Gleam'd, topaz-like, the breeches he had on, rainbow shone. His coat seem'd fashion'd of the threads of gold, That intertwine the clouds at sun-set hour, And, certes, Iris with her shuttle bold Wove the rich garment in her lofty bower; To form its buttons were the Pleiads old Pluck'd from their sockets by some geniepower, And sew'd upon the coat's resplendent hem; Its neck was lovely green; each cuff a sapphire gem. And never, since she first began to hop Up Heav'n's blue causeway, of her beams profuse, Shone there a dawn so glorious and so gay, As shines the merry dawn of ANSTER Marketday. Round through the vast circumference of sky One speck of small cloud cannot eye behold, Save in the East some fleeces bright of die, That stripe the hem of heav'n with woolly gold, Whereon are happy angels wont to lie Lolling, in amaranthine flow'rs enroll'd, That they may spy the precious light of God Flung from the blessed East o'er the fair Earth abroad. The fair Earth laughs through all her boundless range, Heaving her green hills high to greet the beam; City and village, steeple, cot and grange, Gilt as with nature's purest leaf-gold seem; The heaths and upland muirs, and fallows, change Their barren brown into a ruddy gleam, And, on ten thousand dew-bent leaves and sprays, Twinkle ten thousand suns and fling their petty rays. Up from their nests and fields of tender corn Right merrily the little sky-larks spring, And on their dew-bedabbled pinions borne, Mount to the heav'n's blue key-stone flickering; They turn their plume-soft bosoms to the For, when the first up-sloping ray was flung On ANSTER Steeple's swallow-harb'ring top, It's bell and all the bells around were rung Sonorous, jangling loud without a stop, For toilingly each bitter beadle swung, Ev'n till he smok'd with sweat, his greasy rope, And almost broke his bell-wheel, ush'ring in The morn of ANSTER-FAIR with tinkle-tankling din. And, from our steeple's pinnacle out-spread, Of brig and sloop that in the harbour lie, Then rose, in burst of hideous symphony. Of pibrochs and of tunes one mingled roar Discordantly the pipes squeal'd sharp and high, The drones alone in solemn concord snore; Five hundred fingers, twinkling funnily, Play twiddling up and down on hole and barr Now passage to the shrilly wind denying. And now a little rais'd to let it out a-sighing Then rung the rocks and caves of Billyness As when the sportsman with repart of 2a And with a wild and barb'rous concert stun | By solemn vision and bright silver dream His cars, and scream, and shriek, and wheel His infancy was nurtured. Every sight And sound from the vast earth and ambient air, away; Scarce can the boatman hear his plashing oar; Yell caves and eyries all, and rings each With weeping flowers, or white cypresswreath, The lone couch of his everlasting sleep:Gentle, and brave, and generous, -- no lorn bard Breathed o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh: He lived, he died, he sang, in solitude. Strangers have wept to hear his passionate notes, And virgins, as unknown he past, have pined And wasted for fond love of his wild eyes. The fire of those orbs has ceased to burn, And silence, too enamoured of that voice, Locks its mute music in her rugged cell. Rugged and dark, winding among the springs Of pearl, and thrones radiant with chrysolite. The Zodiac's brazen mystery, and dead men Hang their mute thoughts on the mute walls around, He lingered, poring in memorials Of the world's youth; through the long burning day Gazed on those speechles shapes, nor, when the moon Filled the mysterious halls with floating Suspended he that task, but ever gazed THE DEDICATION OF THE REVOLT то MARY So now my summer-task is ended, Mary, hour 'And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies Such power; for I grow weary to behold The selfish and the strong still tyrannize Without reproach or check.-I then controuled My tears, my heart grew calm, and I va meek and bold. And from that hour did I with earnest Within me, till there came upon my mind Alas, that love should be a blight and snare The shadow of a starless night, was thrown The toil which stole from thee so many an Over the world in which I moved alone:- Is ended. And the fruit is at thy feet! Which crushed and withered mine, that could not be Aught but a lifeless clog until revived by thee. Thou friend, whose presence on my wintery How beautiful and calm and free thon From his dim dungeon, and my spirit spra No more alone through the world's ness, Although I trod the paths of high intest titude To trample: this was ours, and we unski stood! deathless voice pauses among mankind! If there must be no response to my cryIf men must rise and stamp with fury blind On his pure name who loves them,-thou and I, And from thy side two gentle babes are born | Sweet friend! can look from our tranquillity Two tranquil stars, while clouds are passing by, Which wrap them from the foundering seaman's sight, That burn from year to year with unextinguished light. LINES WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS. SUN-GIRT City, thou hast been Those who alone thy towers behold Quivering through aerial gold, As I now behold them here, Would imagine not they were Sepulchres, where human forms, Like pollution-nourished worms, To the corpse of greatness cling, | Murdered, and now mouldering: But if Freedom should awake In her omnipotence, and shake From the Celtic Anarch's hold All the keys of dungeons cold, Where a hundred cities lie Chained like thee, ingloriously, |