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And zone that clung around her gentle waist

Had burst beneath the heaving of her heart. Within the centre of that hall to breathe She paused and panted, Zanthe! all beneath, The fairy light that kiss'd her golden hair And long'd to rest, yet could but sparkle there!

Young flowers were whispering in melody*
To happy flowers that night, and tree to tree;
Fountains were gushing music as they fell
In many a star-lit grove, or moon-lit dell;
Yet silence came upon material things,
Fair flowers, bright waterfalls, and angel wings,
And sound alone that from the spirit sprang
Bore burden to the charm the maiden sang:

"'Neath blue-bell or streamer,
Or tufted wild spray,
That keeps from the dreamer
The moonbeam away, f

* Fairies use flowers for their charactery.—Merry Wives of Windsor.

1 In Scripture is this passage,—" The sun shall not harm thee by day, nor the moon by night." It is, perhaps, not generally known, that the moon, in Egypt, has the effect of producing blindness to those who sleep with the face exposed to its rays, to which circumstance the passage evidently alludes.

Bright beings! that ponder,

With half-closing eyes,
On the stars which your wonder

Hath drawn from the skies,
Till they glance through the shade, and

Come down to your brow, Like — eyes of the maiden

Who calls on you now. Arise! from your dreaming

In violet bowers, To duty beseeming

These star-litten hours; And shake from your tresses,

Encumber'd with dew, The breath of those kisses

That cumber them too (Oh, how without you, Love I

Could angels be blest ?)—
Those kisses of true love

That lull'd ye to rest!
Up! shake from your wing
Each hindering thing:
The dew of the night—
It would weigh down your flight;
And true love caresses—

Oh, leave them apart!
They are light on the tresses,

But lead on the heart.

i

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Or, capriciously still,
Like the lone albatross,*

Incumbent on night
(As she on the air),

* The albatross is said to sleep on the wing.

To keep watch with delight
On the harmony there?

"Ligeia! wherever

Thy image may be,
No magic shall sever

Thy music from thee.
Thou hast bound many eyes

In a dreamy sleep,
But the strains still arise

Which thy vigilance keep;
The sound of the rain

Which leaps down to the flower,
And dances again

In the rhythm of the shower;
The murmur that springs *

From the growing of grass—
Are the music of things,

But are modell'd, alas!
Away, then, my dearest,

Oh! hie thee away
To springs that lie clearest

Beneath the moon-ray,—

* I met with this idea in an old English tale, which I am now unable to obtain, and quote from memory:—" The verie essence and, as it were, springeheade and origine of all music is the verie pleasaunte sounde which the trees of the forest do make when they growe."

To lone lake that smiles,

In its dream of deep rest,
At the many star-isles

That enjewel its breast,
Where wild flowers, creeping,

Have mingled their shade,
On its margin is sleeping

Full many a maid;
Some have left the cool glade, and

Have slept with the bee ; *
Arouse them, my maiden,

On moorland and lea—
Go! breathe on their slumber,

All softly in ear,
The musical number

They slumber'd to hear:
For what can awaken

An angel so soon,
Whose sleep hath been taken

Beneath the cold moon,

• The wild bee will not sleep in the shade if there be moonlight.

The rhyme in this verse, as in one about sixty lines before, has an appearance of affectation. It is, however, imitated from Sir W. Scott, or rather from Claud Halcro, in whose mouth I admired its effect:—

"Oh, were there an island,
Though ever so wild,
Where woman might smile, and
No man be beguiled," <fec.

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