In the golden lightning

Of the sunken sun,

O'er which clouds are brightening,
Thou dost float and run,

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 15

The pale, purple even

Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of heaven,

In the broad daylight,

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill

delight:

20

Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows

In the white dawn clear,

Until we hardly see, we feel that it is here.

All the earth and air

With thy voice is loud,
As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud

The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.

What thou art we know not;

What is most like thee?

From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see,

25

30

As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.3 25

Like a poet hidden

In the light of thought,
Singing hymus unbidden,
Till the world is wrought

To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded

Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden

Its aërial hue

Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:

Like a rose embowered 5
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflowered,
Till the scent it gives

Makes faint with too much sweet these heavywinged thieves."

Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,
All that ever was

Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth

surpass.

Teach us, sprite or bird,

What sweet thoughts are thine;

I have never heard

Praise of love or wine.

50

55

60

That panteth forth a flood of rapture so divine. 65

What objects are the fountains

Of thy happy strain?

What fields, or waves, or mountains?
What shapes of sky or plain?

What love of thine own kind? what ignorance

of pain?

70

Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,

8

Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal" stream?

We look before and after,

And pine for what is not:

Our sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught: 10

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest

thought.

Yet if we could scorn

Hate, and pride, and fear;

If we were things born

Not to shed a tear,

I know not how thy joy we ever should come

near.

Better than all measures

Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures

That in books are found,

Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the

ground!

Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious 11 madness
From my lips would flow,

The world should listen then, as I am listening

now.

75

80

85

90

95

NOTES TO A SKYLARK.

1 Unpremeditated, unstudied, not prepared beforehand.

2 Sphere. world.

3 Melody, sweet song.

4 Aerial, belonging to the air, unreal. 5 Embowered, hidden.

6 Heavy-winged thieves, the winds

laden with perfume stolen from the rose.

7 Vernal, relating to springtime. 8 Deem, think, judge. 9 Crystal, pure, clear. 10 Fraught, laden.

11 Harmonious, tuneful.

THE VISION OF MIRZA.

3

1. When I was at Grand Cairo1 I picked up several Oriental2 manuscripts, which I have still by me. Among others, I met with one entitled “The Visions of Mirza," which I have read over with great pleasure. I intend to give it to the public when I have no other entertainment for them; and shall begin with the first vision, which I have translated word for word as follows:

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5

2. "On the fifth day of the moon, which, according to the custom of my forefathers, I always keep holy, after having washed myself and offered up my morning devotions I ascended the high hills of Bagdat, in order to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation on the vanity of human life; and passing from one thought to another, Surely,' said I, 'man is but a shadow, and life a dream.'

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3. "Whilst I was thus musing, I cast mine

P