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Nor cause for such: they call'd me inad--and why? Thy brother hates—but I can not detest,
Oh Leonora! wilt not thou reply?

Thou pitiest not-but I can not forsake.
I was indeed delirious in my heart
To lift my love so lofty as thou art;

V.
But still my frenzy was not of the mind;
I knew my fault, and feel my punishment

Look on a love which knows not to despair, Not less because I suffer it uubent.

But all unquench'd is still my better part, That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind,

Dwelling deep in my shut and silent heart Hath been the sin which shuts me from mankind :

As dwells the gather'd lightning in its cloud, But let them go, or torture as they will,

Encompass'd with its dark and rolling shroud,

Till struck,--forth flies the all-ethereal dart! My heart can multiply thine image still; Successful love may sate itself away,

And thus at the collision of thy name The wretched are the faithful; 't is their fate

The vivid thought still flashes through my frame. To have all feeling save the one decay,

And for a moment all things as they were

Flit by me;—they are gone-I am the same. And every passion into one dilate, As rapid rivers into ocean pour;

And yet my love without ambition grew;

I knew thy state, my station, and I knew But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore.

A princess was no love-mate for a bard;

I told it not, I breathed it not, it was
III.

Sufficient to itself, its own reward;
Above me, hark! the long and maniac cry

And if my eyes reveal'd it, they, alas! Of minds and bodies in captivity.

Were punishi'd by the silentness of thine, And hark! the lash and the increasing howl,

And yet I did not venture to repine. And the half inarticulate blasphemy!

Thou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine, There be some bere with worse than frenzy foul, Worshipp'd at holy distance, and around Some who do still goad on the o'er-laboard mind, Hallow'd and meekly kiss'd the saintly ground; And dim the little light that's left behind

Not for thou wert a princess, but that love With needless torture, as their tyrant will

Had robed thee with a glory, and array'd Is wound up to the lust of doing ill:

Thy lineaments in beauty that dismay'dWith these and with their victims am I classid, Oh! not dismay'd-but awed, like One above; *Mid sounds and sights like these long years have passid ; And in that sweet severity there was *Mid sights and sounds like these my life may close : A something which all softuess did surpassSo let it be- for then I shall repose.

I know not how-thy genius master'd mine

My star stood still before thee:- if it were
IV.

l'resumptuous thus to love without design, I have been patient, let me be so yet;

That sad fatality hath cost me dear; I had forgotten half I would forget,

But thou art dearest still, and I should be But it revives--oh! would it were my lot

Fit for this cell, which wrongs me, but for thee. To be forgelful as I am forgot!~

The very love which lock'd me to my chain Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell

Hath lighten'd half its weight; and for the rest, In this vast lazar-house of many woes?

Though heavy, lent me vigour to sustain, Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind,

And look to thee with undivided breast,
Nor words a language, nor ev'n men mankinii;

And foil the ingenuity of pain.
Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows,
And each is tortured in his separate hell
For we are crowded in our solitudes-

It is no marvel-from my very birth
Many, but each divided by the wall,

My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods ;- And mingle with whate' er I saw on earth ; While all can hear, none heed his neighbour's call- Of objects all inanimate I made None! save that One, the veriest wretch of all,

Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers, Who was not made to be the mate of these,

And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise, Nor bound between distraction and disease.

Where I did lay me down within the shade Feel I not wroth with those who placed me here? Of waving frees, and dream'd uncounted hours, Who have debased me in the minds of men, Though I was chid for wandering; and the wise Debarring me the usage of my own,

Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said Blighting my life in best of its career,

Of such materials wretched men were made, Branding my thoughts as things to shun and fear? And such a truant boy would end in woe, Would I not pay them back these pangs again, And that the only lesson was a blow; And teach them inward sorrow's stilled groan? And then they smole me, and I did not weep, The struggle to be calm, and cold distress,

But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt Which undermines our stoical success ?

Return'd and wept alone, and dream'd again No!-still too proud to be viudictive-I

The visions which arise without a sleep. Hlave pardou'd princes' insults, and would die. And with my years my soul began to pant Yes, sister of my sovereign! for thy sake

With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain ; I weed all bitterness from out my breast

And the whole heart exhaled into one want, It hath no business where thou art a guest,

But undefined and wandering, till the day

VI.

I found the thing I sought--and that was thice ;
And then I lost my being, all to be
Absorbd in thine-the world was past away-
Thou didst annihilate the earth to me!

VII.
I loved all solitude-but little thought
To spend I know not what of life, remote
From all communion with existence, save
The maniac and his tyrant : had I been
Their fellow, many years cre this had seen
My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave;
But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave ?
Perchaucc in such a cell we suffer more
Than the wreck'd sailor on his desert shore;
The world is all before luim-mine is here,
Scarce twice the space they must accord my

bier. What though he perish, he may lift his eye And with a dying glance upbraid the sky?-I will not raise my own in such reproof, Although it is clouded by my dungeon roof.

VIII. Yet do I feel at times my mind decline, But with a sense of its decay:-1 sce Lowonted lights alony my prison shine, And a strange demon, who is vexing me With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below The feeling of the healthful and the free; But much to one, who long hath suffer'd so, Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place, And all that may be borne, or can debase. I thought mine enemies had been but man, But spirits may be leagued with them-all earila Abandons-Ileaven forgets me;-in the dearth Of such defence the powers of evil can, It may be, tempt me further, and prevail Against the outworn creature they assail. Why in this furnace is my spirit proved Like steel in tempering fire! because I loved ! Because I loved what not to love, and see, Was more or less than mortal, and than me.

IX. I once was quick in feeling-that is o'er ;My scars are callous, or I should have dashid My brain against these bars as the sun flash d In mockery through them ;-if I bear and bore The much I have recounted, and the more Which liath no words, 't is that I would not die And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie Which snared me here, and with the brand of shame Stainp madness deep into my memory, And woo compassion to a blighted namne, Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim. No-it shall be immortal !-and I make A future temple of my present cell, Which nations yet shall visit for my

sake.
While thou Ferrara! when no longer dwell
The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down,
Aud crumbling piece-meal view thy hearthless balls,
A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,
A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,
While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls !
And tlou, Leonora! thou- who wert ashamed
That such as I could love-who blush'd to hear
To less than monarchis that thou couldst be dear,
Go! tell thy brother that my heart, untamed
By grief, years, weariness-and it may be
A taint of that he would impule to me,
From long infection of a den like this,
Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss, -
Adores thee still;--and add-that when the towers
And butteinents which guard his joyous hours
Of banquel, dance, and revel, are forgot,
Or left uutended in a dull

repose,
This-this shall be a consecrated spot!
But thou—when all that birth and beauty throws
Of magic round thee is extinct-shalı have
One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave.
No power in death can tear our names apart,
As none in life could rend thee from my heart.
Yes, Leonora ! it sliall be our fate
To be entwined for ever-but too late!

Hebrew Melodies.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend, the lou. D. Kinnaird, for a Selection of Hebrew Melodies, and have been published, with the music, arranged by Mr Brauam and Mr NATIAN.

And all that is best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow d 10 that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express llow pure,

low dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The siniles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,

A heari whose love is innocent!

TIEBREW MELODIES.

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. She walks in beauty, like the night

of cloudless cimes and starry skies,

But we must wander witheringly,

In other lands to die;
And where our fathers' ashes be,

Our own may never lie:
Our temple hath not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's thrope.

THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT. Tue harp the monarch minstrel swept,

The king of men, the loved of Heaven, Which Music hallow'd while she wept

O'er tones her heart of hearts had given.

Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven! It softend men of iron mould,

It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold,

That felt not, fired not to the tone,

Till David's lyre grew mightier than bis throne! It told the triumphs of our king,

It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladden'd valleys ring,

The cedars bow, the mountains nod;

Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode ! Since then, though heard on earth no more,

Devotion and her daughter Love
Still bid the bursting spirit soar

To sounds that seem as from above,
In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.

OH! WEEP FOR THOSE. On! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell Mourn—where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell ! And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet? And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet? And Judah's melody once more rejoice The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice? Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, How shall ye flee away and be at rest ! The wild-dove hath ber nest, the fox his cave, Mankind their country—Israel but the grave!

IF THAT HIGH WORLD. Ir that high world, which lies beyond

Our own, surviving love endears; If there the cherish d heart be fond,

The eye the same, except in tearsHow welcome those untrodden spheres !

How sweet this very hour to die ! To soar from earth, and find all fears

Lost in thy light-Eternity! It must be so: 't is not for self

That we so tremble on the brink; And striving to o'erleap the gulf,

Yet cling to being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think

To hold each heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink,

And soul in soul grow deathless theirs !

ON JORDAN'S BANKS. On Jordan's banks the Arabs' camels stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steepYet there-even there-Oh God! thy thunders sleep : There—where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone ! There-- where thy shadow to thy people shone! Thy glory shrouded in its carb of fire : Thyself -none living see and not expire! Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear! Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear : How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod? How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God!

THE WILD GAZELLE.
The wild gazelle on Judah's hills

Exulting yet may bound,
And drink from all the living rills

That gush on holy ground;
Its airy step and glorious eye

May glance in tameless transport by: A step as fleet, an eye more bright,

Hath Judah witness'd there; And o'er her scenes of lost delight

Inhabitants more fair.
The cedars wave on Lebanon,
But Judah's statelier maids are gone!
More blest each palm that shades those plains

Than Israel's scatter d race;
For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace:
It cannot quit its place of birth,
It will not live in other earth.

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. Since our country, our God-Oh, my sire! Demand that thy daughter expire; Sioce thy triumph was bought by thy vowStrike the bosom that's bared for thee now! And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And the mountains bebold me no more : If the hand that I love lay me low, There cannot be pain in the blow! And of this, oh, my father ! be sureThat the blood of thy child is as pure As the blessing I beg ere it flow, And the last thought that soothes me below. Though the virgins of Salem lament, Be the judge and the hero unbent! I have won the great battle for thee, And my father and country are free! When this blood of thy giving hath gushd, When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd, Let my memory still be thy pride, And forget not I smiled as I died !

The triumphs of her chosen sop,

The slaughters of his sword! The deeds he did, the fields he won,

The freedom he restored!

OH! SNATCH'D AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM.

On! spatch'd away in beauty's bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;

But on thy turf shall roses rear

Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom :
And oft by yon blue gushing stream

Shall sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream;

And lingering pause, and lightly tread,

Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away! we know that tears are vain,

That death or heeds nor hears distress :
Will this unteach us to complain?

Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou, who tellst me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, ihine eyes are wet.

Though thou art fall'n, while we are free

Thou shalt not taste of death! The generous blood that flowd from thee

Disdain'd to sink beneath :
Within our veins its currents be,

Thy spirit on our breath :
Thy name, our charging hosts along

Shall be the battle-word!
Thy fall, the theme of choral song

From virgin voices pour'd!
To weep would do thy glory wrong:

Thou shall not be deplored.

SONG OF SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.
WARRIORS and cliefs! should the shaft or the sword
Pierce me in leading the host of the Lord,
leed not the corse, though a king's, in your path :
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!

MY SOUL IS DARK. My soul is dark. -Oh! quickly string

The barp 1 yet can brook to lear; And let thy gentle lingers tling

Jis meliing murmurs o'er minc ear. If in this heart a hope be dear,

That sound shall charm it forth again; If in these eyes there lurk a tear, 'T will flow, and cease to burn my

brain : But bid the strain be wild and deep,

Nor let thy notes of joy be first: I tell thee, minstre), I must weep,

Or else this heavy heart will burst; For it hath been by sorrow nurst,

And ached in sleepless silence long; And now 't is doom'd to know the worst,

And break at once-or yield to song.

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I SAW THEE WEEP.

I saw thee weep-the big briclit tear

Camc o'er that cye of blue;
And then methought it did appear

A violet dropping dew:
I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze

Beside thee ceased to shine,
It could not match the living rays

That filled that glance of thine.
As clouds from yonder sun receive

A deep and mellow dye, Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Cau banish from the sky,
Those smiles upto the moodiest mind

Their own purr joy import;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind

That lightens o'er the licart.

Thou whose spell can raise the dead,

Bid the propliet's form appear. « Samuel, raise thy buried head!

king, behold the plantom seer!» Earth yawn'd; be stood the centre of a cloud: Light changed its huc, retiring from his shroud : Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye ; llis hand was withier'd and lis veins were dry; Ilis foot, iu bony whiteness, glitter'd there, Shrunken and sinewless, and ghasily bare : From lips that moved not and unbreathing frame. Like cavernd winds, the hollow accents came. Saul saw, and fell to earth, as fills the oak, At once, and blasted by the thunder-stroke.

Why

is

my sleep disquieted ? Who is he that calls the dead? Kit thou, oli king? Behold, Bloodlessire these limbs, and cold : Such are mine; and such shall be Thine, to-morrow, when with me: Ere the coming day is done, Such shalt thou be, such thy son. Fare thee well, but for a day; Then we mix our mouldering clay. Thou, iby race, lic pale and low, Pierced by shafts of many a bow:

THY DAYS ARE DONE.

Tuy days are done, thy fame begun;

Thy country's straius record

And the falchion by thy side
To thy heart thy band shall guide:
Crownless, breathless, headless fall,
Son and sire, the house of Saul!»

Au age shall fleet like earthly year;

Ius years as moments shall endure. Away, a way, without a wing,

O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing,

Forgetting what it was to die.

* ALL IS VANITY, SAITH THE PREACHER.” Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine,

And health and youth possess'd me;
My goblets blush'd from every vine,

And lovely forms caress'd me;
I suno'd my heart in beauty's eyes,

And felt my soul grow tender;
All earth can give, or mortal prize,

Was mine of regal splendour.
I strive to number o'er what days

Remembrance can discover,
Which all that life or earth displays

Would lure me to live over.
There rose no day, there roll'd no hour

Of pleasure unem bitter'd;
And not a trapping deck'd my power

That galld not while it glitter'd.
The serpent of the field, by art

And spells, is won from barming;
But that which coils around the heart,

Oh! who hath power of charming?
It will not list to wisdom's lore,

Nor music's voice can lure it;
But there it stings for evermore

The soul that must endure it.

VISION OF BELSHAZZAR. Tue king was on his throne,

The satraps throng'd the hall;
A thousand bright lamps shone

O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold,

In Judah deemd divine-
Jehovah's vessels hold

The godless heathen's wine!
In that same hour and hall,

The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,

Aud wrote as if on sand :
The fingers of a man,

A solitary hand
Along the letters ran,

And traced them like a wand. The monarch saw, and shook,

And bade no more rejoice; All bloodless wax'd his look,

Aud tremulous his voice. « Let the men of lore appear,

The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear

Which mar our royal mirth.» Chaldea's seers are good,

But here they have no skill ; And the unknown letters stood,

Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age

Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not safe,

They saw-but knew no more. A captive in the land,

A stranger and a youth, lle heard the king's command,

He saw ibat writing's truth. The lamps around were bright,

The prophecy in view; He read it on that night,

The morrow proved it true. « Belshazzar's grave is made,

His kingdom pass'd away; He, in the balance weighid,

Is light and worthless clay. The shroud, his robe of state,

His canopy, the stone; The Mede is at his gale!

The Persian on his throne »

WHEN COLDNESS WRAPS THIS SUFFERING

CLAY.
When coldness wraps this suffering clay,

Ah, whither strays the immortal mind?
It cannot die, it cannot stay,

But leaves its darkeu'd dust behind.
Then, unembodied, doth it trace

By steps each planet's heavenly way?
Or fill at once the realms of space,

A thing of eyes, that all survey!
Eternal, boundless, undecay'd,

A thought unseen, but seeing all,
All, all in earth, or skies display'd,

Shall it survey, shall it recal:
Each fainter trace that mcmory holds,

So darkly of departed years,
In one broad glance the soul beholds,

And all, that was, at once appears.
Before creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll through chaos back :
And where the furthest heavey bad birth,

The spirit trace its rising track.
And where the future mars or makes,

Ils glance dilate o'er all to be,
While sun is queoclid or system breaks,

Fix'd in its own eternity.
Above or love, hope, hale, or fear,

It lives all passionless and pure :

SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS! Sun of the sleepless ! melancholy star! Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far,

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