CLARENS.

LARENS! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod,-
Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne

To which the steps are mountains; where the
god

Is a pervading life and light,— -so shown

Not on those summits solely, nor alone

In the still cave and forest; o'er the flower

His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown, His soft and summer breath, whose tender pow'r Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour.

All things are here of him; from the black pines, Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines Which slope his green path downward to the shore, Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore, Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood, The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude.

Should e'er some keener sorrow throw

A shadow o'er my mind;

And should I, thoughtless, breathe to thee
One word that is unkind;

Forgive it, love! thy smile will set

My better feelings free,

And with a look of boundless love

I still shall turn to thee.

A populous solitude of bees and birds,

And fairy-form'd and many-colour'd things,

Who worship him with notes more sweet than words, And innocently open their glad wings

Fearless and full of life; the gush of springs,

And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend

Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end.

He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore,
And make his heart a spirit; he who knows
That tender mystery, will love the more;

For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes,
And the world's waste, have driven him far from those,
For 'tis his nature to advance or die:

He stands not still, but or decays, or grows
Into a boundless blessing, which may vie
With the immortal lights, in its eternity!

BYRON.

The True Lovers' Knot.

75

A PERFECT WOMAN.

WOULD not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better; yet, for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself;

A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times
More rich;

That, only to stand high on your account,
I might in virtues, beauties, livings, friends,
Exceed account: but the full sum of me
Is sum of something; which, to term in gross,
Is an unlesson'd girl, unschool'd, unpractised:
Happy in this, she is not yet so old

But she may learn; and happier than this,
She is not bred so dull but she can learn ;
Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours to be directed,
As from her lord, her governor, her king.
Myself, and what is mine, to you and yours
Is now converted; but now I was the lord
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants,
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now,
This house, these servants, and this same myself,
Are yours, my lord.

SHAKSPEARE.