urn. Then to another shore perhaps would rove, With Plato talk in his Ilyssian grove; Or, wandering where the Thespian palace rose, Weep once again o'er fair Jocasta's woes.

Sweet then to us was that romantic band, The ancient legends of our native land— Chivalric Britomart, and Una fair, And courteous Constance, doom'd to dark despair, By turns our thoughts engaged; and oft we talk'd Of times when monarch superstition stalk'd, And when the blood-fraught galliots of Rome Brought the grand Druid fabric to its doom: While, where the wood-hung Meinai's waters flow, The hoary harpers pour'd the strain of woe.

While thus employed, to us how sad the bell Which summon'd us to school! 'T was Fancy's knell, And, sadly sounding on the sullen ear, It spoke of study pale, and chilling fear. Yet even then, (for oh! what chains can bind, What powers control, the energies of mind!) E'en then we soar'd to many a height sublime, And many a day-dream charm'd the lazy time.

At evening too, how pleasing was our walk, Endear'd by Friendship's unrestrained talk, When to the upland heights we bent our way. To view the last beam of departing day; How calm was all around! no playful breeze Sigh'd 'mid the wavy foliage of the trees, But all was still, save when, with drowsy song, The gray-fly wound his sullen horn along; And save when, heard in soft, yet merry glee, The distant church bells' mellow harmony; The silver mirror of the lucid brook, That 'mid the tufted broom its still course took; The rugged arch, that clasp'd its silent tides, With moss and rank weeds hanging down its sides; The craggy rock, that jutted on the sight; The shrieking bat, that took its heavy flight; All, all was pregnant with divine delight. We loved to watch the swallow swimming high, In the bright azure of the vaulted sky; Or gaze upon the clouds, whose colour'd pride Was scatter'd thinly o'er the welkin wide, And tinged with such variety of shade, To the charm'd soul sublimest thoughts convey'd. In these what forms romantic did we trace, While Fancy led us o'er the realms of space! Now we espied the Thunderer in his car, Leading the embattled seraphim to war, Then stately towers descried, sublimely high, In Gothic grandeur frowning on the sky— Or saw, wide stretching o'er the azure height, A ridge of glaciers in mural white, Hugely terrific.—But those times are o'er, And the fond scene can charm mine eyes no more; For thou art gone, and I am left below, Alone to struggle through this world of woe.

The scene is o'er—still seasons onward roll, And each revolve conducts me toward the goal; Yet all is blank, 

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