Were catching upon wave and tree Heard on the still and rushing light, Like words from the departing night, Hath stricken me, and I have press'd On the wet grass my fever'd brow, And pouring forth the earliest First prayer, with which I learn'd to bow, Upon me, as in by-past years, Curtius. BY MISS LANDON, (L. E. L.) 'HERE is a multitude, in number like TH The waves of the wide ocean; and as still As are those waters, when the summer breeze Sleeps on the moveless billow; there is awe On every countenance; and each doth stand In gasping breathlessness, as terror chain'd The life pulse down; or, as they deem'd, a sound Might call down new destruction on their heads.→ The sun look'd smiling from his clear blue throne, And nature seem'd to gladden in the ray; When suddenly a cloud came over heaven, A black and terrible shadow, as the gloom Curtius. 309 Of the destroying angel's form; the wind Of all Rome holds most precious. Then speeds A youthful warrior-"What is dear to Rome, Who now look wrathful from your deep abodes, In which aspiring spirits move; whose thoughts Of avarice, indolence, and selfish care, The chains of meaner ones have given way And cast a farewell look on all around. How beautiful must be the sky above, he turn'd, And his glance fell on her, his own dear love. As if her life were in that last embrace. And the heart's throb of agony, were heard. Strain of Music. BY MRS HEMANS. "I am never merry when I hear sweet music."-Merchant of Venice. OH H, joyously, triumphantly, sweet sounds! ye swell and float, A breath of hope, of youth, of spring, is pour'd on every note; And yet my full o'erburthen'd heart grows troubled by your power, And ye seem to press the long past years into one little hour. A Strain of Music. 311 If I have look'd on lovely scenes, that now I view no more— A summer sea, with glittering ships, along the mountain shore, A ruin, girt with solemn woods, and a crimson evening sky, Ye bring me back those images, fast as ye wander by. If in the happy walks and days of childhood I have heard, Or if a dear and gentle voice, that now is changed or gone, Hath left within my bosom deep the thrilling of its tone, I find that murmur in your notes—they touch the chords of thought, And a sudden flow of tenderness across my soul is brought. If I have bid a spot farewell, on whose familiar ground, To every path, and leaf, and flower, my soul in love was bound; If I have watch'd the parting step of one who came not back, The feeling of that moment wakes in your exulting track. Yet on ye float !—the very air seems kindling with your glee! Oh, do ye fling this mournful spell, sweet sounds, alone on me? Or, have a thousand hearts replied, as mine doth now, in sighs, To the glad music breathing thus of blue Italian skies? I know not!-only this I know, that not by me on earth, May the deep joy of song be found, untroubled in its birth; It must be for a brighter life, for some immortal sphere, Wherein its flow shall have no taste of the bitter fountains here. |