THE CLOUD. I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, I bear light shade for the leaves when laid From my wings are shaken the dews that waken When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, I wield the flail of the lashing hail, In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, Lured by the love of the genii that move Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The Spirit he loves, remains; And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack As on the jag of a mountain crag, Which an earthquake rocks and swings, THE CLOUD. An eagle alit, one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings; And when sunset may breathe from the lit sea beneath, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest on my airy nest, As still as a brooding dove. That orbed maiden with white fire laden, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch through which I march, When the powers of the air are chained to my The sphere-fire above, its soft colours wove, I am the daughter of the earth and water, chair I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores F 65 For after the rain, when, with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, Shelley. ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY IN BELZONI'S EXHIBITION. And thou hast walked about (how strange a story!) Speak! for thou long enough hast acted dumby; Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, Tell us for doubtless thou canst recollect To whom we should assign the Sphinx's fame ? Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect Of either Pyramid that bears his name? Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer? By oath to tell the secrets of thy trade- ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY IN BELZONI'S EXHIBITION. Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat, Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass; Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer's hat, Or doffed thine own to let Queen Dido pass; Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, A torch at the great Temple's dedication. Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen, Still silent, incommunicative elf! Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows; But, prythee, tell us something of thyself, Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house; Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered, What hast thou seen-what strange adventures numbered? Since first thy form was in this box extended, We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations; The Roman Empire has begun and ended, New worlds have risen-we have lost old nations, Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head, And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder, If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern breast, Statue of flesh-immortal of the dead! 67 Posthumous man, who quit'st thy narrow bed, And standest undecayed within our presence, Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning, When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning. Why should this worthless tegument endure, If its undying guest be lost for ever? Oh, let us keep the soul embalmed and pure In living virtue, that, when both must sever, Although corruption may our frame consume, The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom! Horace Smith. THE NIGHT BEFORE WATERLOO. There was a sound of revelry by night, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell : : But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell Did ye not hear it? No; 'twas but the wind, No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet Arm! arm! It is-it is-the cannon's opening roar! Within a window'd niche of that high hall |