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In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
Now now to sit or never,
Oh, the bells, bells, bells !
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air.
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
Of the bells-
Bells, bells, bells, bells,
Hear the tolling of the bells—
Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
For every sound that floats
Is a groan.
And the people--ah, the people-
In that muffled monotone,
On the human heart a stone-
They are Ghouls:
Lake Leman by Night.
from the bells !
Of the bells :
To the throbbing of the bells
As he knells, knells, knells,
To the rolling of the bells-
To the tolling of the bells-
Bells, bells, bells-
43.-LAKE LEMAN BY NIGHT.
[With Byron rose a new, more lofty, and more finished style of poetry than any that had preceded his, that of Shakspeare and Milton alone excepted. To the smooth versification of Pope he added the grandeur of imagery and the power of description. His first efforts, which were certainly but feeble, were sneered at by the Edinburgh Reviewers. In 1807, the “Hours of Idleness" was published; five years afterwards the opening Cantos of “Childe Harold had made him famous.' “The Prisoner of Chillon,” “Manfred,” “ Lament of Tasso," followed in rapid succession; then came the completion of “Childe Harold;" afterwards Mazeppa," and the commencement of “Don Juan;" the latter defying public “proprieties," but astonishing the world by its bursts of poetic grandeur. Then came the Dramas, never intended for the stage, but which the cupidity of managers subsequently dragged upon the boards. Of Byron's ill-starred marriage and subsequent excesses, something too much has already been written. His whole life reads like a romance of the most startling kind; his death, an attack of fever, almost an inevitable consequence. He died in Greece 1824, at the age of thirty-six, and was buried in the family vault at Hucknall, near Newstead.]
CLEAR, placid Leman! that contrasted lake,
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved,
It is the hush of night, and all between
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar,
He is an evening reveller, who makes
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse
Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
for A beauty and a mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
All heaven and earth are still, though not in sleep,
But hath a part of being, and a sense
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt
Not vainly did the early Persian make
Of earth-o’ergazing mountains, and thus take
With nature's realms of worship, earth and air,
“O SAILOR, tell me, tell me true,
ту little lad—my Elihu-
He said with trembling lip;
“What little lad—what ship?"
What little lad, do you say ?”
The Gray Swan sailed away.”
• The other day?--the Swan ?".
“ And so your lad is gone!
For a month, and never stir ?”
The wild sea kissing her
A sight to remember, sir.” “But, my good mother, do
throwTaking it off, as it might be so—
The kerchief from your neck;
Ay, and he'll bring it back.
Sail with the Gray Swan's crew ?”
Be sure, he sailed with the crew
What would you have him do ?”
he was alive po
Tut, man! what would you have ?”
But if the lad still live,
“ Miserable man!
What have I to forgive ?”
The kerchief. She was wild :
My blessed boy-my child-
45.-TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
ROBERT BURNS. [Born in 1759, and dying in 1796, “more,” says Mr. Allan Cunningham, "of a broken heart than any other illness,” Robert Burns's birth stands on the threshold of the Centenary of British Bards whose writings are most familiar to the present generation. The most convincing proof that the gift of poesy is not the result of "learning overmuch,” is found in the fact that Burns was born a peasant, and that bis education was only in accordance with his station. He threshed in the barn, reaped, mowed, and held the plough before he was fifteen. Burns's fugitive pieces naturally passed from hand to hand, and attracted the attention of a few discerning individuals: by their aid he was enabled, in 1786, to publish his first volume. The result was, his name and fame flashed like sunshine over the land: the shepherd on the hill, the maiden at her wheel, learnt his songs by heart, and the first scholars of Scotland