In feudal pomp appear'd. It was his praise A loftier dome with happier skill to raise ; His halls, still gloomy, yet with grandeur rose; Here friends were feasted,-here confined were foes.

In distant chambers, with her female train,
Dwelt the fair partner of his awful reign:
Curb'd by no laws, his vassal-tribehe sway'd,
The Lord commanded, and the slave obey'd:
No soft'ning arts in those fierce times were
found,

But rival Barons spread their terrors round;
Each, in the fortress of his power, secure,
Of foes was fearless, and of soldiers sure;
And here the chieftain, for his prowess praised,
Long held the Castle that his might had raised.
Came gentler times :-the Barons ceased to
strive

With kingly power, yet felt their pomp survive;

Impell❜d by softening arts, by honour charm'd,
Fair ladies studied and brave heroes arm'd.
The Lord of Belvoir then his Castle view'd,
Strong without form, and dignified but rude;
The dark long passage, and the chambers
small,

Recess and secret hold, he banish'd all,
Took the rude gloom and terror from the place,
And bade it shine with majesty and grace.
Then arras first o'er rugged walls appear'd,
Bright lamps at eve the vast apartment
cheer'd ;

In each superior room were polish'd floors,
Tall ponderous beds, and vast cathedral doors:
All was improved within, and then below
Fruits of the hardier climes were taught to

grow;

The silver flagon on the table stood,

And to the vassal left the horn and wood.
Dress'd in his liveries, of his honours vain,
Came at the Baron's call a menial train;
Proud of their arms, his strength and their
delight;

Loud in the feast, and fearless in the fight.
Then every eye the stately fabric drew
To every part; for all were fair to view:
The powerful chief the far-famed work
descried,

And heard the public voice that waked his pride.

Pleased he began- About, above, below, What more can wealth command, or science show?

Here taste and grandeur join with massy strength;

Slow comes perfection, but it comes at length. Still must I grieve: these halls and towers sublime,

Like vulgar domes, must feel the force of time; And, when decay'd, can future days repair What I in these have made so strong and fair? My future heirs shall want of power deplore, When Time destroys what Time can not restore.'

Sad in his glory, serious in his pride,
At once the chief exulted and he sigh'd;
Dreaming hesigh'd, and still, in sleep profound,
His thoughts were fix'd within the favourite
bound;

When lo! another Castle rose in view,
That n an instant all his pride o'erthrew.
In that he saw what massy strength bestows,
And what from grace and lighter beauty flows,
Yet all harmonious; what was light and free,
Robb'd not the weightier parts of dignity-
Nor what was ponderous hid the work of grace,
But all were just, and all in proper place:
Terrace cn terrace rose, and there was seen
Adorn'd with flowery knolls the sloping green,
Bounded by balmy shrubs from climes un-
known,

And all the nobler trees that grace our own.
Above, he saw a giant-tower ascend,
That seem'd the neighbouring beauty to
defend

Of some light graceful dome,' And this,' he cried,

'Awakes my pleasure, though it wounds my pride.'

He saw apartments where appear'd to rise What seem'd as men, and fix'd on him their eyes,

Pictures that spoke; and there were mirrors tall,

Doubling each wonder by reflecting all.
He saw the genial board, the massy plate,
Grace unaffected, unencumber'd state;
And something reach'd him of the social arts.
That soften manners, and that conquer hearts.

Wrapt in amazement, as he gazed he saw A form of heav'nly kind, and bow'd in awe The spirit view'd him with benignant grace, And styled himself the Genius of the Place Gaze, and be glad!' he cried, for this,

indeed,

Is the fair Seat that shall to thine succeed,

When these famed kingdoms shall as sisters be, And one great sovereign rule the powerful three:

Then yon rich Vale, far stretching to the west, Beyond thy bound, shall be by one possess'd: Then shall true grace and dignity accordWith splendour, ease the Castle with its Lord.'

Ye, the sad emigrants from hell!
Watch, dear seraphic beings, round,
And these black Enemies repel;
Safe be my soul, my slumbers sound!

IV

In vain I pray! It is my sin
That thus admits the shadowy throng.

6 a view

Lively as truth, and I will think it true:
Some gentle spirit to my mind has brought
Forms of fair works to be hereafter wrought;
But yet of mine a part will then remain,
Nor will that Lord its humbler worth disdain;
Mix'd with his mightier pile shall mine be
found,

By him protected, and with his renown'd;
He who its full destruction could command,
A part shall save from the destroying hand,
And say,
"It long has stood,-still honour'd
let it stand.""

THE WORLD OF DREAMS [Date uncertain]

I

AND is thy soul so wrapt in sleep?
Thy senses, thy affections, fled ?
No play of fancy thine, to keep

Oblivion from that grave, thy bed? Then art thou but the breathing dead: I envy, but I pity too :

The bravest may my terrors dread,

The happiest fain my joys pursue.

II

Soon as the real World I lose,

Quick Fancy takes her wonted way,
Or Baxter's sprites my soul abuse—
For how it is I cannot say,
Nor to what powers a passive prey,
I feel such bliss, I fear such pain;

But all is gloom, or all is gay,
Soon as th' ideal World I gain.

III

Come, then, I woo thee, sacred Sleep! Vain troubles of the world, farewell! Spirits of Ill! your distance keep

And in your own dominions dwell,

Angels of darkness fierce and strong. Oh! I am borne of fate along;

My soul, subdued, admits the foe, Perceives and yet endures the wrong, Resists, and yet prepares to go.

IX

Ah me! how sweet the morning sun
Deigns on yon sleepy town to shine!
How soft those far-off rivers run-
Those trees their leafy heads decline!
Balm-breathing zephyrs, all divine,
Their health-imparting influence give:
Now, all that earth allows is mine-
Now, now I dream not, but I live.

X

My friend my brother, lost in youth,
I meet in doubtful, glad surprise,
In conscious love, in fearless truth:
What pleasures in the meeting rise!
Ah! brief enjoyment!-Pleasure dies
E'en in its birth, and turns to pain:
He meets me with hard glazed eyes!
He quits me-spurns me-with disdain.

ΧΙ

I sail the sea, I walk the land;

In all the world am I alone : Silent I pace the sea-worn sand, Silent I view the princely throne; I listen heartless for the tone

Of winds and waters, but in vain; Creation dies without a groan ! And I without a hope remain !

XII

Unnumber'd riches I behold,

Glories untasted I survey:

My heart is sick, my bosom cold,

XIV

Yet, I remember not that sea,

That other shore on yonder side: Between them narrow bound must be, If equal rise th' opposing tideLo! lo! they rise-and I abide

The peril of the meeting flood: Away, away, my footsteps slideI pant upon the clinging mud!

XV

Oh let me now possession take

Of this-it cannot be a dream.
Yes! now the soul must be awake-
These pleasures are they do not seem.
And is it true? Oh joy extreme!

All whom I loved, and thought them dead, Far down in Lethe's flowing stream,

And, with them, life's best pleasures fleri:

XVI

Yes, many a tear for them I shed-
Tears that relieve the anxious breast;
And now, by heavenly favour led,

We meet and One, the fairest, best,
Among them-ever-welcome guest!
Within the room, that seem'd destroy'd-
This room endear'd, and still possess'd,
By this dear party still enjoy'd.

XVII

Speak to me! speak! that I may know I am thus happy!-dearest, speak!

Joy makes us doubtful, wavering, weak ; But yet 'tis joy-And all I seek

Is mine! What glorious day is this! Now let me bear with spirit meek

An hour of pure and perfect bliss.

XIII

Beside the summer sea I stand,
Where the slow billows swelling shine:
How beautiful this pearly sand,
That waves, and winds, and years refine :
Be this delicious quiet mine!

The joy of youth! so sweet before,
When I could thus my frame recline,

And watch th' entangled weeds ashore.

XVIII

But do ye look indeed as friends?
Is there no change? Are not ye cold?
Oh! I do dread that Fortune lends

Fictitious good!-that I behold,
To lose, these treasures, which of old

Were all my glory, all my pride:
May not these arms that form infold ?
Is all affection asks denied?