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place I have wanted to go to for a long time, and how pleasant it will be if we can be there together.”

“That if has blighted the hopes of a great many, Odora,—if mother had not taken it into her head to get married, we should have been at home, and if she had sacked him we should not have been lashed into shoe-strings by this north wind, that almost freezes my ears, with no prospect of its abating, for the clouds are as black as

night."

"Dear brother, let me repeat to you Shelley's beautiful poem upon the cloud, and the wind wont blow half so hard, nor the clouds look half so black."

Well, let us have it then; anything to kill time. You will no doubt do it justice, seeing you are a poetess.” “ I'll do my best, so we will have it.

I. "I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,

From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shades for the leaves when laid

In their noon-day dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken

The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast

As she dances about the sun,
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,

And laugh as I pass in thunder.

II. "I sift the snow on the mountains below,

And their great pines groan aghast ; And all the night 'tis my pillow white,

While I sleep in the arms of the blast,
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,

Lightning my pilot sits.
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,

It struggles and howls at fits ;
Over earth and ocean with gentle motion,

This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move

In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills and the crags and the hills,

Over the lakes and plains,
Wherever he dream under mountain or stream,

The spirit he loves remains, And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile,

hilst he is dissolving in rain.

The sanguine sunrise with his meteor eyes
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rock

When the morning star shines dead.
As on the jag of a mountain crag,

Which an earthquake rocks and swings, An eagle alit one moment may sit

In the light of his golden wings,
And when sunset may breathe from the lit sea be.

Death,
Its ardours of rest and of love,
And crimson pall of eve may fall

From the depth of heaven above,
With wings folded I rest on mine airy best

As still as a brooding dove.

IV.
"That orbed maiden with white fire laden

Whom mortals call the moon
Gildes glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,

By the midnight breezes strewn;
And whenever the beat of her unseen feet,

Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,

The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laughed to see them whirl and flee,

Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent.

Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me and high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.

V. “I bind the sun's throne with the burning zone

And the moon's with a girdle of pearl; The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,

When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl,
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,

Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof,

The mountains its columns be,
The triumphal arch through which I march,

With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the powers of the air are chained to my chair

Is the million-colored bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colours move,

While the moist earth was laughing below.

VI.
“I am the daughter of earth and water,

And the nurseling of the sky,
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores,

I change, but I cannot die,
For after the rain, with never a stain

The pavilion of heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex

gleams, Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my cenotaph,

And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like ghost from the

tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again."

“Well, Odora, that is beautiful! I almost fancy that the sun is shining. Odora, are you acquainted with the character of Shelley ?”

* Not extensively, I have read his poems; are you, Alpheus ?"

"I read a brief biography of his not long since; there were traits in his political character that pleased me, but he was one of those that never matured anything, half of his poems are in an unfinished state."

Alpheus, the one that I have just repeated is finished ; in my humble opinion there are finished touches in this, that cannot be surpassed; and there is the poem addressed to the Lord Chancellor on his removing his children, under the false pretence of his not being capable of bringing them up. While he prays for the blighting curse to rest upon mies, there is a development of fra

his ene

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