Which stared from the old walls, and swinging

bells,

Such as the mighty one of Lincoln famed,—

All rocked, and rocked, as by an earthquake stirred, Or as some demon-spirit from beneath

Would hurl from its deep base the House of God.

Methought I walked next in a distant grove,
And saw, and trembled at the dreadful sight,
The sacred edifice, which to and fro,
Hither, and thither, rocked as regular

As infant's cradle. The scared citizens
Had fled the city and the rocking church,
And, like a flock of frighted sheep dispersed,
Were scattered o'er the fields. Cold clammy sweat
Bedewed my limbs, while my fixed eyeballs stood,
As charmed by serpent-eye, and gazed, and gazed
Upon the appalling spectacle,-until

A friendly voice awoke me from my sleep,
And thus dispelled the visionary dream

Of gloom and terror.

XII.

EPIGRAM.

REASON and Freedom fired the Gallic youth
To pull down churches in their search of Truth:
Their project failed; and Frenchmen far more sage,—
With zeal for truth, and minds matured by age,-
In one famed town, which once owned Reason's
reign,

Resolved to rear a ruined church again;

But hearing TRUTH or high or low could dwell,

'Stead of a Church, these sages sunk a WELL!

XIII.

ON LEAVING THE SOUTH OF FRANCE.

I LEAVE thee, France, without regret :
And, England, dear as life is dear,
Thy scenes come on my heart as sweet
As melody upon the ear;

The rustling of thy leaves I hear,

My Country, and each fresh green field, And sparkling streamlet murmuring near, The sense of silent rapture yield !

Thou art to me a lovely star,

Whose influence may I ever know! Thy cheering light I've felt afar

In hours of weariness and woe.

Thus may it be where'er I go!

As unpolluted be my mind

By foreign lands, as mountain sno w,

Untouched, save by the sun and wind.

Thy beauty, France, I cannot mourn,
Though not unmoved I say farewell,
And to my native land return,

My love whereof not words can tell :
It is a strong mysterious spell,

That clings around the human heart; And 'gainst their nature they rebel, Who would with such a feeling part.

Yet it hath soothed my soul in sorrow
To see thine arch of boundless blue,
Which speaks of worlds where is no morrow-
Where the bright heaven's etherial hue
Will never fade, but fill the view,—
And, everlasting as the mind

Of man, will still be fresh and new,
With space for evermore behind.

And yet my soul will ne'er regret
That I have left this cloudless sky

For scenes a thousand times more sweet,

That linger in the memory,

As rest upon the dying eye

The dearest forms we've loved on Earth!

Ah no! I quit without a sigh

All but the Country of my birth.

XIV.

LAND OF MY FATHERS.

COMPOSED FOR A FOREIGN AIR.

LAND of my Fathers! I bid thee farewell,
As my bark swift on her snowy wing flies;
Thy loftiest mountain, thy lowliest dell,
Is dear as the light to my eyes.

Dear are the white cliffs that girdle thy shore;
Dear are thy woods which now fade from my view;
Dear thy green fields I may never see more;
Adieu, my loved Country, adieu !

Land of my birth, while I bid thee farewell,
Though my heart may weep, no tear dims my eye;
Land of my Fathers, this last look may tell
That the fountain of sorrow is dry.

Fate tears me away from the land of my home,
As a bird is torn from the nest of its love;
The Ark of my Country, wherever I roam,
My fond bosom will seek as the dove.