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XLI. Motionless resting on the lake awhile, I saw its marge of snow-bright mountains rear Their peaks aloft, I saw each radiant isle, And in the midst, afar, even like a sphere Hung in one ' hollow sky, did there appear The Temple of the Spirit; on the sound Which issued thence, drawn nearer and more
near, Like the swift moon this glorious earth
around, The charmed boat approached, and there its
haven found. ? Probably, but not certainly, one is a misprint for the. -ED.
ROSALIND AND HELEN,
A MODERN ECLOGUE;
ADVERTIZEMENT. THE story of “ROSALIND AND HELEN” is, undoubtedly, not an attempt in the highest style of poetry. It is in no degree calculated to excite profound meditation; and if, by interesting the affections and amusing the imagination, it awaken a certain ideal melancholy favourable to the reception of more important impressions, it will produce in the reader all that the writer experienced in the composition. I resigned myself, as I wrote, to the impulse of the feelings which moulded the conception of the story, and this impulse determined the pauses of a measure, which only pretends to be regular inasmuch as it corresponds with, and expresses, the irregularity of the imaginations which inspired it.
I do not know which of the few scattered poems I left in England will be selected by my bookseller, to add to this collection. One,