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Sweet as the cloister'd virgin's vesper hymn,
Whose spirit, happily dead to earthly hopes,
Already lives in heaven. Abrupt the song
Ceased, tremulous and quick a cry
Of joyful wonder roused the astonish'd Maid,
And instant Madelon was in her arms;
No airy form, no unsubstantial shape:
She felt her friend, she prest her to her heart,
Their tears of rapture mingled.

She drew back,
And eagerly she gazed on Madelon,
Then fell upon her neck again and wept.
No more she saw the long-drawn lines of grief,
The emaciate form, the hue of sickliness,
The languid eye: youth's loveliest freshness now
Mantled her cheek, whose every lineament
Bespake the soul at rest, a holy calm,
A deep and full tranquillity of bliss.

• Thou then art come, my first and dearest friend!» The well known voice of Madelon began; « Thou then art come! and was thy pilgrimage So short on earth 2 and was it painful too, Painful and short as mine But blessed they Who from the crimes and miseries of the world Early escape!»

« Nay,” Theodore replied, « She hath not yet fulfill'd her mortal work. Permitted visitant from earth she comes To see the seat of rest, and oftentimes In sorrow shall her soul remember this, And, patient of her transitory woe, Partake the anticipated peace again. » - Soon be that work perform'd on the Maid exclaim'd : « O Madelon! O Theodore! my soul, Spurning the cold communion of the world, Will dwell with you! but I shall patiently, Yea even with joy, endure the allotted ills Of which the memory in this better state Shall heighten bliss. That hour of agony, When, Madelon, I felt thy dying grasp, And from thy forehead wiped the dews of death, The very horrors of that hour assume A shape that now delights.”

« O carliest friend!
I too remember,” Madelon replied,
“That hour, thy looks of watchful agony,
The suppress'd grief that struggled in thine eye
Endearing love's last kindness. Thou didst know
With what a deep and melancholy joy
I felt the hour draw on; but who can speak
The unutterable transport, when mine eyes,
As from a long and dreary dream, unclosed
Amid this peaceful vale, unclosed upon
My Arnaud; he had built me up a bower,
A bower of rest.—Sce, Maiden, where he comes,
His manly lineaments, his beaming eye
The same, but now a holier innocence
Sits on his cheek, and loftier thoughts illume
The enlighten’d glance.”
They met: what joy was theirs

He best can feel, who for a dear friend dead
Hath wet the midnight pillow with his tears.

Fair was the scene around; an ample vale Whose mountain circle at the distant verge Lay soften’d on the sight; the near ascent

Rose bolder up, in part abrupt and bare,
Part with the ancient majesty of woods
Adorn'd, or lifting high its rocks sublime.
The river's liquid radiance roll'd beneath,
Beside the bower of Madelon it wound
A broken stream, whose shallows, though the waves
Roll'd on their way with rapid melody,
A child might tread. Behind, an orange-grove,
Its gay green foliage starr'd with golden fruit;
But with what odours did their blossoms load
The passing gale of eve! less thrilling sweet
Rose from the marble's perforated floor,
where kneeling at her prayers, the Moorish queen
Inhaled the cool delight, 8 and whilst she ask'd
The prophet for his promised paradise,
Shaped from the present scene its utmost joys.
A goodly scene! fair as that faery land
Where Arthur lives, by ministering spirits borne
From Camlan's bloody banks: or as the groves
Of earliest Eden, where, so legends say,
Enoch abides, and he who, rapt away
by fiery steeds, and chariotted in fire,
Pass'd in his mortal form the eternal ways;
And John, beloved of Christ, enjoying there
The beatific vision, sometimes seen
The distant dawning of eternal day,
Till all things be fulfilled.
• Survey this scene!"

So Theodore address'd the Maid of Arc;
« There is no evil here, no wretchedness,
It is the heaven of those who nurst on earth
Their nature's gentlest feelings. Yet not here
Centering their joys, but with a patient hope,
Waiting the allotted hour when capable
Of loftier callings, to a better state
they pass; and hither from that better state
Frequent they come, preserving so those ties
which through the infinite progressiveness
Complete our perfect bliss.

- • Even such, so bless'd,
Save that the memory of no sorrows past
Heighten'd the present joy, our world was once,
In the first aera of its innocence,
Ere man had learnt to bow the knee to man.
Was there a youth whom warm affection fill'd,
He spake his honest heart; the earliest fruits
His toil produced, the sweetest flowers that deck'd
The sunny bank, he gather'd for the maid,
Nor she disdain'd the gift: for Vice not yet
Had burst the dungeons of her hell, and rear'd
Those artificial boundaries that divide
Man from his species. State of blessedness!
Till that ill-omen’d hour when Cain's stern son
Delvd in the bowels of the earth for gold,
Accursed bane of virtue,... of such force
As poets feign dwelt in the Gorgon's locks,
Which whoso saw, felt instant the life-blood
Cold curdle in his veins, the creeping tiesh
Grew stiff with horror, and the heart forgot
To beat. Accursed hour! for man no more
To Justice paid his homage, but forsook
Her altars, and bow'd down before the shrine
of Wealth and Power, the idols he had made.
Then hell enlarged herself, her gates flew wide,
Her legion fiends rush'd forth. Oppression came,
whose frown is desolation, and whose breath

Blasts like the pestilence; and Poverty,
A meagre monster, who with withering touch
Makes barren all the better part of man,
Mother of Miseries. Then the goodly earth
Which God had framed for happiness, became
One theatre of woe, and all that God
Ilad given to bless free men, these tyrant fiends
His bitterest curses made. Yet for the best
Hath he ordained all things, the All-wise!
For by experience roused shall man at length
Dash down his Moloch-idols, Samson-like,
And burst his fetters, only strong while he
Fears for their strength. Then in the deep abyss
Oppression shall be chain'd, and Poverty
Die, and with her her brood of miseries;
And Virtue and Equality preserve
The reign of Love, and earth shall once again
Be paradise, where Wisdom shall secure

The state of bliss which Ignorance betray'd.»



• Oh age of happiness!» the Maid exclaim’d, | Roll fast thy current, Time, till that bless'd age Arrive and happy thou, my Theodore, Permitted thus to see the sacred depths of wisdom!” | • Such,” the blessed spirit replied, • Beloved! such our lot: allowed to range The vast infinity, progressive still In knowledge and increasing blessedness, This our united portion. Thou hast yet A little while to sojourn amongst men: I will be with thee! there shall not a breeze Wanton around thy temples, on whose wing I will not hover near! and at that hour When from its fleshly sepulchre let loose, Thy phoenix soul shall soar, O best-beloved! I will be with thee in thine agonies, And welcome thee to life and happiness, Elernal infinite beatitude!»

He spake, and led her near a straw-roofd cot,
Love's palace. By the virtues circled there,
The cherub listen'd to such melodies,
As aye, when one good deed is register'd
Above, re-echo in the halls of heavcn.
Labour was there, his crisp locks floating loose,
Clear was his cheek, and beaming his full eye,
And strong his arm robust; the wood-nymph Health
Still follow'd on his path, and where he trod
Fresh flowers and fruits arose. And there was Hope,
The general friend; and Pity, whose mild eye
Wept o'er the widow’d dove: and loveliest form,
Majestic Chastity, whose sober smile
Delights and awes the soul; a laurel-wreath
Restrain'd her tresses, and upon her breast
The snow-drop hung its head, 9 that seem'd to grow
Spontaneous cold and fair: still by the maid
Love went submiss, with eye more dangerous
Than fancied basilisk to wound whoe'er
Too bold approach'd; yet anxious would he read
Her every rising wish, then only pleased
When pleasing. Hymning him the song was raised.

• Glory to thee whose vivifying power Pervades all Nature's universal frame! Glory to thee, Creator Love! to thee, Parent of all the smiling Charities,

| That strew the thorny path of life with flowers!

Glory to thee, Preserver! To thy praise
The awakened woodlands echo all the day
Their living melody; and warbling forth
To thee her twilight song, the nightingale
Holds the lone traveller from his way, or charms
The listening poet's ear. Where Love shall deign
To fix his seat, there blameless Pleasure sheds
Her roseate dews; Content will sojourn there,
And Happiness behold affection's eye
Gleam with the mother's smile. Thrice happy he
Who feels thy holy power! He shall not drag,
Forlorn and friendless, along life's long path
To age's drear abode; he shall not waste
The bitter evening of his days unsoothed;
But Hope shall cheer his hours of solitude,
And Vice shall vainly strive to wound his breast,
That bears that talisman; and when he meets
The eloquent eye of Tenderness, and hears
The bosom-thrilling music of her voice,
The joy he feels shall purify his soul,
And imp it for anticipated heaven.”


Note 1, page 79, col. 1.
Passive faculty.
May says of Serapis,

Erudit at placide humanam per somnia mentem,
Nocturnāque quiete docet; nulloque labore
Hic tantum parta est pretiosa scientia, nullo
Excutitur studio verum. Mortalia corda
Tunc Deus iste docet, cum sunt minus apta doceri,
Cum nullum obsequium pra'stant, meritisgue fatentur
Nil sese debere suis; tune recta scientes
Cum nil scire valent. Non illo tempore sensus
Humanos forsan dignatur numen inire,
Cum propriis possunt per se discursibus uti,

Ne sorte humana ratio divina coiret. Sup. Lucani.

Note 2, page 79, col. 1.
And all things are that seem.

I have met with a singular tale to illustrate this spiritual theory of dreams:–Guntrum, king of the Franks, was liberal to the poor, and he himself experienced the wonderful effects of divine liberality. One day as he was hunting in a forest he was separated from his companions, and arrived at a little stream of water with only one comrade. Here he found himself oppressed by drowsiness, and reclining his head upon the servant's lap went to sleep. The servant saw a little beast creep out of the mouth of his sleeping master, and go immediately to the streamlet, which it vainly attempted to cross; he drew his sword and laid it across the water, over which the little beast past and crept into a hole of a mountain on the opposite side; from whence it made its appearance again in an hour, and returned by the same means into the king's mouth. The king then awakened, and told his companion he had dreamt that he was arrived upon the bank of au immense river, which he had crossed by a bridge of iron, and from thence came to a mountain in which a great quantity of gold was con

cealed. The servant then related what he had beheld, and

they both went to examine the mountain, where upon diff&ing they discovered an immense weight of gold.—I stumbled upon this tale in a book entitled Sphinx, Theologico-Philosophica. Autore Johanne Hiedfeldio, Ecclesiaste Ebersbachiano. 1621.

The same story is in Matthew of Westminster; it is added that Guntrum applied the treasures thus found to pious uses. For the truth of this theory there is the evidence of a monkish miracle. When Thurcillus was about to follow St Julian and visit the world of souls, his guide said to him, “Let thy body rest in the bed, for thy spirit only is about to depart with me; and lest the body should appear dead, I will send into it a vital breath.” The body, however, by a strange sympathy, was affected like the spirit; for when the foul and fetid smoke which arose from the tithes withheld on earth had nearly suffocated Thurcillus, and made him cough twice, those who were near his body said that it coughed twice about the same time.—Matthew Paris.

Note 3, page 81, col. 1.
An outcast forth.
Note 4, page 81, col. 2.
Or deeper sable dyed.

These lines strongly resemble a passage in the Pharomnida of William Chamberlayne, who has told an interesting story in uncouth rhymes, and mingled sublimity of thought and beauty of expression with the quaintest conceits, and most awkward inversions. On a rock more high Than Nature's common surface, she beholds the mansion house of Fate, which thus unfolds Its sacred mysteries. A trine within A quadrate placed, both these encompast in A perfect circle was its form; but what Its matter was, for us to wonder at, Is undiscover'd left. A tower there stands At every angle, where Time's fatal hands The impartial Parce dwell; it the first she sees Clotho the kindest of the Destinies, From immaterial essences to cull The seeds of life, and of them frame the wool For Lachesis to spin; about her flie Myriad. of souls, that yet want flesh to lie Warm'd with their functions in, whose strength bestows That power by which man ripe for misery grows.

Her next of objects was that glorious tower
Where that swift-finger'd nymph that spares no hour
From mortals' service, draws the various threads
Of life in several lengths; to weary beds
of age extending some, whilst others in
their infancy are broke: some blackt in sin,
others, the furourites of Hearen, from whence
Their origin, candid with innocence;
Some punted in afflictions, others dyed
In sanguine pleasures: some in glittering pride
Spun to adorn the earth, whilst others wear
Rags of deformity, but knots of care
No thread was wholly free from. Next to this
Fair glorious tower, was placed that black abyss
of dreadful Atropos, the baleful seat
of death and horrour, in each room replent
With lazy damps, loud groans, and the sad sight
Of pale grim ghosts, those terrours of the night,
To this, the last stage that the winding clew
Of life can lead mortality unto,
Fear was the dreadful porter, which let in

All g sent thither by destructive sin.

It is possible that I may have written from the recollection of this passage. The conceit is the same, and I willingly attribute it to Chamberlayne, a poet to whom I am indebted for many hours of delight. Note 5, page 82, col. 2. Shall the huge camel pass. I had originally written cable instead of camel. The alteration would not be worth noticing were it not for

the circumstance which occasioned it. Facilius elephas
per foramen acus, is among the Hebrew adages col-
lected by Drusius; the same metaphor is found in two
other Jewish proverbs, and this appears to determine
the signification of xzuolos, Matt. xix, 24.
Note 6, page 82, col. 2.
Large draughts of molten gold.
The same idea, and almost the same words, are in
one of Ford's plays. The passage is a very fine one:
There is a place,
(List, daughter!) in a black and hollow vault,
Where day is never seen; there shines no sun,
But flaming horror of consuming fires;
A lightless sulphur, choak'd with smoaky foggs
Of an infected darkness. In this place
Dwell many thousand thousand sundry sorts
Of never-dying deaths: there damned souls
Roar without pity, there are gluttons fed
With toads and adders: there is burning oil
Pour'd down the drunkard's throat, the usurer
Is forced to sup whole draughts of molten gold;
There is the murderer for ever stabb'd,
Yet he can never die; there lies the wanton
On racks of burning steel, whilst in his soul
He feels the torment of his raging lust.
'T is pity she 's a Whore.
I wrote this passage when very young, and the idea,
trite as it is, was new to me. It occurs I believe in

most descriptions of hell, and perhaps owes its origin

to the fate of Crassus. Note 7, page 84, col. 2. Titus was here. During the siege of Jerusalem, “ the Roman commander, with a generous clemency, that in separable attendant on true heroism, laboured incessantly, and to the very last moment, to preserve the place. With this view, he again and again intreated the tyrants to surrender and save their lives. With the same view also, after carrying the second wall, the siege was intermitted four days: to rouse their fears, prisoners to the number of five hundred or more, were crucified daily before the walls; till space, Josephus says, was wanting for the crosses, and crosses for the captives.”— Chiarton's Bampton Lectures. If any of my readers should enquire why Titus Vespasian, the delight of mankind, is Placed in such a situation – I answer, for this instance of a his generous clemency, that in separable attendant on true heroism 'w Note 8, page 86, col. 2. Inhaled the cool delight. In the cabinet of the Alhambra where the queen used to dress and say her prayers, and which is still an enchanting sight, there is a slab of unarble full of small holes, through which perfumes exhaled that were kept constantly burning beneath. The doors and windows are disposed so as to afford the most agreeable prospects, and to throw a soft yet lively light upon the eyes. Fresh currents of air too renew every instant the delicious coolness of this apartment.—From the sketch of the History of the Spanish Moors, prefixed to Florian's Gonsalvo of Cordova. Note 9, page 87, col. 1. The snow-drop hung its head. The grave matron does not perceive how time has impaired her charms, but decks her faded bosom with the same snow-drop that seems to grow on the breas of the virgin.—P. H.

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PREFA CE. In the continuation of the Arabian Tales, the Domdaniel is mentioned; a Seminary for evil Magicians, under the Roots of the Sea. From this seed the present tomance has grown. Let me not be supposed to prefer the rhythm in which it is written, abstractedly considered, to the regular blank verse; the noblest measure, in my judgment, of which our admirable language is | capable. For the following Pocm I have preferred it, because it suits the varied subject; it is the Arabesque ornament of an Arabian tale. The dramatic sketches of Dr Sayers, a volume which no lover of poetry will recollect without pleasure, indured me, when a young versifier, to practise in this rhythm. I felt that while it gave the poet a wider range of expression, it satisfied the ear of the reader. It were easy to make a parade of learning, by enumerating the various feet which it admits; it is only needful to observe, that no two lines are employed in sequence which can be read into one. Two six-syllable lines, it will Perhaps be answered, compose an Alexandrine : the truth is, that the Alexandrine, when harmonious, is composed of two six-syllable lines. One advantage this metre assuredly possesses, ... the dullet reader cannot distort it into discord: he may read it prosaically, but its flow and fall will still be perceptible. Yerse is not enough favoured by the English reader: Perhaps this is owing to the obtrusiveness, the regular Jews—harp twing-twang, of what has been foolishly called heroic measure. I do not wish the improvisatore tune;... but something that denotes the sense of harmony, something like the accent of feeling... like the tone which every Poet necessarily gives to Poetry. Cintra, October, 1800.

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LuciaN, Quomodo Hist. Scribenda.

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No tear reliev'd the burthen of her heart; Stunn'd with the heavy woe, she felt like one Half-waken'd from a midnight dream of blood. But sometimes when the boy Would wet her hand with tears, And, looking up to her six'd countenance, Sob out the name of Mora ER, then did she Utter a feeble groan, At length collecting, Zeinab turn'd her eyes To heaven, exclaiming, a Praised be the Lord! Ile gave, he takes away!? The Lord our God is good!»

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She cast her eyes around, I'amine and Thirst were there . . And then the wretched Mother bowed her head, And wept upon her child.

XII. A sudden cry of wonder From Thalaba arous'd her; She rais'd her head, and saw Where high in air a stately palace rose. Amid a grove embower'd Stood the prodigious pile; Trees of such ancient majesty Tower'd not on Yemen's happy hills, Nor crown'd the stately brow of Lebanon. Fabric so vast, so lavishly enrich'd, For Idol, or for Tyrant, never yet Rais'd the slave race of man, In Rome, nor in the elder Babylon, Nor old Persepolis, Nor where the family of Greece tlymnod Eleutherian Jove. Here studding azure tabletures 3 And ray'd with feeble light, Star-like the ruby and the diamond shone: liere on the golden towers The yellow moon-beam lay, Here with white splendour floods the silver wall. Less wonderous pile and less magnificent Sennamar built at Hirah,” though his art Seald with one stone the ample edifice, And made its colours, like the serpent's skin, Play with a changeful beauty: him, its Lord, Jealous lest after effort might surpass The now unequall'd palace, from its height Dash'd on the pavement down.

Xiii. They enter d, and through aromatic paths Wondering they went along. At length, upon a mossy bank, Beneath a tall mimosa's shade, Which o'er him beat its living canopy, They saw a man reclin'd. Young he appeard, for on his cheek there shone The morning glow of health, And the brown beard curl d close around his chiu. He slept, but at the sound Of coming feet awaking, fix’d his eyes In wonder, on the wanderer and her child. * Forgive us," Zeinab cried, “ Distress hath made us bold. Relieve the widow and the fatherless! Blessed are they who succour the distrest; For them hath God appointed Paradise.”

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