TEMPLE OF CLITUMNUS.

But thou, Clitumnus! in thy sweetest wave
Of the most living crystal that was e'er
The haunt of river-nymph, to gaze and lave
Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear
Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer
Grazes; the purest god of gentle waters!
And most serene of aspect and most clear!
Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters,
A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters!

And on thy happy shore a temple still,
Of small and delicate proportion, keeps,
Upon a mild declivity of hill,

Its memory of thee; beneath it sweeps
Thy current's calmness; oft from out it leaps
The finny darter with the glittering scales,
Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps,
While, chance, some scattered water-lily sails
Down where the shallower wave still tells its bub.
bling tales.

STATUE OF APOLLO.

Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, The God of life, and poesy, and lightThe Sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow All radiant from his triumph in the fight; The shaft hath just been shot-the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance; in his eye And nostril beautiful disdain, and might And majesty, flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the Deity.

But in his delicate form-a dream of Love,
Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast
Longed for a deathless lover from above,
And maddened in that vision-are expressed
All that ideal beauty ever blessed

The mind within its most unearthly mood,
When each conception was a heavenly guest-
A ray of immortality-and stood
Starlike, around, until they gathered to a god!

THE GLADIATOR.

I see before me the gladiator lie; He leans upon his hand; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low; And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now The arena swims around him; he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.

He heard it, but he heeded not; his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away:
He wrecked not of the life he lost, nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay;
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother-he, their sire,

Butchered to make a Roman holiday.

All this rushed with his blood. Shall he expire, And unavenged? Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire!

APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar;
I love not man the less, but nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll!
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin-his control
Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths, with bubbling groan~
Without a grave, unknelled,uncoffined, and unknown.

His steps are not upon thy paths-thy fields
Are not a spoil for him-thou dost arise
And shake him from thee; the vile strength. he
wields

For earth's destruction thou dost all despise,
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies,
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray,
And howling to the gods, where haply lies
His pretty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth: there let him lay.

The armaments which thunder-strike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals,
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war:
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

Thy shores are empires changed in all save thee-
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they?
Thy waters washed them power while they were
free,

And many a tyrant since; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts; not so thou;
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play.
Time writes no wrinkles on thine azure brow:
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's forni
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the turria clime

Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublimeThe image of Eternity-the throne

Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers-they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror-'twas a pleasing fear; For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane-as I do here.

EVENING ON THE BANKS OF THE BRENTA.

The moon is up, and yet it is not nightSunset divides the sky with her—a sea Of glory streams along the alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains: heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be Melted to one vast Iris of the west, Where the day joins the past eternity; While on the other hand, meek Diana's crest Floats through the azure air-an island of the blest.

A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains
Rolled o'er the peak of the far Rhætian hill,
As day and night contending were, until
Nature reclaimed her order: gently flows
The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil
The odorous purple of a new-born rose,
Which streams upon her stream and glassed within
it glows.

Filled with the face of heaven, which, from afar,
Comes down upon the waters; all its hues,
From the rich sunset to the rising star,
Their magical variety diffuse:

And now they charge; a paler shadow strews
Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day
Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,

The last still loveliest, till-'tis gone-and all is gray.

The fiery shaft ran down-down to a bed
On which lay prone a little wasted form
Of faded earth, from which the struggling soul
Yet panted to be free.
It was a girl-

A little sickly girl lay on that bed-
To whom God's sunbeam came. She saw the
beam-

But to her eye of faith 'twas not a beam—
'Twas a bright golden stair with myriad steps,
All small-all suited to her tiny feet-
And leading straight to Heaven.

"I must go Home-
Not a short holiday, my mother dear,
Like those I've had from school-from school to
Home,

And then from Home to school; the Home so short, And, oh, the school so long! but always Home; And it will be to-day-must be to-day."

"My darling is at Home!" the mother sobbed, As with a moistened feather she essayed

To damp the parched lips, round which the dews Shook from the wings of death thronged cold and

clear.

But in the eyes through which that spirit looked
A soft denial shone; and the small voice
Pleaded in whispers to that mother's heart,-
"Oh! do not keep me here-let me go Home;
I'm very tired of earth-I long for Home;
I'm weak and ill, and only fit for Home-
And such a Home, sweet mother! there-'tis there!"

She smiled within the sunbeam, and her hand, Like it, transparent seemed, as it was raised Pointing to Heaven. A heaven not far away— But near; so near-that e'en her dying smile Seemed not to herald night, but the bright dawn Of an unclouded and eternal day.

The mother felt, as kneeling by that bed She tended every want, and on her breast Pillowed the sufferer's head-that the frail shell, The young worn mould encircled by her arms, Was crumbling fast to dust-and that the wings Of a freed angel would be heavenward spread When earth's last gyves fell off, and the last sigh Followed the sunbeam, sent to light her Home.

They called her "Lily"-Lilian was her name But from her birth she seemed so waxen whiteSo fairy slight, so gentle and so pure, That to her father's mind she ever brought The image of that pale and fragile flower: And so he called her "Lily." 'Twas a term In which endearment, tenderness, and hope Were all wreathed up; the hope too often crossed By jealous fears, when some untoward breath Too roughly bent to earth the sickly flower, Leaving it drooping on its yielding stem.

DREAM OF THE CONDEMNED FELON.

GEORGE CRABBE-"THE BOROUGH."

Yes, e'en in sleep the impressions all remain,
He hears the sentence and he feels the chain;
He sees the judge and jury when he shakes,
And loudly cries, 'Not guilty,' and awakes:
Then chilling tremblings o'er his body creep,
Till worn-out nature is compelled to sleep.

Now comes the dream again: it shows each scene, With each small circumstance that comes betweenThe call to suffering, and the very deed-

There crowds go with him, follow, and precede;
Some heartless shout, some pity all condemn,
While he in fancied envy looks at them;
He seems the place for that sad act to see,
And dreams the very thirst which then will be;
A priest attends-it seems the one he knew
In his best days, beneath whose care he grew.
At this his terrors take a sudden flight;
He sees his native village with delight;
The house, the chamber, where he once arrayed
His youthful person, where h knelt and prayed;
Then, too, the comforts he enjoyed at home,
The days of joy, the joys themselves are come;
The hours of innocence, the timid look

Of his loved maid, when first her hand he took
And told his hope; her trembling joy appears,
Her forced reserve, and his retreating fears.
♪ now are present-'tis a moment's gleam
Of former sunshine-stay, delightful dream!
Let him within his pleasant garden walk,
Give him her arm, of blessings let them talk.
Yes! all are with him now, and all the while
Life's early prospects, and his Faany's smile;
Then come his sister and his village friend,
And he will now the sweetest moments spend
Life has to yield: no, never will he find
Again on earth such pleasure in his mind:
He goes through shrubby walks these friends among,
Love in their looks and honor on the tongue;
Nay, there's a charm beyond what nature shows,
The bloom is softer, and more sweetly glows;
Pierced by no crime, and urged by no desire
For more than true and honest hearts require,
They feel the calm delight, and thus proceed
Through the green lane, then linger in the mead,
Stray o'er the heath in all its purple bloom,
And pluck the blossom where the wild-bees hum;
Then through the broomy bound with ease they pass,
And press the sandy sheep-walk's slender grass,
Where dwarfish flowers among the gorse are spread,
And the lamb browses by the linnet's bed;
Then 'cross the bounding brook they make their way
O'er its rough bridge, and there behold the bay;
The ocean smiling to the fervid sun,
The waves that faintly fall, and slowly run,
The ships at distance, and the boats at hand;
And now they walk upon the sea-side sand,
Counting the number, and what kind they be,

Ships softly sinking in the sleepy sea;
Now arm in arm, now parted, they behold
The glittering waters on the shingles rolled:
The timid girls, half dreading their design,
Dip the small foot in the retarded brine,

And search for crimson weeds, which spreading flow.
Or lie like pictures on the sand below;
With all those bright red pebbles that the sun
Through the small waves so softly shines upon
And those live, lucid jellies which the eye
Delights to trace as they swim glittering by;
Pearl shells and rubied star-fish they admire,
And will arrange above the parlor fire.
Tokens of bliss! 'Oh, horrible! a wave
Roars as it rises-save me, Edward, save!'
She cries. Alas! the watchman on his way
Calls, and lets in-truth, terror, and the day!

And prayed him, ‘If they pay this tax, they starve.' Whereat he stared, replying, half amazed,

'You would not let your little finger ache For such as these? But I would die,' said she. He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul; Then filliped at the diamond in her ear; 'O ay, ay, ay, you talk!'-'Alas!' she said, 'But prove me what it is I would not do.' And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand, He answered: 'Ride you naked through the town, And I repeal it;' and nodding as in scorn, He parted, with great strides among his dogs.

So left alone, the passions of her mindAs winds from all the compass shift and blow— Made war upon each other for an hour, Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all The hard condition; but that she would loose The people: therefore, as they loved her well, From then till noon no foot should pace the street, No eye look down, she passing; but that all Should keep within, door shut, and window barred. Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt, The grim Earl's gift; but ever at a breath She lingered, looking like a summer moon Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head, And showered the rippled ringlets to her knee; Unclad herself in haste; adown the stair Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid From pillar unto pillar, until she reached The gateway; there she found her palfrey trapt In purple blazoned with armorial gold.

Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity: The deep air listened round her as she rode,