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THOUGH the bold wings of Poesy affect Musa
The clouds, and wheel around the mountain tops pedestris
Rejoicing, from her loftiest height she drops
Well pleased to skim the plain with wild flowers

Or muse in solemn

whose shades

The lingering dew-there steals along, or stops
Watching the least small bird that round her hops,
Or creeping worm, with sensitive respect.
Her functions are they therefore less divine,
Her thoughts less deep, or void of grave intent
Her simplest fancies ? Should that fear be thine,
Aspiring Votary, ere thy hand present
One offering, kneel before her modest shrine,
With brow in penitential sorrow bent !

Ye sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth! Oxford
In whose collegiate shelter England's Flowers May 30, 1820
Expand, enjoying through their vernal hours
The air of liberty, the light of truth ;
Much haveye suffered from Time's gnawing tooth;
Yet, O ye spires of Oxford ! domes and towers !
Gardens and groves! your presence overpowers
The soberness of reason; till, in sooth,
Transformed, and rushing on a bold exchange,
I slight my own beloved Cam, to range
Where silver Isis leads my stripling feet;
Pace the long avenue, or glide adown
The stream-like windings of that glorious street-
An eager Novice robed in fluttering gown !

Shame on SHAME on this faithless heart! that could allow this faithless Such transport, though but for a moment's space; heart ! Not while to aid the spirit of the place

The crescent moon clove with its glittering prow
The clouds, or night-bird sang from shady bough;
But in plain daylight :-She, too, at my side,
Who, with her heart's experience satisfied,
Maintains inviolate its slightest vow !
Sweet Fancy! other gifts must I receive ;
Proofs of a higher sovereignty I claim ;
Take from her brow the withering flowers of eve,
And to that brow life’s morning wreath restore ;
Let her be comprehended in the frame
Of these illusions, or they please no more.

Portrait of The imperial Stature, the colossal stride,
Henry, the Are yet before me; yet do I behold
Eighth at

The broad full visage, chest of amplest mould,
The vestments 'broidered with barbaric pride :
And lo! a poniard, at the Monarch's side,
Hangs ready to be grasped in sympathy
With the keen threatenings of that fulgent eye,
Below the white-rimmed bonnet, far-descried.
Who trernbles now at thy capricious mood ?
'Mid those surrounding Worthies, haughty King,
We rather think, with grateful mind sedate,
How Providence educeth, from the spring
Of lawless will, unlooked-for streams of good,
Which neither force shall check nor time abate !

WARD of the Law !-dread Shadow of a King! On the Death Whose realm had dwindled to one stately room; of George

the Third
Whose universe was gloom immersed in gloom,
Darkness as thick as life o'er life could fling,
Save baply for some feeble glimmering
Of Faith and Hope--if thou, by nature's doom,
Gently hast sunk into the quiet tomb,
Why should we bend in grief, to sorrow cling,
When thankfulness were bestFresh-lowing

Or, where tears flow not, sigh succeeding sigh,
Yield to such after-thgught the sole reply
Which justly it can claim. The Nation hears
In this deep knek, silent for threescore years,
An unexampled voice of awful memory!

Fame tells of groves—from England far away-- Nightingales Groves that inspire the Nightingale to trill

on Richmond And I modulate, with subtle reach of skill

Hill, June, Elsewhere unmatched, her ever-varying lay ;


report I venture to gainsay:
For I have heard the choir of Richmond hill
Charting, with indefatigable bill,
Strains that recalled to mind a distant day;

haply under shade of that same wood,
And sCjarcely conscious of the dashing oars
Plied Steadily between those willowy shores,

sweet-souled Poet of the Seasons stood Listening, and listening long, in rapturous mood, heavenly Birds! to your Progenitors.


A: Ald

Souldern Where holy ground begins, unhallowed ends,
Parsonage, Is marked by no distinguishable line ;
shire The turf unites, the pathways intertwine ;

And, wheresoe'er the stealing footstep tends,
Garden, and that Domain where kindred, friends,
And neighbours rest together, here confound
Their several features, mingled like the sound
Of many waters, or as evening blends
With shady night. Softairs, from shrub and flower,
Waft fragrant greetings to each silent grave;
And while those lofty poplars gently wave
Their tops, between them comes and goes a sky
Bright as the glimpses of eternity,
To saints accorded in their mortal hour.

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The Ruins of THROUGH shattered galleries, 'mid roofless halls

, a Castle in Wandering with timid footsteps oft betrayed, North Wales The Stranger sighs, nor scruples to upbraid

Old Time, though he, gentlest among the Thralls
Of Destiny, upon these wounds hath laid
His lenient touches, soft as light that falls
From the wan Moon, upon the towers and walls

Light deepening the profoundest sleep of shade.
Relic of Kings! Wreck of forgotten wars,
To winds abandoned and the prying stars,
Time loves Thee! at his call the Seasons twine
Luxuriant wreaths around thy forehead hoar ;
And, though past pomp no changes can restore,
A soothing recompense, his gift, is thine !

A STREAM, to mingle with your favourite Dee, To the Lady

E. Butler Along the VALE OF MEDITATION flows ;

and the Hon. So styled by those fierce Britons, pleased to see

Miss Pon-
In Nature's face the expression of repose ; sonby
Or haply there some pious hermit chose
To live and die, the peace of heaven his aim;
To whom the wild sequestered region owes,
At this late day, its sanctifying name.
Glyn CAFAILLGAROCH, in the Cambrian tongue,
In ours,

the VALE OF FRIENDSHIP, let this spot
Be named; where, faithful to a low-roofed Cot,
On Deva's banks, ye have abode so long ;
Sisters in love, a love allowed to climb,
Even on this earth, above the reach of Time !


How art thou named? In search of what strange land, To the From what huge height, descending? Can such Torrent at force

the Devil's Of waters issue from a British source,

North Wales
Or hath not Pindus fed thee, where the band
Of Patriots scoop their freedom out, with hand
Desperate as thine? Or come the incessant shocks
From that young Stream, that smites the throbbing

Of Viamala ? There I seem to stand,
As in life's morn; permitted to behold,
From the dread chasm,woodsclimbing abovewoods,
In pomp that fades not; everlasting snows;
And skjes that ne'er relinquish their repose ;
Such power possess the family of floods
Over the minds of Poets, young or old !

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