Young tourist to the land whose hope has pass'd!
Fain would I seek with thee those shores sublime
That hear no promise from the lips of Time,
Of hours so bright as those he overcast!
There is that Athens! still in ruin fair,
Though long gone by her intellectual reign;
Arcadia waits in patient beauty there,
To hear her lingering shepherd's voice again!
Too oft our travellers ply a clumsy art
Here in the West! No faithful light they lend;
But keep the dues of Fame so ill apart,
That the great claims of mount and valley blend;

I had a dream of music and of song.
Methought one thrill of general harmony
Pervaded all the region, and the winds
Were all attuned, each to its several part,
As if some master spirit had controlled
Their sounds to one accord. Fast-flowing waves
Seemed rolling from an ocean, whose deep heart
Fed them and never failed; and they came onward,
Each with its crown of foam; and as they struck
The shaken shore, their burst was like the echo
Of organ notes in heaven,—majestic sounds,
Awful and terrible, yet far and sweet

Darkness was thick around me, as of old,
In Egypt, it was felt. No glimmering lamp,
Nor solitary starlight, found its way
Through the dim shadows that encompassed me,
But all was waste and void,—a desolation
Without a form or voice,—a deathlike silence,
Where even the waters had forgot to flow,
And winds to whisper,—such a total silence,
My breathing startled me, although I held it
In fear and awe. The heavens had vanished then,
And earth was gone, only the foothold where
I stood and dared not move,—in like suspense
As when, upon a mountain crag, a mist

Methought 'twas night; and my unquiet spirit
Stood in the silent presence of a Power
Invisible, though felt. There was no voice,
And yet unutterable thoughts came o'er me,
Accompanied by feelings such as grow
From some unearthly music. There were words
Spoken as in the fever of a dream,
Breathless and indistinct, yet full of awe
High and mysterious. The air was full
Of sights, that scarce were seen, dim images,
Crowding from out the depth of darkness, wild
And terrible, though calm. They looked upon me
Intensely, and they seemed to beckon me

I SEE a lad deserted by his mates,
Because his ways were little to their mind,
Turn sick at heart, shed tears to make him blind;
So sad, that never have the after-fates
Brought pain that pinched more close, a day more dark,
Though many since have sullen been and stark;
And yet we call our childhood soft and kind!

Again I see him, stretched along the floor,
Reading with bated breath and blue eyes keen
Of her the mystic maiden called Undine;
Of how she won a knight beside the shore,
With looks that stirred his heart to nameless fears.

Thou fount of every good requir'd!
Thou source of wisdom! depth of skill!
Thou, who hast now our hearts inspir'd
To seek the councils of thy will,
Oh! let our schemes thy impress bear,
Matur'd with heav'nly art and care.

To thy omniscient sight alone,
Past, present, future, all are seen;
None but omnipotence hath known
What to his glory most hast been;
And what is now, and what will be,
Is only known, O God! to thee.

To thee we therefore turn the eye,
The longing look, the earnest pray'r,
Imploring wisdom from on high,

Ay , Charles! I knew that this would fix thine eye;—
This woodbine wreathing round the broken porem
Its leaves just withering, yet one autumn flower
Still fresh and fragrant; and yon hollyhock
That through the creeping weeds and nettles tall
Peers taller, lifting, column-like, a stem
Bright with its roseate blossoms. I have seen
Many an old convent reverend in decay,
And many a time have trod the castle courts
And grass-green halls, yet never did they strike
Home to the heart such melancholy thoughts
As this poor cottage. Look! its little hatch

That Princes may possesse a surer seat,
'Tis fit they make no One with them too great.

'Tis down in the valley my father does dwell—
See, Mary on yonder stile is leaning—
And all that the cottage produces I sell,
And earn him a little by gleaning.

Then I must away by the break of the day,
My basket to fill by the water,
To earn all I can for my father, poor man,
For I am his only daughter.

Besides, there is William has fetched from the valley
Three pretty cows from old Mary,
He'll soon want some one, for he told me he should,
A maid to look after his dairy.

So he asked me to go, and I could not say no,

There's a flight of steps running down the hill
Toward the town that lies in the valley below,
And down you come in the paling light
While the roofs are pink with the afterglow.

And there—from the top of the steps—it lies
Like the Town of Pearl in the Prince's dream,
In every chimney a plume of blue,
In every window a blazing gleam.

Then, down you come. And, one, two, three,
Twelve steps, and your foot is on solid land—
And in less than a minute you'll catch the smell
Of onions down at the chilli-stand.