Part 10 (1/2)

Shall the soul's delirious slumber, Sea-green vengeance of a kiss, Teach despairing crags to number Blue infinities of bliss.

_Francis G. Stokes_.

NONSENSE

Good reader, if you e'er have seen, When Phoebus hastens to his pillow, The mermaids with their tresses green Dancing upon the western billow; If you have seen at twilight dim, When the lone spirit's vesper hymn Floats wild along the winding sh.o.r.e, The fairy train their ringlets weave Glancing along the spangled green;-- If you have seen all this, and more, G.o.d bless me! what a deal you've seen!

_Thomas Moore_.

SUPERIOR NONSENSE VERSES

He comes with herald clouds of dust; Ecstatic frenzies rend his breast; A moment, and he graced the earth-- Now, seek him at the eagle's nest.

Hark! see'st thou not the torrent's flash Far shooting o'er the mountain height?

Hear'st not the billow's solemn roar, That echoes through the vaults of night?

Anon the murky cloud is riven, The lightnings leap in sportive play, And through the clanging doors of heaven, In calm effulgence bursts the day.

Hope, peering from her fleecy car, Smiles welcome to the coming spring, And birds with blithesome songs of praise Make every grove and valley ring.

What though on pinions of the blast The sea-gulls sweep with leaden flight?

What though the watery caverns deep Gleam ghostly on the wandering sight?

Is there no music in the trees To charm thee with its frolic mirth?

Must Care's wan phantom still beguile And chain thee to the stubborn earth?

Lo! Fancy from her magic realm Pours Boreal gleams adown the pole.

The tidal currents lift and swell-- Dead currents of the ocean's soul.

Yet never may their mystic streams Breathe whispers of the mournful past, Or Pallas wake her sounding lyre Mid Ether's columned temples vast.

Grave History walks again the earth As erst it did in days of eld, When seated on the golden throne Her hand a jewelled sceptre held.

The Delphian oracle is dumb, Dread c.u.mae wafts no words of fate, To fright the eager souls that press Through sullen Lethe's iron gate.

But deeper shadows gather o'er The vales that sever night and morn; And darkness folds with brooding wing The rustling fields of waving corn.

Then issuing from his bosky lair The crafty tiger crouches low, Or thunders from the frozen north The white bear lapped in Arctic snow.

Thus s.h.i.+ft the scenes till high aloft The young moon sets her crescent horn, And in gray evening's emerald sea The beauteous Star of Love is born.