The cope of heaven seems rent and cloven

By the enchantment of thy strain, And on my shoulders wings are woven, To follow its sublime career,

Beyond the mighty moons that wane

Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere,
Till the world's shadowy walls are past and disappear,
Her voice is hovering o'er my soul-it lingers,
O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings,
The blood and life within those snowy fingers
Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings.
My brain is wild, my breath comes quick
The blood is listening in my frame,
And thronging shadows, fast and thick,
Fall on my overflowing eyes;

My heart is quivering like a flame;

As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies,
I am dissolved in these consuming ecstasies.

I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee;
Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song
Flows on, and fills all things with melody.—
Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong,
On which, like one in trance upborne,

Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep,

Rejoicing like a cloud of morn ;

Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Which, when the starry waters sleep,

Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight.

Shelley.

R

12. BRIDAL SONG.

OOSES, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,

But in their hue;

Maiden pinks, of odour faint,

Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,

And sweet thyme true;

Primrose, first-born child of Ver,
Merry spring-time's harbinger,
With her bells dim;

Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
Lark-heels trim;

All, dear Nature's children sweet,
Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet,
Blessing their sense!

Not an angel of the air,
Bird melodious or bird fair,

Be absent hence!

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough hoar,
Nor chattering pie,

May on our bridehouse perch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,

But from it fly!

Beaumont and Fletcher.

13. THE BRIDE.

JER finger was so small, the ring

HE

Would not stay on which they did bring, It was too wide a peck:

And to say truth (for out it must)

It looked like the great collar (just)
About our young colt's neck.

Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice, stole in and out,
As if they feared the light:

But ho! she dances such a way!
No sun upon an Easter Day
Is half so fine a sight.

Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
No daisy makes comparison,

(Who sees them is undone,)

For streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Katherine pear
The side that's next the sun.

Her lips were red, and one was thin
Compared to that was next her chin,
Some bee had stung it newly.

But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face,
I durst no more upon them gaze,

Than on the sun in July.

Suckling. [From A Ballad upon a Wedding ]

14. THE LOST WIFE.

LONE, by my solitary hearth,

Whence peace hath fled,

And home-like joys and innocent mirth
Are banished;

Silent and sad, I linger to recall

The memory of all

In thee, dear partner of my cares, I lost; Cares, shared with thee, more sweet than joys the world

can boast.

My home-why did I say my home!

Now have I none,

Unless thou from the grave again couldst come,

Beloved one!

My home was in thy trusting heart,

Where'er thou wert;

My happy home in thy confiding breast,

Where my worn spirit refuge found and rest.

I know not if thou wast most fair

And best of womankind;

Or whether earth yet beareth fruits more rare
Of heart and mind;

To ME, I know, thou wert the fairest,

Kindest, dearest,

That heaven to man in mercy ever gave, And more than man from heaven deserved to have.

Never from thee, sweet wife,

Came word or look awry,

Nor peacock pride, nor sullen fit, nor strife
For mastery:

Calm and controlled thy spirit was, and sure
So to endure;

My friend, protectress, guide, whose gentle will Compelled my good, withholding from me ill

No art of selfishness

Thy generous nature knew ;

Thy life all love, thy bliss the power to bless;
Constant and true,

Content, if to thy lot the world should bring
Enduring suffering;

Unhappy, if permitted but to share

Part of my griefs, wouldst both our burthens bear.

My joy, my solace, and my pride

I found thee still :

Whatever change our fortunes might betide

Of good or ill,

Worthier I was life's blessing to receive

While thou didst live;

All that I had of good in others' sight, Reflected shone thy virtue's borrowed light.

The lute unstrung-the meals in silence ate
We wont to share ;

The widowed bed-the chamber desolate,
Thou art not there;

The tear at parting, and the greeting kiss,
Who would not miss?

Endearments fond, and solaced hours, and all

The important trivial things men comfort call.

Oh! mayst thou, if permitted, from above
The starry sphere,

Encompass me with ever-during love,
As thou didst here:

Still be my guardian spirit, lest I be

Unworthy thee;

Still, as on earth, thy grace celestial give,

SO GUIDE MY LIFE AS THOU WOULDST HAVE ME LIVE.

John Fisher Murray.

15. IF I HAD THOUGHT THOU COULDST HAVE DIED.

F I had thought thou couldst have died,

IF

I might not weep for thee;

But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou couldst mortal be.
It never through my mind had past
The time would e'er be o'er,

And I on thee should look my last,
And thou shouldst smile no more.

And still upon that face I look,
And think 'twill smile again;
And still the thought I will not brook
That I must look in vain.

But, when I speak, thou dost not say
What thou ne'er leftst unsaid,
And now I feel, as well I may,
Sweet Mary! thou art dead.