PART IV.

'T was now the hour,

that boding hour of life,

When half-awakened forms of care or strife

Mix with the broken dream,—that shadowy hour, That like a spectre stands 'twixt night and day, For good or ill, and with his finger gray Points to the daily doom no mortal power, For virtue or for vice, can either change or stay.

And never came that hour more winning mild
To mar the fancies of a sleeping child,
Than now it came to our sweet Philomel.
She looked abroad upon the hueless wood,
Then on the sandy plain, where lately stood
That breathing multitude no tongue could tell;
All, all was still and blank, yet all to her was good.

For e'en the stillness seemed as if a part

Of that pure peace that wrapt her gentle heart.
Then how like thoughts, or rather like the cloud
Of formless feeling growing into thought,
The dusky mass, as now she sees it wrought
Slow into shapes, that all around her crowd,

As each their hue of life from day's first herald caught,—

The purple rack, that from the eastern sky
Tells to the waking earth that day is nigh.
So mused she undepressed in this lone scene.
But now the sun is up; and soon a train,
Led by the wily Thrush, athwart the plain

Is seen to bend. More gorgeous sight, I ween, Ne'er made the ethereal bow when bent through morning rain!

The tenants of the wood what this might mean Quick gathered round to learn; for they had seen The stranger band afar, like some gray mist, Loosed from a mountain peak, wreathing its way Slow up the west; and there anon to play As with the sun; now, dark, his light resist, And now, in flickering flakes, fling far each shivered ray.

These were the creatures of that regal clime

Where reigns the imperial Sun; whose soil sublime Teems through its glowing depths e'en with his light, There ripening into gems; the while he dyes, With his own orient hues, the earth and skies, But most the feathered race, that so their flight Might bring his glory back in radiant sacrifice.

"Behold my promised friends; far travellers they,E'en from the new-found world, — who fain would

Their passing homage to a Bird so famed."

So spake the insidious Thrush: and then around
Her snaky eyes she cast, as one who found

pay

Full sure revenge. "Nay, wherefore shrink, ashamed Thy meaner form to show? for what is form to sound?"

The taunting words came dead upon the ear

Of her they would have smote; the cruel sneer Touched not a heart so flooded o'er with love,That pure, supernal love which now gushed forth : — "O blessed creatures! whence your glorious birth? From what bright region of the world above? Sure never things so fair first breathed upon the Earth!

So deep, yet passionless, that wondrous love
Which Beauty wakes! Pure Instinct from above!
That, 'mid the selfish needs, and pains, and fears,
That waste the heart, still fresh dost ever live!
O, who can doubt the promise thou dost give
Of higher destiny, when toiling years

And pain and sin shall flee, and only love survive?

Scarce had she spoke, when o'er the wondering crowd,
Grazing the dark tree-tops, there stood a cloud
Of dazzling white; while 'gainst the deep blue sky
Aloft it rose, as 't were some feudal pile,
Where tourneys, held for gentle ladies' smile,
Brought from each polished land her chivalry,

From proud Granada's realm to Britain's gallant isle.

But how unlike to them the radiant throng

That from these cloudy towers poured down their song,

Breathing of Heaven in each hallowed word!

"All hail!" they sang,-"all hail, sweet Nightingale! Who enviest not, who hatest not, all hail!

Who sufferest all, yet lovest all, sweet Bird!

Thy glory here begun shall never, never fail!"

But, lo! a sudden darkness, deep as night, Fell on the thick, hot air. With strange affright The winged crowd against each other dashed: All but our gentle Bird; she fearless stood, And saw the towery cloud, now changed to blood, Boil as in wrath; and now with fire it flashed, And forth the thunder rolled, and shook the appalled wood.

Then straight again the quiet sylvan scene
Lay bright and basking in the morning sheen;
So like a dream had this wild vision fled!
Nor left it aught its fearful truth to note,
Save on the sandy plain one small, dark spot,

-

Where lay the envious Thrush,— black, stiff, and dead. Alas, too well deserved her miserable lot!

A cold, brief look was all the useless dead

Had from her parting friends, who forthwith sped
Each to his tropic home. But what befell
Our gentle Bird? Some say her glorious strain
Within that dreadful cloud was heard again,
Deepening the thunder; then afar to swell

'Mid soft, symphonious sounds, like murmurs from the main.

Howe'er it was, one faith had all possessed, Her spirit then was numbered with the blest. And still there are who hold a faith as strong, Though years have passed, far, far upon the drift Of ebbless time, that some have now the gift On a still, starlight night to hear her song,As 't were their blameless hearts still nearer heaven to lift.

GLORIA MUNDI.

I LOOKED upon the fields so beautifully green,
I looked upon the hills and vale between,
By shade and sunshine flecked with day and night;
And then I heard the mountain breezes tread
Their wooded sides, like leafy steps that led
Down to the broad and blue bright river's bed,
Dwindling in distance to a line of light.

I gazed, and gazed, — till all my senses caught The earthy charm. Then waked the fevered thought: "Drink, O my spirit, of thy cup of bliss,

That ne'er can fail thee in a world like this!"

The charm is gone! Ah, wherefore was it sent,
To leave this vague and haunting discontent?
I saw it rise, like moving meadow mists,

Before my path, as 't were a thing of sight;
E'en as that vapory sea, drinking the light
Fresh from the sun, and showering rubies bright
Where'er it breaks, and purple amethysts.