NOR ancient Cities must we overlook; fl
They are the Chronicles of time. The mind
There contemplates the records of our kind,
In glory and in grief as in a book.
This City once by Pestilence was struck;
And on this lofty platform, where the windre
Now freshly blows, a thousand bodies, blind
And breathless, lay, and sent down from the rock,
Even on the wings of the sea-breeze, the breath
Of loathsome Pestilence and bloated Death.
These bodies found a grave within this shore;
Deep in the bosom of the cliff they lie,-
And, when the sea gives up his dead, will soar
Hence on the wings of Immortality.
HERE stood Diana's Temple-here her shrine,
Wrought of pure silver by her votaries,
Like her own moonbeams sleeping on the seas
In loveliness by Neptune felt divine,
When from the blue sky she was wont to shine
On his rough breast. Alike their destinies:
The Sea-god sighs no longer in the breeze;
This temple and that crescent are not thine,
Chaste Dian, for in that resplendent moon
Faith sees thee not. Though here thy temple stood,
This ruined wall alone escapes the flood.
Neptune no longer fills his coral throne,
Nor holds his trident. But a mightier GoD
Broods o'er the waters, viewless and alone.
ERE Asiatic wanderers had made
Their choice of this lone shore, this "holy way"
Was a rude forest darkening all the bay.
Here Druids, in the consecrated shade
Of mighty trees which their large arms outspread,
Performed their rites abhorred. Before the Day
Of the bright Sun of Righteousness did fade
The light of all false Gods,-and passed away.
Beneath this church some early Christians found
A secret hold of safety from the sword
Of heathen persecution, where the LORD
Was worshipped by the faithful under ground, Where reptiles breed, and where the earthworm
More purely than in decorated stalls.
WRITTEN AFTER A STORM 15.
How fragrant and how balmy is the air;
The morning breezes freshen as they move,
Loaded with incense, as the God of Love
Waves o'er the Cyprian Isle his pinions fair,
Last night dull Sleep aroused him from his lair;
Lightning with his forked shafts the rent sky clove;
The thunder rolled;-and shouting from above,
Echo responded loudly.-In despair
Affrighted Silence flew from her lone rock,
And deafening peals of thunder filled the Vale:
The rain fell heavily:-shock after shock,
Borne on the wings of lightning, told a tale
Not unremembered.-But the morning sky
Breathes beauty, softness, and serenity.
WERE we not sometimes, with the voice of thunder,
Roused from our sluggish lethargy of mind,
As waters which chill frosts chain up and bind, :(
Feeling, sensation, thought, would stagnate under
The weight, the presence of Earth's grossness;
wonder
Would be unknown to us; and to unwind T
The web of thought as strange, as for the blind
To hold discourse of colours without blunder.
Thus I, who almost idolize each form
Of Nature, which is wayward as a child,
Love her at rest, nor love her less in storm, //
For then I view her charms sublimely wild-
A beauty, which no terrors can deform,
Doubling the softness of her face when mild.
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