Celestial King ! O let thy presence pass
Before my spirit, and an image fair
Shall meet that look of mercy from on high,
As the reflected image in a glass
Doth meet the look of him, who seeks it there,
And owes its being to the gazer's eye.

THE BROOK.

FROM THE SPANISH.

Laugh of the mountain ! — lyre of bird and tree !
Pomp of the meadow! mirror of the morn!
The soul of April, unto whom are born
The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee !
Although, where'er thy devious current strays,
The lap of earth with gold and silver teems,
To me thy clear proceeding brighter seems
Than golden sands, that charm each shepherd's
How without guile thy bosom, all transparent
As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye
Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round pebbles count!
How, without malice murmuring, glides thy current!
O sweet simplicity of days gone by !
Thou shun'st the haunts of man, to dwell in lim-

pid fount !

THE CELESTIAL PILOT.

FROM DANTE.

PURGATORIO, II.

And now, behold! as at the approach of morning,
Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery red,
Down in the west upon the ocean floor,

Appeared to me, - would I again could see it! -
A light along the sea, so swiftly coming,
Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled.

And when therefrom, I had withdrawn a little
Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor,
Again I saw it brighter grown and larger.

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Thereafter on all sides of it appeared,
I knew not what of white, and underneath,
Little by little, there came forth another.

My master yet had uttered not a word,
While the first brightness into wings unfolded ;
But when he clearly recognised the pilot,

He cried aloud ; Quick, quick, and bow the knee ! Behold the Angel of God! fold up thy hands! Henceforward shalt thou see such officers !

See, how he scorns all human arguments,

So that no oar he wants, nor other sail
Than his own wings between so distant shores !

See how he holds them, pointed straight to heaven,
Fanning the air with the eternal pinions,
That do not moult themselves like mortal hair!