No human dreams disturb the soul,
Whose thoughts, like giant-billows, roll
'Mid darksome ages hoary;
When light upon the human mind

Dawn'd faintly, and the world was blind
With superstitious story.

When fairies, with their silver bells,
Were habitants of earthly dells,

All sheathed in emerald dresses;
And mermaids, from the rock, were seen
At sea, and every wave between,
Combing their dewy tresses.

When wither'd hags their orgies kept,
'Mid darksome night; when Nature slept,
And tempests threaten'd danger;
Sheer, from the precipice to throw
Down-down among the rocks below,
The lorn, benighted stranger.

When grim, before the vision stalk'd
Such figures as no longer walk'd
The upper world; and faces

Of men that on their death-beds lay,
As twilight spreads her shades of grey,
Were seen in desert places.

Then, glittering to the morning sun,
With casque, and sable morion,

And greaves, and cuirass glancing,
The knight, and vassals at his call,
On battle-feud forsook the hall,

A thousand chargers prancing.

Dark deeds were done-and blood was shed

In secret, and the spirit led

To fury, and to madness;

Hearths quench'd; and black walls smoking round;

And children's blood upon the ground;

And widows left in sadness.

Then, from her cloister wall, the nun
Gazed anxious towards the setting sun,
Descending o'er the ocean;

Till startled by the deep-toned bell,
That summon'd her from lonely cell
To eventide devotion.

Then, from the tilt and tournay, came
The youthful knight, with soul of flame,
His lady's rights defending;

The glove upon his cap on high;
And love unto his falcon eye
Redoubled ardour lending.

Or at the Louvre-while his steed
Shot forward with the lightning's speed,

'Mid courtly crowds assembled,

The gallant bore the ring away,
And turning to his mistress gay,

Their meeting glances trembled.

Now all have pass'd-their halls are bare-
The ravens only harbour there;

And restless owls are hooping
Around the vaults, as if to bring,
Day's rosy lustre withering,
Departed spirits trooping.

A giant ruin !-grimly frown

Its walls of grey, and roof of brown;
Its watch-towers dimly throwing
Their shadows in the pure moonlight
Far from them, and to wizard night
A doubled power bestowing.

With hound in leash, and hawk in hood,
The forester, through pale and wood,
From morn till eve was roaming
'Mid scenes majestically wild—

Dark mountains huge, o'er mountains piled,
Begirt with torrents foaming.

And o'er the precipices bleak,
At pride of place, the eagle's shriek,
Beneath the tempest. scowling,

Dismal he heard, afar from men,
In wastes where foxes made their den,
And famish'd wolves were howling.

No voice is heard-'tis silence all-
The steed hath vanish'd from the stall,
The hawk and hound have perish'd;
Lichens o'erspread the orchard trees,
The flowers and shrubs sigh to the breeze,
For gone are they who cherish'd.

STANZAS ON THE CLOSE OF A YEAR. AND it hath gone into the grave of time— The past-the mighty sepulchre of all!

That solemn sound-the midnight's mournful

chime,

Was its deep dead-bell-but within the hall
The old and young hold gladsome festival.-
What hath it left them thus to cause such joy ?—
Gray hairs to some-and hearts less green to all,
And fewer steps to where their fathers lie

Low in the church-yard cell-cold-dark-and silently!

Strange time for mirth !-when round the leafless tree

The wild winds of the winter moan and sigh,
And while the twilight saddens o'er the lea,
Mute every woodland's evening melody-
Mute the wide landscape-save where, hurrying by,
Roars the dark torrent on its headlong flight,
Or, slowly sailing through the black'ning sky,
Hoots unto solitude the bird of night,

Seeking the domeless wall-the turret's hoary height.

And yet with Nature, sooth, we need not grieve; She does not heed the woes of human kind; No for the tempests howl, the waters heave Their hoary hills unto the raging wind,

And the poor bark no resting-place can find; And friends on shore shall weep-and weep in vain,

For, to the ruthless elements consign'd,

The seaman's corpse is drifting through the main, Ne'er to be seen by them, nor heard of e'er again!

Now o'er the skies the orbs of light are spread, And through yon shoreless sea they wander on ;—

Where is the place of your abode, ye dead?
To what far regions have your spirits gone?
But ye are silent-silent as the stone

That gathers moss above your bed of rest,
And from the land of souls returneth none
To tell us of the place to which we haste;
But time will tell us all-and time will tell us best.

How still-how soft-and yet how dread is all The scene around!-the silent earth and air! What glorious lamps are hung in Night's high hall! Her dome so vast, magnificent, and fair! Oh! for an angel's wing to waft me there! How sweet, methinks, e'en for one little day, To leave this cold, dull sphere of cloud and care, And, midst the immortal bowers above, to stray In lands of light and love-unblighted by decay!

Surely there is a language in the sky-
A voice that speaketh of a world to come ;
It swells from out thy depths, Immensity!
And tells us this is not our final home.

As the toss'd bark, amidst the ocean's foam,
Hails, through the gloom, the beacon o'er the

wave;

So from life's troubled sea, o'er which we roam, The stars, like beacon-lights beyond the grave, Shine through the deep, o'er which our barks we hope to save!

Now gleams the moon on Arthur's mighty crest, That dweller of the air-abrupt and lone; Hush'd is the city in her nightly rest;

But hark!-there comes a sweet and solemn tone,