Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war :-

These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee— Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts :—not so thou; Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' playTime writes no wrinkle on thine azure browSuch as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,

Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving-boundless, endless, and sublime-
The image of Eternity-the throne

Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

DULCIA.

"TIS sweet to hear

At midnight on the blue and moonlit deep,

The song and oar of Adria's gondolier,

By distance mellow'd, o'er the waters sweep;

Id.

"Tis sweet to see the evening star appear;

"Tis sweet to listen, as the night-winds creep From leaf to leaf; 'tis sweet to view on high The rainbow, based on ocean, span the sky.

'Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark, Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come ; "Tis sweet to be awaken'd by the lark,

Or lull'd by falling waters; sweet the hum Of bees, the voice of girls, the song of birds, The lisp of children, and their earliest words.

Don Juan

THE SHIPWRECK.

THEN rose from sea to sky the wild farewell—
Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave,-
Then some leap'd overboard with dreadful yell,

As eager to anticipate their grave;

And the sea yawn'd around her like a hell;

And down she suck'd with her the whirling wave,

Like one who grapples with his enemy,

And strives to strangle him before he die.

And first one universal shriek there rush'd,
Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hush'd,
Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gush'd,
Accompanied with a convulsive splash,

A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

DEATH OF HAIDEE.

AFRIC is all the Sun's, and as her earth

Her human clay is kindled; full of power For good or evil, burning from its birth,

The Moorish blood partakes the planet's hour, And, like the soil beneath it, will bring forth :

Beauty and love were Haidee's mother's dower; But her large dark eye show'd deep Passion's force, Though sleeping like a lion near a source.

Her daughter, temper'd with a milder ray,

Like summer clouds all silvery, smooth, and fair, Till, slowly charged with thunder, they display Terror to earth, and tempest to the air, Had held till now her soft and milky way;

But, overwrought with passion and despair,
The fire burst forth from her Numidian veins,
F'en as the Simoom sweeps the blasted plains.

The last sight which she saw was Juan's gore,
And he himself o'ermaster'd and cut down;
His blood was running on the very floor

Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own;
Thus much she view'd an instant and no more,-
Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan;
On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held
Her writhing, fell she like a cedar fell'd.

A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure dyes
Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran o'er;
And her head droop'd as when the lily lies

O'ercharged with rain: her summon'd handmaids bore

Their lady to her couch with gushing eyes;

Of herbs and cordials they produced their store: But she defied all means they could employ, Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy.

Days lay she in that state unchanged, though chill-
With nothing livid, still her lips were red;
She had no pulse, but death seem'd absent still;
No hideous sign proclaim'd her surely dead;
Corruption came not, in each mind to kill

All hope: to look upon her sweet face bred
New thoughts of life, for it seem'd full of soul—
She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.

The ruling passion, such as marble shows

When exquisitely chisell'd, still lay there,
But fix'd as marble's unchanged aspect throws
O'er the fair Venus, but for ever fair;
O'er the Laocoon's all eternal throes,

And ever-dying Gladiator's air:

Their energy, like life, forms all their fame,
Yet looks not life, for they are still the same.

She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake,
Rather the dead, for life seem'd something new,
A strange sensation which she must partake
Perforce, since whatsoever met her view
Struck not on memory, though a heavy ache

Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true, Brought back the sense of pain without the cause,For, for a while, the Furies made a pause.

She look'd on many a face with vacant eye,
On many a token, without knowing what;
She saw them watch her, without asking why,
And reck'd not who around her pillow sat:

Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh

Relieved her thoughts; dull silence, and quick chat Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave No sign, save breath, of having left the grave.

Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not:
Her father watch'd,-she turn'd her eyes away;
She recognised no being, and no spot,
However dear or cherish'd in their day;

They changed from room to room, but all forgot;
Gentle, but without memory, she lay;

At length those eyes, which they would fain be weaning

Back to old thoughts, wax'd full of fearful meaning.

And then a slave bethought her of a harp;
The harper came, and tuned his instrument:

At the first notes, irregular and sharp,

On him her flashing eyes a moment bent;

Then to the wall she turn'd, as if to warp

Her thoughts from sorrow through her heart re

sent;

And he began a long low island song

Of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong.

Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall,

In time to his old tune; he changed the theme, And sung of Love; the fierce name struck through all Her recollection; on her flash'd the dream

Of what she was, and is, if ye could call

To be so, being: in a gushing stream

The tears rush'd forth from her o'erclouded brain,

Like mountain-mists, at length dissolved in rain.