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’T is over; and her lovely cheek is now
'Tis over; and the rite,
When on her knees she fell, Entering the solemn place of consecration, And from the latticed gallery came a chant Of psalms, most saint-like, most angelical, Verse after verse sung out how holily, The strain returning, and still, still returning, Methought it acted like a spell upon her, And she was casting off her carthly dross ;
Yet was it sad as sweet, and, ere it closed,
Like a dream the whole is fled;
A languor and a lethargy of soul,
But thou canst not yet reflect
THERE is an insect, that, when evening comes,
Thousands as bright as he, from dusk till dawn,
In the mother's lap
the child put forth his little hands, Singing the nursery-song he learnt so soon; 2* And the young nymph, preparing for the dance 280 By brook or fountain-side, in many a braid Wreathing her golden hair, well may
cry, “Come hither; and the shepherds, gathering round, Shall say, Floretta emulates the Night, Spangling her head with stars."
Oft have I met This shining race, when in the TuscuLaN groves My path no longer glimmered; oft among Those trees, religious once and always green, That still dream out their stories of old ROME Over the ALBAN lake; oft met and hailed, Where the precipitate Anio thunders down, And through the surging mist a poet's house (So some aver, and who would not believe ?)“ Reveals itself. Yet cannot I forget Him, who rejoiced me in those walks at eve, My earliest, pleasantest; who dwells unseen, And in our northern clime, when all is still, Nightly keeps watch, nightly in bush or brake His lonely lamp rekindling. Unlike theirs, His, if less dazzling, through the darkness knows No intermission ; sending forth its ray Through the green leaves, a ray serene and clear As Virtue's own.
It was in a splenetic humor that I sat me down to my scanty fare at TERRACINA; and how long I should have contemplated the lean thrushes in array before me I cannot say, if a cloud of smoke, that drew the tears into my eyes, , had not burst from the green and leafy boughs on the hearth-stone. "Why," I exclaimed, starting up from the table, “why did I leave my own chimney-corner ? — But am I not on the road to BRUNDUSIUM ? And are not these the very calamities that befell HORACE and VIRGIL, and MÆCENAS, and Plotius, and VARIUS? HORACE laughed at them. Then why should not I? HORACE resolved to turn them to account; and VIRGIL cannot we hear him observing that to remember them will, by and by, be a pleasure ?” My soliloquy reconciled me at once to my fate ; and when for the twentieth time I had looked through the window on a sea sparkling with innumerable brilliants, a sea on which the heroes of the Odyssey and the Æneid had sailed, I sat down as to a splendid banquet. My thrushes had the flavor of ortolans; and I ate with an appetite I had not known before. " Who," I cried, as I poured out my last glass of Falernian (for Falernian it was said to be, and in my eyes it ran bright and clear as a topaz-stone), “ who would remain at home, could he do otherwise ? Who would submit to tread that dull but daily round, his hours forgotten as soon as spent ?” and, opening my journal-book and dipping my pen in my ink-horn, I determined, as far as I could, to justify myself and my countrymen in wandering over the face of the earth. "It may serve me, ,” said I, "as a remedy in some future fit of the spleen.”