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They, the best corrupting, had made it worse than
the vilest. Wherefore Heaven decreed th' enthusiast warrior
of Mecca, Choosing good from iniquity rather than evil from
goodness. Loud the tumult in Mecca surrounding the fane
of the idol ;Naked and prostrate the priesthood were laid-the
people with mad shouts Thundering now, and now with saddest ululation Flew, as over the channel of rock-stone the ruinous
river Shatters its waters abreast, and in mazy uproar be
wilder'd, Rushes dividuous all—all rushing impetuous on
CATULLIAN HENDECASYLLABLES. * HEAR, my beloved, an old Milesian story!
High, and embosom'd in congregated laurels, Glimmer'd a temple upon a breezy headland; In the dim distance amid the skiey billows Rose a fair island; the god of flocks had placed it. From the far shores of the bleak resounding island Oft by the moonlight a little boat came floating, Came to the sea-cave beneath the breezy headland, Where amid myrtles a pathway stole in mazes Up to the groves of the high embosom'd temple. There in a thicket of dedicated roses,
eely translated from Mathisson's Milesisches Mährchen.
Oft did a priestess, as lovely as a vision,
DUTY SURVIVING SELF-LOVE, THE ONLY SURE FRIEND OF DECLINING LIFE.
A SOLILOQUY. UNCHANGED within to see all changed without
Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt. Yet why at others' wanings should'st thou fret ? Then only might'st thou feel a just regret, Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy light In selfish forethought of neglect and slight. O wiselier then, from feeble yearnings freed, While, and on whom, thou may'st-shine on ! nor
heed Whether the object by reflected light Return thy radiance or absorb it quite : And though thou notest from thy safe recess Old friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air, Love them for what they are ; nor love them less, Because to thee they are not what they were.
PHANTOM OR FACT?
A DIALOGUE IN VERSE.
A LOVELY form there sate beside my bed,
And such a feeding calm its presence shed,
A tender love so pure from earthly leaven,
AUTHOR. Call it a moment's work (and such it seems) This tale's a fragment from the life of dreams; But say, that years matured the silent strife, And 'tis a record from the dream of life.
All accident of kin and birth,
* i.e. scarcely, hardly.--Ed.
WORK WITHOUT HOPE.*
LINES COMPOSED 2IST FEBRUARY,† 1827. ALL Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
YOUTH AND AGE. I
Where Hope clung § feeding, like a bee-
When I was young !
* Printed in The Bijou, Lond., William Pickering, 1828. + On a day in February–Bijou.
# Printed in The Bijou, 1828, and in The Literary Souvenir of the same date.
When I was young ?-Ah, woful when !
Flowers are lovely ; Love is flower-like ;
Ere I was old !
* This house of clay–Bijou.