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Hark! what a furious clash of chains!

Victim! thou never canst unlock

The brazen bolts that root thee to the rock;

Vain are thy struggles and convulsive strains.
Ah me! what dreadful groans are those

Wrung from the very depths of agonies;

Now weaker moanings rise, till, worn with woes,

The fainting wretch exhausted lies,

And all again is grim repose.

But still with throbbing breasts and steadfast eyes
The heroes gazed upon the mountain's peak,
Till gorged with gore they saw the monster rise
With blood-stain'd claws, and breast, and beak:

And as above them he resumed his flight,

Th'arrested vessel shakes,

The flapping main-sail quakes,

And all seem'd turned to statues at the sight,

All but the son of Bacchus, who

With flashing eyes and visage red,

Again uprear'd his bow and drew

His longest arrow to the head.—

When from the eagle's beak a drop of gore,
(The heart's blood of Prometheus) fell
Warm on his hand! upon the vessel's floor
Down fell his bow;-with shuddering yell,
And haggard eyes still staring on the drop,
He staggers back, clasping the mast to prop
His fainting limbs. Upon the pilot's forehead

The dews of terror stood,

And all in awe-struck mood

Ponder'd in silence on that omen horrid.

The sun went down, and far into the gloom

The monster shot away,-but none

Of the bewilder'd Argonauts resume

The vessel's guidance as her way she won.

None spake none moved-all sate in blank dismay,

Revolving in their minds this dread portent;

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And thus, abandon'd to the sway

Of the blind wind and watery element,

Through the whole night the Argo bore

Those throbbing hearts along the Pontic shore.

THE BIRTH OF THE INVISIBLE.

O SCENE of enchantment! O vision of bliss! What Paradisaical glory is this!

A garden! a garden! O rapturous sight!

More stately in beauty, more rich in delight,

Than any the Muse, in her leafiest hour,

Has fabled of golden Hesperian bower,

Or Fortunate Islands, or fields where the blest

In Elysium's sylvan beatitudes rest.

Lovely or rare, none can compare

With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!

Well, well may its flow'rets thus brightly expand,
For they feel the fresh touch of the Deity's hand;
And the trees that are rustling their branches on high,
Are raising their arms and their voice to the sky,
To give thanks to the Lord, at whose fiat sublime
They sprung from the earth in maturity's prime;
And the newly-born river that flows at their feet,
Is lisping an anthem its Maker to greet.

Lovely or rare, none can compare

With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!

What odorous incense upsprings from the sod,

Which has lately been press'd by the foot of its God! What fragrance Sabæan the zephyrs exhale,

Where celestial breath has been left on the gale!

Behold! how the fruits deeply blush, where the sun Has stamp'd his first kiss upon every one!

And hark! how the birds in sweet choral accord,

Send their voices' first offerings up to the Lord!
Lovely or rare, none can compare

With this heaven on earth so surpassingly fair!

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