cheek of

duke;

Till starts up brave Alonzo, the knight of Aguilar,

The lowmost at the royal board, but foremost still in war.

And thus he speaks:: "I pray, my lord, that none but I may

go;

For I made promise to the queen, your consort, long ago, That ere the war should have an end, I, for her royal charms, And for my duty to her grace, would show some feat of arms!"

Much joyed the king these words to hear,-he bids Alonzo speed;

And long before their revel 's o'er the knight is on his steed; Alonzo's on his milk-white steed, with horsemen in his train, A thousand horse, a chosen band, ere dawn the hills to gain.

They ride along the darkling ways, they gallop all the night; They reach Nevada ere the cock hath harbingered the light; But ere they've climbed that steep ravine, the east is glowing red,

And the Moors their lances bright have seen, and Christian banners spread.

Beyond the sands, between the rocks, where the oid cork-trees

grow,

The path is rough, and mounted men must singly march and

slow;

There, o'er the path, the heathen range their ambuscado's

line,

High up they wait for Aguilar, as the day begins to shine.