The Cambridge Book of Poetry and Song

When the passing bell doth toll, And the Furies, in a shoal, Come to fright a parting soul,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few.
And that number more than true,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what he said
Because my speech is now decayed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When, God knows, I'm tost about
Either with despair or doubt,
Yet before the glass be out,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the Tempter me pursu'th.
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the flames and hellish cries Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes,

And all terrors me surprise,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the judgment is revealed,

And that opened which was sealed

When to Thee I have appealed.

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

THOMAS KIBBLE HERVEY.

CLEOPATRA EMBARKING ON THE The sky is a gleam of gold,

PACK clouds away, and welcome day, | Wake from thy nest, robin red

With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air, blow soft; mount, larks,

aloft,

To give my love good-morrow, Wings from the wind to please her mind,

Notes from the lark I'll borrow; Bird, prune thy wing,nightingale,sing, To give my love good-morrow.

breast,

Sing, birds, in every furrow; And from each hill let music shrill Give my fair love good-morrow. Blackbird and thrush in every

bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow; You pretty elves, among yourselves, Sing my fair love good-morrow.

How oft in visions of the night,
How oft in noonday dreaming,
I've seen, fair lake, thy forest wave,-
Have seen thy waters gleaming;
Have heard the blowing of the winds
That sweep along thy highlands,
And the light laughter of the waves
That dance around thine islands.

It was a landscape of the mind,
With forms and hues ideal,
But still those hues and forms ap-
peared

More lovely than aught real.

I feared to see the breathing scene,
And brooded o'er the vision,
Lest the hard touch of truth should

mar

A picture so Elysian.

But now I break the cold distrust Whose spells so long had bound me; The shadows of the night are past,The morning shines around me.

And in the sober light of day,
I see, with eyes enchanted,
The glorious vision that so long
My day and night dreams haunted.

The purest of earth's fountains:
I see the green, translucent wave,
I see the many-winding shore,
The double range of mountains:
One, neighbor to the flying clouds,
And crowned with leaf and blossom,
And one, more lovely, borne within
The lake's unruffled bosom.

O timid heart! with thy glad throbs
Some self-reproach is blended.
At the long years that died before
The sight of scene so splendid.
The mind has pictures of its own,
Fair trees and waters flowing-
But not a magic whole like this,
So living, breathing, glowing;

Strength imaged in the wooded hills,
A grand, primeval nature,

And beauty mirrored in the lake,
A gentler, softer feature;

A perfect union, - where no want
Upon the soul is pressing;
Like manly power and female grace
Made one by bridal blessing.

Nor is the stately scene without
Its sweet, secluded treasures,
Where hearts that shun the crowd
may find

Their own exclusive pleasures;
Deep chasms of shade for pensive
thought,

The hours to wear away in;

With clouds, and shadows of the clouds,

And mists the hillsides ranging.
Where morning's gold, and noon's
hot sun,

Their changing glories render;
Pour round the shores a varying
light,

Now glowing and now tender.

But purer than the shifting gleams
By liberal sunshine given,

Is the deep spirit of that hour, -
An effluence breathed from heaven;
When the unclouded, yellow moon

And vaulted aisles, of whispering pine, Hangs o'er the eastern ridges,
For lovers' feet to stray in;

Clear streams that from the uplands

run,

A course of sunless shadow;
Isles all unfurrowed by the plough,
And strips of fertile meadow;
And rounded coves of silver sand,
Where moonlight plays and glances,-
A sheltered hall for elfin horns,
A floor for elfin dances.

No tame monotony is here,
But beauty ever changing;

And the long shaft of trembling gold,

The trembling crystal bridges.

And, braving full their murderous Keep green the memory of the brave

blast,

Stormed home the towers of Monterey.

Our banners on those turrets wave, And there our evening bugles play; Where orange boughs above their grave

Who fought and fell at Monterey.

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