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I called thee duteous; am I wrong? No! truth I feel is in my song: Duteous thy heart's still beatings move To God, to Nature, and to Love ! To God !—for thou, a harmless child, Hast kept his temple undefiled : To Nature !-for thy tears and sighs Obey alone her mysteries : To Love!-for fiends of hate might see Thou dwell'st in love and love in thee! What wonder then, though in thy dreams I'hy face with mystic meaning beams! Oh! that my spirit's eye could see Whence burst those gleams of ecstasy That light of dreaming soul appears To play from thoughts above thy years. Thou smilest as if thy soul were soaring To Heaven, and Heaven's God adoring! And who can tell what visions high May bless an infant's sleeping eye! What brighter throne can brightness sind, To reign on than an infant's mind, Ere sin destroy, or crror dim, The glory of the Seraphim ?
BY EDGAR A. POE.
Type of the antique Rome' rich reliquary
Vastness, and age, and memories of ola :
Here, where a hero fell, a column falls !
Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble honie,
But hold!—these dark, these perishing arcades, These mouldering plinths, these sad and blacken'd
shafts, These vagne entablatures, this broken frieze, These shatter'd cornices, this wreck, this ruin, These stones-alas! these gray stones, are they
all, All of the proud and the colossal left By the corrosive hours, to fate and me?
· Not all," the echoes answer me, not all, Prophetic sounds, and loud, arise for ever From us, and from all ruin, to the wise, As melody from Memnon to the sun. We rule the hearts of mightiest men; we rule, With a despotic sway, all giant minds. We are not impotent, we pallid stones ; Not all our power is gone, not all our fame, Not all the magic of our high renown, Not all the wonder that encircles us, Not all the mysteries that in us lie, Not all the memories that hang upon And cling around about us as a garment, Cloihing us in a robe of more than glory."
Hail to thy face and odours, glorious Sea !
Their hosts within the concave firmament,
Nor on the stage
Mighty Sea! Chameleon-like thou changest, but there's love In all thy change, and constant sympathy With yonder sky—thy mistress; from her brow Thou tak'st thy moods and wear'st her colours on Thy faithful bosom; morning's milky white, Noon's sapphire, or the saffron glow of eve; And all thy balmier hours, fair element, Have such divine complexion-crisped smiles, Luxuriant bearings, and sweet whisperings, That little is the wonder Love's own Queen From thee of old was fabled to have sprungCreation's common! which no human power Can parcel or inclose ; the lordliest floods And cataracts that the tiny hands of man Can tame, conduct, or bound, are drops of dew To thee that could subdue ihe earth itself