(Or earthquake, or the hissing thunderbolt)
On Dalriada's shore, where still thine eye
May mark wide ruins of a fane not built
With hands; entitled (in a poet's page)
The Giant's Causeway. At my feet the waves,
Hanging suspended on the curl a while,
Like a coy girl, till others pushed them on,
Did bow their pearly coronets to kiss
The polished pebbles of a little bay
Beneath the rocks; where, on a couch of shells,
The drowsy booming of the languid wave
Stole like a spell upon me, and I slept-
Ev'n as a weary infant sinks to rest,
Hush'd by his nurse's lullaby: the soul,
The soul slept not! but imp'd her rapid wing
Like an unhooded falcon-for, methought
The pale young moon shone beautiful above:
And while I gazed upon her ocean track
Of quivering silver (that did seem to reach
Over the waters to the edge of heaven)
Whereon the dolphin-mounted mermaids sport
Through the still night, a voice came o'er
mine ear-

Stream'd from his sides-raying the wave, as His colors mingled with it; and beneath, [if On golden sands, islands of shells were pil'd Of every shape and dye, from those whereof The sea-nymph's car is fashion'd, even to those She braids the glory of her locks withal.

We won the roots of ocean!

A rock of virgin crystal heav'd in front,
O'er whose steep side, like tendrils of the vine,
The crimson coral travers'd; and between
Hung grapes of clustering pearl. My guide
look'd back

Upon the wing, and, smiling, pointed out
A cell in the transparent cliff, such as
Some Nereid might inhabit, garlanding
Her brow with sea-cull'd flowers-" And
soon," she said,

"Thy pilgrimage shall end." We entered then
Treading a floor of tesselated gems,
Whereon the ruby, opal, amethyst,
The burning carbuncle, the sapphire blue,
Did blaze like stars in dazzling marquetry:
And full in front an inner porch flung back
Its valves of mother pearl, inviting us
To bend our steps along that shining path,
Cut onward through the self-illumin'd stone.

Down, down we glided-and the moonbeam glanc'd

From a green sky above-trembling as though
It fear'd to lose itself in those vast depths:
'The ocean-snake wound on his volum'd coil
In beauty instinct shrank from the leviathan,
Floating between us and the surface, flung
A downward shadow like the thunder cloud;
And, while he pass'd, the slow-returning light
Came as another dawning. Myriad shoals,
(Hosts of the marshall'd ocean,) swimming on,
Turn'd up their silver sides with a swift gleam,
Taking the light they scatter'd back again,
Like sunshine on a serried field of spears;
The dolphin chas'd the flying fish; and aye
With each pursuing dart, a gush of hues

* Ancient name of the county of Antrim.

"Attend! (if that, indeed, thine ear may brook
To hear what mortal hath not heard), while I
Do tell the deep and awful mysteries:
The impulse of the winds-the hidden laws

Of wonders they shall see (but never tell) Who storm the icy barriers of the pole :Of lightnings-spirits that shoot from cloud to cloud [wing!) (But wo to him they brush with passing And lift the curtains of the horizon up To give ye glimpses of another world; That be in lineament as seraphs are; Heaven's thunder-voiced ministers-to man Invisible, through mere excess of light :Relate of high intelligences, who Dwell in this ocean paradise (as ye In Eden's rosy bowers might still have dwelt ;) Beings coeval with the stars, who mark'd The first bright blush of day, when the dread voice [was light! Pronounc'd, "Let there be light"-and there And saw the mountain tops leap up to meet The joyful sallies of the new-born sun. "Behold! this sky-like dome of adamant (Each pillar's shadow ranged beneath its cope Would hide earth's loftiest Alp) supports the [weight

Of ocean's vast

O, mercy, mercy, heaven! A mighty rush of waters-and above The diamond dome is shatter'd, piecemeal fall (As fell the temple of the Philistine) Its thousand jasper columns: sore distress'd, I gazed around for succor-none was nigh; My guide had vanish'd! and as the bright rain Hurl'd headlong down to crush me like a

worm

With a convulsion of the heart-I woke.
O, what a change was here! for quietness
Breath'd all around: yet right beneath my feet
There play'd a circling dimple on the wave,
As one had, even at that moment, dived;
And all so vivid work'd my dream, that I
Was fain to credit something (not of earth)
Had dallied with my fancy.-

§ 181. Czerni George. CROLY.
"Twas noon: a crimson banner play'd
Above thy rampart port, Belgrade;
From time to time the gong's deep swell
Rose thundering from the citadel;
And soon the trampling charger's din
Told of some mustering pomp within.
But all without was still and drear;
The long streets wore the hue of fear,
All desert, but where some quick eye
Peer'd from the curtain'd gallery;
Or, crouching slow from roof to roof,
The Servian glanc'd, then shrank aloof,
Eager, yet dreading, to look on
The business to be that day done.
The din grew louder; trampling feet
Seem'd rushing to the central street
'Twas fill'd; the city's idle brood
Scatter'd before, few, haggard, rude:
Then came the Spahis pressing on
With kettle-drum and gonfalon;
And ever at the cymbal's clash,
Upshook their spears the sudden flash,
Till, like a shatter'd, sable sail,

Wheel'd o'er their rear the black horse-tail,
All hurrying thick, like men who yield,
Or men who seek some final field.

They lead a captive; the pashaw
From his large eye draws back with awe;
All tongues are silent in the group,
Who round that fearful stranger troop:
He still has homage, though his hands
Are straining in a felon's bands.
No Moslem he; his brow is bare,
Save one wild tress of raven hair,
Like a black serpent deeply bound,
Where once sat Servia's golden round.
His neck bends low, and many a stain
Of blood shows how it feels the chain;
A peasant's robe is o'er him flung,
A swordless sheath beside him hung;
He sits a charger, but a slave

Now holds the bridle of the brave.

|The quicken'd heaving of his breast;
But all within it is at rest;
There is no quivering nerve; his brow
Scarce bent upon the crowd below,
He stands in settled, stately gloom,
A warrior's statue on his tomb.

A trumpet rang ;-the turban'd line
Clash'd up their spears, the headsman's
sign.

Then, like the flame-burst from the forge,
Blaz'd thy dark visage, CZERNI GEORGE.
He knew that trumpet's Turkish wail,
His guide through many a forest vale,
When, scattering like the hunted deer,
The Moslem felt his early spear;
He heard it when the Servian targe
Broke down the Delhi's desperate charge,
And o'er the flight his scimetar
Was like the flashing of a star:
That day his courser to the knee
Was bathed in blood, and Servia free !
That day, before he sheathed his blade,
He stood a sovereign in Belgrade;
The field, the throne, were on that eye,
Which wander'd now so wild and high.

The hour had waned; the sunbeam fell
Full on the palace pinnacle;
The golden crescent on its spire
Beam'd o'er a cross! his eye shot fire!
That cross was o'er the crescent set,
The day he won the coronet.
He dash'd away a tear of pride,
His hand was darted to his side,-
No sword was there a bitter smile
Told the stern spirit's final thrill;
Yet all not agony; afar,

Mark'd he no cloud of northern war?
Swell'd on his prophet ear no clang
Of tribes that to their saddles sprang?
No Russian cannon's heavy hail
In vengeance smiting the Serail?
The whole was but a moment's trance,
That scap'd the turban'd rabble's glance;
A sigh, a stride, a stamp, the whole;
Time measures not the tides of soul.
He was absorb'd in dreams, nor saw
The hurried glare of the pashaw,
Nor saw the headsman's backward step,
To give his axe the wider sweep.

Down came the blow!-the self-same smile
Was lingering on the dead lip still,
When, 'mid the train, the pikeman bore
The bloody head of the Pandour.

The night was wild, the atabal
Scarce echoed on the rampart wall;
Scarce heard the shrinking sentinel
The night-horn in the tempest's yell
But forms, as shot the lightning's glare,
Stole silent through that palace-square,
And thick and dim a weeping group
Seem'd o'er its central spot to stoop.
The storm a moment paused; the moon
|Broad from a hurrying cloud-raft shone;

It shone upon a headless trunk,
Rais'd in their arms; the moonbeam sunk,
And all was dimness; but the beat
Came sudden as of parting feet,
And sweet and solemn voices pined
In the low lapses of the wind.

"Twas like the hymn, when soldiers bear A soldier to his sepulchre.

The lightning threw a shaft below;
The stately square was desert now.
Yet far, as far as eye could strain,
Was seen the remnant of a train;
A wavering shadow of a crowd,
That round some noble burden bow'd.
Twas gone, and all was night once more,
Wild rain, and whirlwind's doubled roar !

182. To a Waterfowl. BRYANT.

WHITHER, 'midst falling dew, [day, While glow the heavens with the last steps of Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou purThy solitary way? [sue

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink
Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?
There is a Power, whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,-
The desert and illimitable air,-

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fann'd, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,

Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end, Soon shalt thou find a summer home and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall

Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. [bend Thou 'rt gone; the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet, on my heart, Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart.

He, who, from zone to zone, [flight, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain In the long way, that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright.

His foot-prints, and awoke him. When he

came

Where a long reef stretched out, and in its bays
Scooped from the shelving rocks, received the
And held it as a mirror deep and dark, [sea,
He paused, and, standing then against the ship,
He gave his signal. Soon he saw on board
The stir of preparation; they let down
A boat, and soon her raised and dipping oars
Flashed in the setting light, and round her
prow
[out
The gilt sea swelled and crinkled, spreading
In a wide circle; and she glided on
Smoothly, and with a whispering sound, that
Louder with every dipping of the oars, [grew
Until she neared the reef, and sent a surge
Up through its coves, and covered them with
foam.
[back

He stepped on board, and soon they bore him
To the scarce rocking vessel, where she lay
Waiting the night wind. On the deck he sat,
And looked to one point only, save, at times,
of beauty and sublimity. Meanwhile [scene
When his eye glanced around the mingled
The sun had set, the painted sky and clouds
Put off their liveries, the bay its robe

Of brightness, and the stars were thick in heaven.

They looked upon the waters, and below Another sky swelled out, thick set with stars, And chequered with light clouds, which from the north

Came flitting o'er the dim-seen hills, and shot, Like birds, across the bay. A distant shade Dimmed the clear sheet; it darkened, and it

Tossed, and went back along her polished sides, And floated off, bounding the rushing wake, That seemed to pour in torrents from her stern. The wind still freshened, and the sails were stretched, [force,

Till the yards cracked. She bent before its And dipped her lee-side low beneath the waves. Straight out she went to sea, as when a hawk Darts on a dove, and with a motionless wing Cuts the light, yielding air. The mountains dipped

Their dark walls to the waters, and the hills Scarce reared their green tops o'er them. One

soon

And a clear line of silver marked the hills,
Where he had said farewell. A sudden tear
Gushed, and his heart was melted; but he
[ed
Repressed the weakness, and he calmly watch-
The fading vision. Just as it retired
Into the common darkness, on his eyes
Sleep fell, and, with his looks turned to his
home,

And dearer than his home-to her he loved, He closed them, and his thoughts were lost in dreams

Bright and too glad to be realities.
Calmly he slept, and lived on happy dreams,
Till, from the bosom of the boundless sea,
Now spreading far and wide without a shore,
The cloudless sun arose, and he awoke.

184. Address to the Sun. PERCIVAL.

CENTRE of light and energy! thy way

Is through the unknown void; thou hast thy throne,

Morning, and evening, and at noon of day, Far in the blue, untended and alone; Ere the first-wakened airs of earth had blown, On thou didst march, triumphant in thy light; Then thou didst send thy glance, which still hath flown [night, Wide through the never-ending worlds of And yet thy full orb burns with flash as keen and bright.

We call thee Lord of day; and thou dost give

To earth the fire that animates her crust,
And wakens all the forms that move and live,
From the fine, viewless mould, which lurks in
dust,

To him who looks to heaven, and on his bust Bears stamped the seal of God, who gathers there

And as around thy centre planets roll, [soul.
So thou, too, hast thy path around the central
I am no fond idolater to thee,
As lamps, around the one Eternity,
One of the countless multitude, who burn,

In whose contending forces systems turn
Their circles round that seat of life, the urn
Where all must sleep, if matter ever dies:-
Sight fails me here, but fancy can discern
With the wide glance of her all-seeing eyes,
Where, in the heart of worlds, the ruling Spi-
rit lies.

And thou, too, hast thy world, and unto thee
We are as nothing;-thou goest forth alone,
And movest through the wide aerial sea,
Glad as a conqueror resting on his throne
From a new victory, where he late had shown
Wider his power to nations;—so thy light
Comes with new pomp, as if thy strength had
grown

With each revolving day, or thou at night Had lit again thy fires, and thus renewed thy might.

Age o'er thee has no power;-thou bring'st

the same

Light to renew the morning, as when first,
If not eternal, thou, with front of flame,
On the dark face of earth in glory burst,
And warmed the seas, and in their bosom
nursed

The earliest things of life, the worm and shell; Till through the sinking ocean mountains pierced,

And then came forth the land whereon we dwell, [swell. Reared like a magic fane above the watery

Thou lookest on the earth, and then it smiles; Thy light is hid, and all things droop and

mourn;

Laughs the wide sea around her budding isles, When through their heaven thy changing car is borne ; [shorn Thou wheel'st away thy flight, the woods are Of all their waving locks, and storms awake; All, that was once so beautiful, is torn By the wild winds which plough the lonely lake, [tains shake.

spurn

All bands that would confine, and give to air Hues, fragrance, shapes of beauty, till they

burn,

When on a dewy morn thou dartest there Rich waves of gold to wreath with fairer light the fair.

The vales are thine; and when the touch of spring [light Thrills them, and gives them gladness, in thy