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I consider it to be the natural and healthful food of human nature, given to strengthen, to elevate, to inspire; men would, indeed, be “ brutes without it.”* Who has not observed the temperament and the character of those who profess an indifference to all works of imagination? But even the most obtuse of these have the truths of Poesy stamped within them; and, when such men gaze on a serene Sky, a beautiful Landscape, a fine river, or a lofty Mountain, with sentiments of admiration :-or, on the beauty developed in the moral world—for the rule applies to either—that expression of their admiration, how dull soever it be, is the language of Poetry begun.

One final observation : in a Poem extending itself to nearly six thousand lines, and branching over a subject which is almost infinite, many errors must escape, not only the eyes of the writer, for they are proverbially short-sighted, but those also of literary friends who have interested themselves so far in the work as to go through it with attention. The Author has, however, a noble confidence in his critics: he feels that, whatever errors and inaccuracies may be detected, and justly animadverted on, his la

* Otway.

bours will not be judged, from impressions of its narrower parts, but from the opinion formed of it as a connected whole. For the tone of thought, and the pervading moral of the Poem, he feels that he has no apology to offer

TO THE LADY * * * * *

The Lay hath ceased : the labour of long years :
The latest Vision born from it is fed :
No more the ardent hope inspiring cheers,
That drew erewhile unconscious Fancy's tread


Where paths of Song to heights untrodden led ;
Still doth Fame sit on her immortal shrine,
While Memory points the rays around her spread ;

But my heart answers not that faith divine : Those aspirations now no more, as once, are mine.


Yet I would twine one wreath around the Song,
Even though its leaves should yield no fruit to me!
To bloom unfading : yea, its life prolong
Enduring as this line; for Poesy
Speaks with the solemn Voice of Prophecy,
And tells it shall endure, when thou, so dear,
So hallowed by my heart, shalt cease to be:

Passed — like a shade, or leaf of Autumn sear ;
Even as the Beautiful, for aye, decayeth here!


Then by that face which still Youth's roses tinge
With their last hues that fade upon thy cheek:
By those dark eyes beneath whose shadowy fringe
The star-like lights of thy pure Spirit break
Forth from the Temple of the Mind, that speak
Expression caught through their reflected glow;
And feeling, such as Hope doth vainly seek :

And by that open brow whose tablets show
Thought, deepening to sadness-here thy glance bestow :

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Accept this homage, for it is as pure
As that which Seraphs offer to their God!
All else may pass : but this shall aye, endure
Till he, whom look or word of thine had awed,
Shall be forgotten-buried in the sod;
But the deep feeling thrilling in me now
Shall live beyond me, and perchance record

Its memories of thee ; nay—blame not thou—
It is thy fame, not mine, I proudly thus avow!

And, as in happiest hours, when thou and I
Were, even as one ; while thou, apart enshrined,
Didst lend me something of thy purity;
So be for ever with this verse entwined.
ASTARTE's name inseparably joined:
And this frail record be the monument
To that all unforgotten past consigned,

O’er which shall eyes and hearts approving bent Applaud this tribute given-so rude—so impotent !

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