XIII.

"Thou art my Sun!-ah! leave not to die
My breath of life!-ah! leave meme not alone!
My heaven!-my being's soul !—thou shalt not go!—
Hold, recreant limbs! nor let the traitor fly.

Hear me, great Pan!-Great Nature! hear my cry!
Freeze up the springs of life !-arrest the warm supply.”

XIV.

She said; and pitying Nature heard the prayer.
Awe-struck he stands with strange and alter'd air,
Those little limbs of symmetry no longer fair.

XV.

Age, premature, with knotty cramps deforms
That frame of excellence-those limbs of power;
While, o'er his scowling brow, the dark'ning storms
Of passion, fury, rage, terrific lour.

XVI.

"Witch! demon! fiend!" But she! -one shriek receives

The granted prayer—one anguish'd glance replies;
And to her bowry canopy of leaves,

Like a poor, helpless, startled bird she flies ;

There, lost in ecstacy of sorrow, grieves

Over the ruined form, her passion's sacrifice.

XVII.

"Witch! demon! fiend!-and yet appear once more;
Reverse the charm, thou sorceress! life restore!—
Thou wilt not! I will tear thee from thy shrine:
Thy cursed, enchanted bark shall swiftly feel
The riving vengeance of my woodman's steel!
Yea I will cleave that tree adored of thine ......!"

XVIII.

One pause!-all silent sadness!--no reply-
Save what the branches, drooping mournfully,
And lowly bending to the earth, supply.

He strikes -But then a sudden horror chill, Through every quivering, trembling leaf, doth thrill; And from the bark some silent drops distil

Thus fell the loveliest of the virgin train—
Victims of man's caprice, of man's disdain-
Flowers, cropp'd to glad the triumph of a day,
Slighted, and cast like faded weeds away.*

The lovers of English poetry will observe numerous coincidences in this little poem, which the nature of the subject would not allow to be marked in the text.

The author has allowed himself to enrich his lines by allusions to the revered classics of his own language, as the more learned have done by those of the ancient world.

END OF THE TALE OF AN OAK TREE.

LOVE AND DUTY.

When all the fiercer passions cease (The glory and disgrace of youth); When the deluded soul, in peace, Can listen to the voice of truth; When we are taught in whom we trust, And how to spare, to spend, to give (Our prudence kind, our pity just),— 'Tis then we rightly learn to live.

CRABBE,