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Which steal like streams along a field

of snow,

That lovely outline, which is fair
As breathing marble, perish?
Must putrefaction's breath
Leave nothing of this heavenly sight

But loathsomeness and ruin?
Spare nothing but a gloomy theme,
On which the lightest heart might
moralise?

Or is it only a sweet slumber

Stealing o'er sensation,
Which the breath of roseate morning

Chaseth into darkness?
Will Ianthe wake again,
And give that faithful bosom joy
Whose sleepless spirit waits to catch
Light, life and rapture from her smile?

Yes! she will wake again, Although her glowing limbs are motionless,

And silent those sweet lips,
Once breathing eloquence,
That might have soothed a tiger's
rage,

Or thawed the cold heart of a conqueror.

Her dewy eyes are closed,

And on their lids, whose texture fine
Scarce hides the dark blue orbs be-
neath,

The baby Sleep is pillowed:
Her golden tresses shade
The bosom's stainless pride,
Curling like tendrils of the parasite
Around a marble column.

Hark! whence that rushing sound? 'Tis like the wondrous strain That round a lonely ruin swells, Which, wandering on the echoing shore,

The enthusiast hears at evening: 'Tis softer than the west wind's sigh; 'Tis wilder than the unmeasured notes Of that strange lyre whose strings The genii of the breezes sweep:

Those lines of rainbow light Are like the moonbeams when they fall

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When every sight of lovely, wild and grand

Astonishes, enraptures, elevates,

When fancy at a glance combines
The wondrous and the beautiful,-
So bright, so fair, so wild a shape
Hath ever yet beheld,
As that which reined the coursers of the
air,

And poured the magic of her gaze
Upon the maiden's sleep.

The broad and yellow moon
Shone dimly through her form—
That form of faultless symmetry;
The pearly and pellucid car

Moved not the moonlight's line:
'Twas not an earthly pageant:
Those who had looked upon the sight,
Passing all human glory,
Saw not the yellow moon,
Saw not the mortal scene,
Heard not the night-wind's rush,
Heard not an earthly sound,
Saw but the fairy pageant,
Heard but the heavenly strains
That filled the lonely dwelling.

The Fairy's frame was slight, yon
fibrous cloud,

That catches but the palest tinge of The day-stars of their age;— Soul of

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Stars! your balmiest influence shed!
Elements! your wrath suspend!
Sleep, Ocean, in the rocky bounds
That circle thy domain !
Let not a breath be seen to stir
Around yon grass-grown ruin's height,
Let even the restless gossamer
Sleep on the moveless air!
Soul of Ianthe! thou,

Judged alone worthy of the envied boon, That waits the good and the sincere; that waits

Those who have struggled, and with resolute will

Vanquished earth's pride and meanness, burst the chains,

The icy chains of custom, and have shone

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Instinct with inexpressible beauty and grace,

Each stain of earthliness
Had passed away, it reassumed
Its native dignity, and stood
Immortal amid ruin.

Upon the couch the body lay
Wrapt in the depth of slumber :

Its features were fixed and meaning-
less,

Yet animal life was there,
And every organ yet performed
Its natural functions: 'twas a sight
Of wonder to behold the body and soul.
The self-same lineaments, the same
Marks of identity were there:
Yet, oh, how different! One aspires to
Heaven,

Pants for its sempiternal heritage,
And ever-changing, ever-rising still,
Wantons in endless being.
The other, for a time the unwilling sport
Of circumstance and passion, struggles

on;

Fleets through its sad duration rapidly: Then like an useless and worn-out machine,

Rots, perishes, and passes.

FAIRY

Spirit! who hast dived so deep; Spirit! who hast soared so high; Thou the fearless, thou the mild, Accept the boon thy worth hath earned,

Ascend the car with me.

SPIRIT

Do I dream? Is this new feeling But a visioned ghost of slumber?

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And where the burning wheels

The thoughts and actions of a well-spent Eddied above the mountain's loftiest

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peak,

Was traced a line of lightning.
Now it flew far above a rock,

The utmost verge of earth,
The rival of the Andes, whose dark
brow

Lowered o'er the silver sea.

Far, far below the chariot's path,
Calm as a slumbering babe,
Tremendous Ocean lay.

The mirror of its stillness showed
The pale and waning stars,
The chariot's fiery track,
And the gray light of morn
Tinging those fleecy clouds
That canopied the dawn.
Seemed it, that the chariot's way
Lay through the midst of an immense

concave,

Radiant with million constellations, tinged

With shades of infinite colour,
And semicircled with a belt
Flashing incessant meteors.

The magic car moved on.
As they approached their goal

The coursers seemed to gather speed;

II

The sea no longer was distinguished; IF solitude hath ever led thy steps

earth

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To the wild ocean's echoing shore,
And thou hast lingered there,
Until the sun's broad orb
Seemed resting on the burnished

wave,

Thou must have marked the lines Of purple gold, that motionless

Hung o'er the sinking sphere: Thou must have marked the billowy clouds

Edged with intolerable radiancy
Towering like rocks of jet

Crowned with a diamond wreath.
And yet there is a moment,
When the sun's highest point

Peeps like a star o'er ocean's western

edge,

When those far clouds of feathery

gold,

Shaded with deepest purple, gleam Like islands on a dark blue sea; Then has thy fancy soared above the earth,

And furled its wearied wing
Within the Fairy's fane.

Yet not the golden islands
Gleaming in yon flood of light,
Nor the feathery curtains
Stretching o'er the sun's bright
couch,

Nor the burnished ocean waves
Paving that gorgeous dome,

So fair, so wonderful a sight
As Mab's ethereal palace could afford.
Yet likest evening's vault, that faery
Hall!

As Heaven, low resting on the wave, it spread

Its floors of flashing light,
Its vast and azure dome,
Its fertile golden islands
Floating on a silver sea;

Whilst suns their mingling beamings darted

Through clouds of circumambient dark.

ness,

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