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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 ?

COLISEUM.

BY EDGAR A. POE.

Type of the antique Rome' rich reliquary
Of lofty contemplation, left to Time
By buried centuries of pomp and power!
At length, at length-after so many days
Of weary pilgrimage, and burning thirst,
(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lien)
I kneel, an alter'd and an humble man,
Within thy shadows—and so drink, within
My very soul, thy grandeur, gloom, and glory.

Vastness, and age, and memories of ola :
Silence, and desolation, and dim night!
I fec. ye now-I feel ye in your strength.
O, spells more sure than e'er Judæan king
Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane !
0, charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee
Ever drew down from out the quiet stars !

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls !
Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,
A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!
Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair
Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle!
Here, where on golden throne the CÆSAR sate,
On bed of moss lies gloating ihe foul adder!
Here, where on ivory couch the monarch lolld,

Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble honie,
Lit by the wan light of the horned moon,
The swift and silent lizard of the stones!

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."

ST. LEONARD'S.

BY CAMPBELL.

Hail to thy face and odours, glorious Sea !
'T'were thanklessness in me to bless the not
Great beauteous being! in whose breath and smile
My heart beats calmer, and my very mind
Inhales salubrious thoughts. How welcomer
Thy murmurs than the murmurs of the world!
Though like the world thou fluctuat'st, thy din
To me is peace, thy restlessness repose ;
Even gladly I exchange yon spring-green lanes,
With all the darling field-flowers in their prime,
And gardens haunted by the nightingale's
Long trills and gushing ectasies of song,
For these wild headlands, and the sea-mew's

clang.
With thee beneath my windows, pleasant Sea,
I long not to o'erlook earth's fairest glades
And green savannahs--Earth has not a plain
So boundless or so beautiful as thine ;
The eagle's vision cannot take it in:
The lightning's wing, too weak to sweep its space,
Smks half-way o'er it like a wearied bird :
It is the mirror of the stars, where all

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Their hosts within the concave firmament,
Gay marching to the music of the spheres,
Can see themselves at once.

Nor on the stage
Of rural landscape are there lights and shades
Of more harmonious dance and play than thine.
How vividly this moment brightens forth,
Between gray parallel and leaden breadths,
A belt of hues that stripes thee many a league,
Flushed like the rainbow, or the ring-dove's neck,
And giving to the glancing sea-bird's wing
The semblance of a meteor.

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

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