And wouldst thou think it hard to dwell Alone within some sylvan cell,

Some fragrant arch of flowers,

Raised like a queen with gracious smile
In the midst of this her subject isle,
This labyrinth of bowers?

Could the fair earth, and fairer skies,
Clouds, breezes, fountains, groves,
To banish from thy heart suffice
All thought of deeper loves?
Or wouldst thou pine thy life away,
To kiss once more the blessèd ray
That shines in human eyes?

What though the clustering roses came
Like restless gleams of magic flame,

As if they loved thy feet,

To win thee like a summer sprite,
With purest touches of delight,
To the Fairy Queen's retreat!

Oh! they would bloom and wither too,
And melt their pearls of radiant dew,
Without one look from thee:

What pleasure could that beauty give,
Which, of all mortal things that live,

None but thyself may see?

And where are the birds that cheered thine eyes,

With wings and crests of rainbow dyes,

That wont for aye to glide

Like sunbeams through the shady bowers,

Charming away the happy hours

With songs of love or pride?

Soon, soon thou hatest this Paradise;

It seems the soul hath fled

That made it fairer than the skies,

And a joyful beauty shed

O'er the tremor of the circling wave,

That now with restless moans and sighs
Sounds like the dirge-song of the dead,
Dim breaking round a grave.

But she thou lovest is at thy side,
The Island Queen becomes thy bride,
And God and Nature sanctify the vow;
Air, Earth, and Ocean smile once more,

VOL. XII.

C

And along the forest-fringèd shore,
What mirth and music now!

What warm and heavenly tints illume
The land that lately seemed a tomb
Where thou wert left to die!

So bathed in joy this earth appears
To him, who, blind for lingering years,
At last beholds the sky.

Thy heart was like an untouched lyre,
Silent as death-Let the trembling wire
The hand that knows its spirit feel;
And list! What melting murmurs steal
Like incense to the realms above,
Such sounds as parted souls might love.
And now if a home-bound vessel lay

At anchor in yon beauteous bay,

"Till the land-breeze her canvass wings should swell, From the sweet Isle thou scarce wouldst part,

But, when thou didst, thy lingering heart

Would sadly say, "Farewell!"

In such a fairy Isle now prayed

Fitz-Owen and his darling Maid.

The setting sun, with a pensive glow,

Had bathed their foreheads bending low,

Nor ceased the voice, or the breath of their prayer,

Till the moonlight lay on the mellowed air.

Then from the leaves they calmly rose,

As after a night of calm repose,

And Mary leaned her face

With a sob of joy on her Lover's breast,
Who with kind tones the Maiden prest
In a holy pure embrace.

And gently he kissed her tearful eyes,

And bade her heart lie still,

For there was a power in the gracious skies,

To shield their saints from ill.

Then, guided by the moonlight pale,

They walked into a sylvan vale,

Soft, silent, warm, and deep;

And there beneath her languid head,
The silken withered leaves he spread,
That she might sweetly sleep.

Then down he sat by her tender side,
And, as she lay, with soft touch dried

The stealing tears she could not hide;
Till sleep, like a faint shadow, fell
O'er the husht face he loved so well,
And smiling dreams were given
To cheer her heart; then down he laid
His limbs beside the sleeping Maid,
In the face of the starry Heaven.

Sleep fell upon their wearied souls With a power as deep as death; Scarce trembled Mary's floating hair

In her Lover's tranquil breath.

In that still trance did dear thoughts come

From the brook, and the glade, and the sky, of home,

And the gentle sound of her mother's voice

Bade Mary's slumbering soul rejoice.

For she in dreams to Wales hath flown,

And sits in a cottage of her own,

Beneath its sheltering tree:
Fitz-Owen's eye is fixed on hers,

While with a timid smile she stirs

Beside her mother's knee.

But the rising sun hath pour'd his beams
Into her heart, and broke her dreams;
Slowly she lifts her eyes,

And, wondering at the change, looks round

Upon that wild enchanted ground,

And these delightful skies.

Over her Lover's breast she breathes

A blessing and a prayer,

And gently they stir his sleeping soul,
Like the voice of the morning-air.
Soon as the first surprise is past,
They rise from their leafy bed,
As cheerful as the new-woke birds
That sing above their head.

And trusting in the merciful Power

That saved them in that dismal hour

When the ship sank in the sea,

Cheering their souls with many a smile,

They walk through the woods of this nameless Isle

In undisturbed tranquillity.

Well might they deem that wizard's wand

Had set them down in Fairyland,

Or that their souls some beauteous dream obeyed :
They know not where to look or listen,
For pools and streams of crystal glisten
Above, around,-embracing like the air
The soft-reflected trees; while everywhere
From shady nook, clear hill, and sunny glade,
The ever-varying soul of music played;
As if, at some capricious thing's command,
Indulging every momentary mood,
With voice and instrument, a fairy band
Beneath some echoing precipice now stood,
Now on steep mountain's rocky battlement,
Or from the clouds their blended chorus sent,
With jocund din to mock the solitude.
They gaze with never-sated eyes

On lengthening lines of flowery dyes,

That through the woods, and up the mountains run :

Not richer radiance robes the Even,

When she ascends her throne in Heaven,

Beside the setting sun.

Scattering the blossomy gems away,

Like the white shower of the Ocean spray,
Across their path for ever glide or shoot
Birds of such beauty, as might lead
The soul to think that magic power decreed
Spirits to dwell therein; nor are they mute,
But each doth chant his own beloved strain,
For ever trembling on a natural tune,
The heart's emotions seeming so to suit,
That the rapt Lovers are desiring soon,
That silence never may return again.

A cheerful welcome these bright creatures sing;
And as the Lovers roam from glade to glade,
That shine with sunlight, and with music ring,
Seems but for them the enchanted island made.
So strong the influence of the fairy scene,
That soon they feel as if for many a year
In love and rapture they had lingered here,

While with the beauteous things that once have been
Long, long ago, or only in the mind

By Fancy imaged, lies their native Wales,

Its dim-seen hills, and all its streamy vales :

Sounds in their souls its rushing mountain-wind,

Like music heard in youth, remembered well,
But when or where it rose they cannot tell.
Delightful woods, and many a cloudless sky,
Are in their memory strangely floating by,
But the faint pageant slowly melts away,
And to the living earth they yield
Their willing hearts, as if revealed
In all its glory on this mystic day.

Like fire, strange flowers around them flame,

Sweet, harmless fire, breathed from some magic urn,

The silky gossamer that may not burn,

Too wildly beautiful to bear a name.

And when the Ocean sends a breeze,

To wake the music sleeping in the trees,

Trees scarce they seem to be; for many a flower,

Radiant as dew, or ruby polished bright,
Glances on every spray, that bending light
Around the stem, in variegated bows,
Appear like some awakened fountain-shower,
That with the colour of the evening glows.

And towering o'er these beauteous woods, Gigantic rocks were ever dimly seen, Breaking with solemn grey the tremulous green, And frowning far in castellated pride; While, hastening to the Ocean, hoary floods Sent up a thin and radiant mist between, Softening the beauty that it could not hide. Lo! higher still the stately Palm-trees rise, Chequering the clouds with their unbending stems, And o'er the clouds amid the dark-blue skies Lifting their rich unfading diadems.

How calm and placidly they rest

Upon the Heavens' indulgent breast,

As if their branches never breeze had known!

Light bathes them aye in glancing showers,

And Silence mid their lofty bowers

Sits on her moveless throne.

Entranced there the Lovers gaze,

Till every human fear decays,

And bliss steals slowly through their quiet souls ;

Though ever lost to humankind

And all they love, they are resigned:

While with a scarce-heard murmur rolls,