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النشر الإلكتروني

He touched with hesitating hand,
And lo! those Birds, far-famed through Love's

dominions,
The Swans, in triumph clap their wings;
And their necks play, involved in rings,

Like sinless snakes in Eden's happy land ;“ Mine is she," cried the Knight ;- again they

clapped their pinions.

“ Mine was she-mine she is, though dead,
And to her name my soul shall cleave in sorrow;"
Whereat, a tender twilight streak
Of colour dawned upon the Damsel's cheek;

And her lips, quickening with uncertain red, Seemed from each other a faint warmth to borrow.

Deep was the awe, the rapture high,
Of love emboldened, hope with dread entwining,
When, to the mouth, relenting Death
Allowed a soft and flower-like breath,

Precursor to a timid sigh,
To lifted eyelids, and a doubtful shining.

In silence did King Arthur gaze
Upon the signs that pass away or tarry;
In silence watched the gentle strife
Of Nature leading back to life ;

Then eased his Soul at length by praise
Of God, and Heaven's pure Queen - the blissful

Mary

Then said he, “ Take her to thy heart
Sir Galahad! a treasure that God giveth,
Bound by indissoluble ties to thee
Through mortal change and immortality;

Be happy and unenvied, thou who art
A goodly Knight that hath no Peer that liveth!”

Not long the Nuptials were delayed;
And

sage tradition still rehearses The

pomp the glory of that hour
When toward the Altar from her bower

King Arthur led the Egyptian Maid,
And Angels carolled these far-echoed verses ;

Who shrinks not from alliance
Of evil with good Powers,
To God proclaims defiance,
And mocks whom he adores.

A Ship to Christ devoted
From the Land of Nile did go;
Alas ! the bright Ship floated,
An Idol at her Prow.

By magic domination,
The Heaven-permitted vent
Of purblind mortal passion,
Was wrought her punishment.

The Flower, the Form within it, What served they in her need? Her port she could not win it, Nor from mishap be freed.

The tempest overcame her,
And she was seen no more ;
But gently gently blame her,
She cast a Pearl ashore.

The Maid to Jesu hearkened,
And kept to him her faith,
Till sense in death was darkened,
Or sleep akin to death.

But Angels round her pillow
Kept watch, a viewless band ;
And, billow favouring billow,
She reached the destined strand.

Blest Pair ! whate'er befall you,
Your faith in Him

approve Who from frail earth can call

you, To bowers of endless love!

ODE,

COMPOSED ON MAY MORNING,

While from the purpling east departs

The Star that led the dawn,
Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts,

For May is on the lawn.
A quickening hope, a freshening glee,

Foreran the expected Power,
Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and trec,

Shakes off that pearly shower.

All Nature welcomes Her whose sway,

Tempers the year's extremes;
Who scattereth lustres o'er noon-day,

Like morning's dewy gleams ;
While mellow warble, sprightly trill,

The tremulous heart excite; And hums the balmy air to still

The balance of delight.

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