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thee!

But O, what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height | Avaunt! and quit my sight. Let the earth hide
Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll?
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul!

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Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold;
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes,

Which thou dost glare with!

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Whistling in their tempest-flight;
Snap the tall yews 'neath the storm,
Like a pine-flame crackling bright;
Swift and heavy, low, their crowd
Through the heavens rushing loud!-
Like a lurid thunder-cloud

With its bolt of fiery night!

The Djinns. Trans. of J. L. O'SULLIVAN.

V. HUGO.

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Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;
Come like shadows, so depart.

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They're fairies! he that speaks to them shall die:
I'll wink and couch; no man their sports must
eye.
Merry Wives of Windsor, Act v. Sc. 5,

SHAKESPEARE.

This is the fairy land: O, spite of spites!
We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites..
Comedy of Errors, Act ii. Sc. 2.

SHAKESPEARE.

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PUCK. How now, spirit, whither wander you? FAIRY. Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moon's sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green : The cowslips tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favors, In those freckles live their savors: I must go seek some dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Midsummer Night's Dream, Act ii. Sc. 1.

SHAKESPEARE.

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Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast; whate'er thou art Or wert, - a young Aurora of the air, The nympholepsy of some fond despair; Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, Who found a more than common votary there Too much adoring; whatsoe'er thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth. Childe Harold, Cant. iv.

BYRON.

Quite spent and out of breath he reached the tree,

And, listening fearfully, he heard once more
The low voice murmur "Rhocus!" close at hand:
Whereat he looked around him, but could see
Naught but the deepening glooms beneath the
oak.

Then sighed the voice, "O Rhocus! nevermore
Shalt thou behold me or by day or night,
Me, who would fain have blessed thee with a love
More ripe and bounteous than ever yet
Filled up with nectar any mortal heart;
But thou didst scorn my humble messenger,
And sent'st him back to me with bruised wings.
We spirits only show to gentle eyes,

We ever ask an undivided love.

And he who scorns the least of Nature's works Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. Farewell for thou canst never see me more." J. R. LOWELL.

Rhæcus.

о

And though the Land is thronged again, O Lea, Strange ondness triches all that

go

with thee.

The small birds flaming notes the wild, sharp callo,
spirite it is sadness all!

Share thine own

How dark & stein
Zonder todd

играт

the

waves

looks down

· Cliff! _ be with this brow crowow
And see! Those sable Pines story the steep
даар
Ure come to join they requiem, gloomy deap
Like stoled monks they stand & chant the dinges
Dwse the dead with they low-beating surges.

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POEMS OF TRAGEDY.

This is love, who, deaf to prayers,
Floods with blessing unawares.
Draw, if then cauft, the mystic line
Severing rightly his from themes,
Which is human, which divine.

Rev.Emerge.

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