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He touched with hesitating hand,
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 her lips, quickening with uncertain red, Seemed from each other a faint warmth to borrow.
Deep was the awe, the rapture high,
Precursor to a timid sigh,
In silence did King Arthur gaze
Then eased his Soul at length by praise
Then said he, “ Take her to thy heart
Be happy and unenvied, thou who art
Not long the Nuptials were delayed;
sage tradition still rehearses The
pomp the glory of that hour
King Arthur led the Egyptian Maid,
Who shrinks not from alliance
A Ship to Christ devoted
By magic domination,
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,
The Maid to Jesu hearkened,
But Angels round her pillow
Blest Pair ! whate'er befall you,
approve Who from frail earth can call
you, To bowers of endless love!
COMPOSED ON MAY MORNING,
While from the purpling east departs
The Star that led the dawn,
For May is on the lawn.
Foreran the expected Power,
Shakes off that pearly shower.
All Nature welcomes Her whose sway,
Tempers the year's extremes;
Like morning's dewy gleams ;
The tremulous heart excite; And hums the balmy air to still
The balance of delight.