The bosom's stainless pride, Curling, like tendrils of the parasite Around a marble column."

"Behold the chariot of the Fairy Queen!
Celestial courses paw the unyielding air;
Their filmy pennons at her word they furl,
And stop obedient to the reins of light:
These the Queen of Spells drew in,
She spread a charm around the spot,
And leaning, graceful, from the ethereal car,
Long did she gaze and silently
Upon the slumbering maid."

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"The broad and yellow moon Shone dimly through her formThat form of faultless symmetry: The pearly and pellucid car Moved not the moonlight's hue. 'Twas not an earthly pageantThose who had looked upon the sight,

Passing all human glory,

Saw not the yellow moon,

Saw not the mortal scene,

Heard not the night-wind's rush,

Heard not an earthly sound,

Saw but the fairy pageant,

Heard but the heavenly strains
That filled the lonely dwelling."

"Look on yonder earth:

The golden harvests spring; the unfailing sun

Sheds light and life; the fruits, the flowers, the trees,

Arise in due succession; all things speak

Peace, harmony, and love.

The universe

In nature's silent eloquence, declares

That all fulfil the work of love and joy,—
All but the outcast, man. He fabricates

The sword which stabs his peace; he cherisheth
The snakes that gnaw his heart; he raiseth up
The tyrant, whose delight is in his woe,

Whose sport is in his agony. Yon sun,
Lights it the great alone?

Yon silver beams,

Sleep they less sweetly on the cottage thatch,
Than on the dome of kings?

Is mother earth

A step-dame to her numerous sons, who earn
Her unshared gifts with unremitting toil;
A mother only to those puling babes
Who, nursed in ease and luxury, make men
The playthings of their babyhood, and mar,
In self-important childishness, that peace
Which men alone appreciate?”

"How beautiful this night! The balmiest sigh Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear Were discord to the speaking quietude

That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault Studded with stars unutterably bright,

Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which love has spread

To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills,

Robed in a garment of untrodden snow;
Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend,
So stainless, that their white and glittering spires
Tinge not the moon's pure beam; yon castled steep,
Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower
So idly, that rapt fancy deemeth it

A metaphor of peace;-all form a scene
Where musing solitude might love to lift
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness;
Where silence undisturbed might watch alone,
So cold, so calm, so still."

As regards the tendency of this poem, probably no one ever changed his opinions from reading Queen Mab; and while it is dignified with the epithet "philosophical," it can be considered neither metaphysical nor theological, neither political nor ethical, neither for excess nor restraint, but a strange medley of all things, which seems to be against all things, supplying texts both for friends and foes, and on the surface appearing to advocate as much good as evil, as much evil as good.

We are presented with the singular anomaly of spiritual actors of the most exalted and refined character, fulfilling their parts on a spiritual stage, for the avowed purpose of advocating the

cause of materialism, sometimes of the grossest description.

Thus, while Plato and Mirabeau are strangely amalgamated or alternately seen to preponderate in the poet's mind, we are neither startled by his theories, nor hurried away by his facts; by these we are neither induced to become Christians nor Atheists, neither Idealists nor Materialists, neither Democrats nor Socialists, Anarchs nor Constitutionalists, but are left at the conclusion bewildered and dissatisfied at the palpable indecision and want of purpose of the whole.

We are impressed only with the brilliant array of splendid images, with the nobleness, the purity, the goodness of intentions, which are thwarted by the same hand that advances them, with the shortcomings of youth, which riper years may expand, which maturer judgment may embody and grasp, and direct with strength and decision towards great and glorious ends; and, lastly, with the chafings of an irritated and misunderstood nature, which time will rectify, which the inherent qualities of his own heart is sure in the end to repudiate.

CHAPTER XXVI.

The poet's continued distress-His endeavours to raise money-Harshness of his father-Birth of his first child-His extreme poverty-Separation from his wife-Character of his wife-Cause of separationSuicide of his wife.

DURING the production of Queen Mab the poet's anxieties were thickening fast around him. His wife was on the point of making him a father, and he was yet dependent upon the generosity of others for his subsistence.

He tried every means of obtaining money, and was reduced to the last necessity of borrowing of Jews, no doubt at enormous interest. The only cognizance that Sir Timothy took of his distresses was to endeavour to turn them to his

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