Light was his step,-his hopes, more light,
Kept pace with his desires;
And the fifth morning gave him sight
Of Moscow's glittering spires.
He sued:-heart-smitten by the wrong,
To the lorn Fugitive

The Emperor sent a pledge as strong

As sovereign power could give.

O more than mighty change! If e'er
Amazement rose to pain,
And joy's excess produced a fear

Of something void and vain ;
'Twas when the Parents, who had
mourned

So long the lost as dead, Beheld their only Child returned,

The household floor to tread.

Soon gratitude gave way to love
Within the Maiden's breast;
Delivered and Deliverer move

In bridal garments drest;

Meek Catherine had her own reward;
The Czar bestowed a dower;

And universal Moscow shared
The triumph of that hour.

Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast

Was held with costly state;
And there, 'mid many a noble guest,
The Foster-parents sate;
Encouraged by the imperial eye,
They shrank not into shade;
Great was their bliss, the honour high

To them and nature paid!

THE EGYPTIAN MAID

OR,

THE ROMANCE OF THE WATER LILY

For the names and persons in the following poem, see the "History of the renowned Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table;" for the rest the Author is answerable; only it may be proper to add, that the Lotus, with the bust of the Goddess appearing to rise out of the full-blown flower, was suggested by the beautiful work of ancient art, once included among the Townley Marbles, and now in the British Museum.

In addition to the short notice prefixed to this poem it may be worth while here to say that it rose out of a few words casually used in conversation by my nephew Henry Hutchinson. He was describing with great spirit the appearance and movement of a vessel which he seemed to admire more than any other he had ever seen, and said her name was the Water Lily. This plant has been my delight from my boyhood, as I have seen it floating on the lake; and that conversation put me upon constructing and composing the poem. Had I not heard those words it would never have been written. The form of the stanza is new, and is nothing but a repetition of the first five lines as they were thrown off, and is not perhaps well suited to narrative, and certainly would not have been trusted to had I thought at the beginning that the poem would have gone to such a length.

WHILE Merlin paced the Cornish sands, Forth-looking toward the rocks of Scilly, The pleased Enchanter was aware

Of a bright Ship that seemed to hang in air,

Yet was she work of mortal hands, And took from men her name-THE WATER LILY.

Soft was the wind, that landward blew; And, as the Moon, o'er some dark hill ascendant,

Grows from a little edge of light

To a full orb, this Pinnace bright Became, as nearer to the coast she drew, More glorious, with spread sail and streaming pendant.

1830.

Upon this wingèd Shape so fair Sage Merlin gazed with admiration:

The very swiftest of thy cars

Must, when my part is done, be ready;
Meanwhile, for further guidance, look
Into thy own prophetic book;
And, if that fail, consult the Stars
To learn thy course; farewell! be prompt
and steady."

This scarcely spoken, she again
Was seated in her gleaming shallop,
That, o'er the yet-distempered Deep,
Pursued its way with bird-like sweep,
Or like a steed, without a rein,

Urged o'er the wilderness in sportive gallop.

Soon did the gentle Nina reach
That Isle without a house or haven;
Landing, she found not what she sought,
Nor saw of wreck or ruin aught

But a carved Lotus cast upon the beach By the fierce waves, a flower in marble

graven.

Sad relique, but how fair the while! For gently each from each retreating With backward curve, the leaves revealed The bosom half, and half concealed, Of a Divinity, that seemed to smile On Nina, as she passed, with hopeful greeting.

No quest was hers of vague desire, Of tortured hope and purpose shaken; Following the margin of a bay, She spied the lonely Castaway, Unmarred, unstripped of her attire, But with closed eyes,-of breath and bloom forsaken.

Then Nina, stooping down, embraced,
With tenderness and mild emotion,
The Damsel, in that trance embound;
And, while she raised her from the
ground,

And in the pearly shallop placed,
Sleep fell upon the air, and stilled the ocean.

The turmoil hushed, celestial springs

Of music opened, and there came a blending

Of fragrance, underived from earth, With gleams that owed not to the sun their birth,

And that soft rustling of invisible wings Which Angels make, on works of love descending.

And Nina heard a sweeter voice

Than if the Goddess of the flower had spoken:

"Thou hast achieved, fair Dame! what

none

Less pure in spirit could have done;
Go, in thy enterprise rejoice!

Air, earth, sea, sky, and heaven, success betoken."

So cheered, she left that Island bleak,
A bare rock of the Scilly cluster;
And, as they traversed the smooth brine,
The self-illumined Brigantine

Shed, on the Slumberer's cold wan cheek And pallid brow, a melancholy lustre.

Fleet was their course, and when they

came

To the dim cavern, whence the river