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النشر الإلكتروني

Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill-
With nothing livid, still her lips were red;
She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still;
No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead;
Corruption came not in each mind to kill

All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred
New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul-
She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.

The ruling passion, such as marble shows
When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there;
But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws
O'er the fair Venus, yet for ever fair;
O'er the Laocoon's all eternal throes,

And ever-dying gladiator's air,—

Their energy, like life, forms all their fame,
Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.

She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,
Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new,
A strange sensation, which she must partake
Perforce, since whatsoever met her view
Struck not her memory, though a heavy ache
Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true,
Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,
For, for a while, the furies made a pause.

She look'd on many a face with vacant eye,
On many a token without knowing what ;
She saw them watch her without asking why;
And reck'd not who around her pillow sat;
Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh
Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat
Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave
No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.

Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not;

Her father watch'd, she turn'd her eyes away;

She recognised no being, and no spot,

However dear or cherish'd in their day;
They changed from room to room, but all forgot,
Gentle, but without memory, she lay;

At length those eyes, which they would fain be weaning
Back to old thoughts, wax'd full of fearful meaning.

There the large olive rains its amber store

In marble fonts; there grain, and flower, and fruit, Gush from the earth until the land runs o'er;

But there, too, many a poison-tree has root,
And midnight listens to the lion's roar,

And long, long deserts scorch the camel's foot,
Or heaving whelm the helpless caravan;
And as the soil is, so the heart of man.

Afric is all the sun's, and as her earth
Her human clay is kindled, full of power
For good or evil; burning from its birth,

The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour,
And like the soil beneath it will bring forth :

Beauty and love were Haidée's mother's dower; But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source.

Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,
Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair,
Till slowly charged with thunder they display
Terror to earth, and tempest to the air,
Had held till now her soft and milky way;

But overwrought with passion and despair,
The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins,
Even as the Simoon sweeps the blasted plains.

The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore,
And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down;
His blood was running on the very floor

Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own:
Thus much she view'd an instant and no more,-
Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan ;
On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held
Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd.

A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes
Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er;
And her head droop'd, as when the lily lies

O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd handmaids bore Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes;

Of herbs and cordials they produced their store,
But she defied all means they could employ,
Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy.

Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill—
With nothing livid, still her lips were red;
She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still;
No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead;
Corruption came not in each mind to kill

All hope; to look upon her sweet face bred
New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul—
She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.

The ruling passion, such as marble shows
When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there;
But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws
O'er the fair Venus, yet for ever fair;
O'er the Laocoon's all eternal throes,
And ever-dying gladiator's air,-
Their energy, like life, forms all their fame,
Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.

She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,
Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new,
A strange sensation, which she must partake
Perforce, since whatsoever met her view
Struck not her memory, though a heavy ache
Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true,
Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,
For, for a while, the furies made a pause.

She look'd on many a face with vacant eye,
On many a token without knowing what;
She saw them watch her without asking why;
And reck'd not who around her pillow sat;
Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh
Relieved her thoughts; dull silence and quick chat
Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave
No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.

Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not;
Her father watch'd, she turn'd her eyes away;

She recognised no being, and no spot,
However dear or cherish'd in their day;
They changed from room to room, but all forgot,
Gentle, but without memory, she lay;

At length those eyes, which they would fain be weaning
Back to old thoughts, wax'd full of fearful meaning.

LOVE OF FAME.

Nature cares not

Although her loveliness should ne'er be seen
By human eyes, or praised by human tongues.
The cataract exults among the hills,

And wears its crown of rainbows all alone.
Libel the ocean on his tawny sands;

Write verses in his praise ;-the unmoved sea
Erases both alike. Alas for man!

Unless his fellows can behold his deeds

He cares not to be great.

ALEXANDER SMITH.

DUTY.

Powers depart,

Possessions vanish, and opinions change,
And passions hold a fluctuating seat:

But, by the storms of circumstance unshaken,
And subject neither to eclipse nor wane,
Duty exists; immutably survives,

For our support, the measures and the forms
Which an abstract intelligence supplies;

Whose kingdom is where time and space are not.

A LOFTY MIND.

WORDSWORTH.

His thoughts are so much higher than his state
That, like a mountain hanging o'er a hut,
They chill and darken it.

ENVY AND LOVE.

BEDDOES.

Envy detects the spots in the clear orb of light,
And Love, the little stars in the gloomiest saddest night.
R. C. TRENCH.

DAWN AFTER A REVEL.

You've sat the night out, Masters! See, the moon
Lies stranded on the pallid coast of morn.

A. SMITH.

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