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The latest date upon the stones at Pembroke And the last, which speaks for itselfis 1719. "The lapse of years, and the ruth - Here lyeth the body of the Reverend Mr. ANDREW

THOMPSON, who was born at Stonehive, in Scotland, and was

Minister of this Parish seven years, and departed this life in "ye old parish church of Kigquotan;" but

the 11 of September, 1719, in ye 46 yeare of his age, leavenough is left to the "tomb searcher," evening ye character of a sober religious man," in the inscriptions following, as he reads them. The above is followed on the tomb by a by the slanting rays of the setting sun, and long Latin inscription, which has been so hears the low winds dirging in the pines, and mutilated by some modern Goth, or Goths, the moaning and sighing of the distant waves, that it is impossible to decipher it intelligibly. to lead him to say with Blair:

We could fill pages with interesting me"The time draws on

moranda from the history of old parishes in When not a single spot of burial earth,

Virginia, but a few more, in relation to the Whether on land, or in the spacious sea, But must give back its long-committed dust

present subject, must close our article at this Inviolate; and faithfully shall these

time. Should this be received with favor, Make up the full account."

perhaps the writer may make more diligent The following coats-of-arms and inscrip

- Jefforts to rescue, from the perishing records tions, are taken from four black marble tab

of County Courts, and crumbling stones, and lets, six feet high and three wide, lying in a

family relics, materiel for the future historian field about one mile from Hampton.

of the Church, to weave into his song of her progress in our "own green forest land,” "from gloom to glory." A closer inspection of the records will doubtless enable him to trace an "unbroken succession," of parish ministers from 1621 to the present time. The following, however, is as near as can now be ascertained :-In 1664, Rev. Mr. Mallory; who was succeeded, in 1665, by Rev. Mr. Justinian Aylmere; succeeded, in 1667, by Rev. Mr. Jeremiah Taylor; succeeded, in 1677, by Rev. Mr. John Page, who left the colony about 1687; succeeded, in 1687, by Rev. Mr. Cope Doyley; in 1712, Rev. Mr. | Andrew Thompson, who died 1719; in 1731,

Rev. Mr. William Fife, who died in 1756 ; "Here lies ye body of Join NEVILLE, Esq., Vice Admi- | succeeded, in 1756, by Rev. Thomas Warral of His Majesty's fleet, and Commander in chiefe of the

rington, who died 1770; succeeded, in 1771, Squadron cruising in ye West Indies, who dyed on board ye Cambridge, ye 17 day of August, 1697, in ye ninth yeare | by Rev. William Selden, who either died, or of the Reign of King William ye third, aged 57 years." resigned, in 1783; succeeded, in 1783, by

Rev. William Nixon. The vestry-book here is defaced for some years, owing, I presume, to the fact that in the change in the Church, from that of England, to the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States, begun in 1783, consummated in 1787, and the first convention in Philadelphia, July 28, 1789, with Bishops presiding, of our own, this parish did not procure a minister during that period; but the following inscription, on a stone near the east entrance to the church, will show that very soon after the change spoken of above, the parish was blessed with regular rectoral services:

"Sacred to the memory of the Rev. JOHN JONES SPOON * In hope of a Blessed Resurrection, here lies the body | ER, Rector of the Church in Elizabeth City County: whe of Thomas Curle, gent.: who was born November 24, departed this life September 15. 1799, aged forty-two years." 1610. in the parish of St. Michaels, in Lewis, in the county of Sussex, in England, and dyed May 80, 1700.-When a few years are come then I shall goe the way whence I shall from the east, another bearing the following: not return. -Job 16. 22."

Departed this life. January 17, 1806, the Rev. BENJA A third inscription is as follows:

MIN BROWN, Rector of Elizabeth City Parish, aged thirtyThis stone was given by his Excellency FrANCIS NI- nine years." CHOLSON, Esq., Lieutenant and Govenour Generall of Virkinia, In memory of PETER HAYMAN, Esqr., grandson to the Rev. Robert Sevmour Sims, and August Sir Peter Hayman of Summerfield, in ye county of Kent, he was Collector of ve Customs in the Lower District of 11, 1810, they elected the Rev. George HolJames River, and went voluntary on board ye King's shippson. During the last war with Great BritShoreham, in pursuit of a pyrate, who greatly infested this voast. After he had behaved himselfe seven hours with undaunted courage, was killed wth a small shott ye 29 ants pillaged-one of its aged citizens sick day of Aprill, 1700, in ye engagement he stood next ye land infirm wantonly murdered in the arm Gouvenour upon ye quarter deck, and was here honorably interred by his order.

of his wife--and other crimes committed by

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hireling soldiers, and by brutalized officers, The citizens and friends of the church were over which the chaste historian must draw a blessed with the energetic aid of the Rev. veil. The church of God itself was not spar- Mark L. Chivers, chaplain at Fortress Moned during the saturnalia of lust and violence. roe, who for several years officiated once on His temple was profaned, and His altars dese- each Sabbath in Hampton. It is not saying crated. What British ruthlessness had left too much when we assert that mainly through scathed and prostrate, was soon looked upon his efforts, the church was resuscitated. The with neglect. The moles and the bats held | present rector, the writer of this, with pleatheir revels undisturbed within its once bal- sure makes this acknowledgment. lowed courts, and the “obscene owl nestled With the zeal and energy which were and brought forth in the ark of the cove- brought to bear, the results were most favonant." The church in which our fathers rable; and on Friday morning, the 8th of worshipped, stabled the horse and stalled the January, 1830, a crowd might have been seen ox. The very tombs of the dead, sacred in wending its way to those venerable walls. A all lands, became a slaughter ground of the rude staging was erected for the prominent butcher, and an arena for pugilistic contests, actors, and on that platforın knelt a whiteA few faithful ones wept when they remem- haired soldier of the cross, the venerable Bishbered Zion, in her day of prosperity, and be- op of Virginia, his face radiant with “ faith, held her in her hour of homeless travail, and hope, and charity." The ritual of the church to their cry, “ How long. oh Lord low long!" was beard once more in that old pile, and in the following preamble, accompanying a sub- answer to the invitation, “Oh, come, let us scription list, tells the story of her woes, and sing unto the Lord, let us heartily rejoice in breathes the language of her returning hope: the strength of our salvation," there might

“Whereas, from a variety of circumstances, the soon have been heard those beautiful words: Episcopal Church in the town of Hampton, is in a

" And wilt thou, O Eternal God,

On earth establish thy abode! state of dilapidation, and will ere long moulder

Then look propitious from thy throne, into ruins, unless some friendly hand be extended And take this temple for thine own." to its relief, and in the opinion of the vestry, the In the archives of the church the event is only method that can be pursued to accomplish thus recorded: the laudable design of restoring it to the order in “Know all men by these presents, that we, which our forefathers bequeathed it to their chil- Richard Channing Moore, D. D., by Divine permisdren, is to resort to subscription; and they do ear- sion, Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church nestly solicit pecuniary aid from all its friends in in the Diocese of Virginia, did consecrate to the in the full belief, that an appeal will not be made service of Almighty God, on Friday, January 8th, in vain. And hoping that God will put it into the

in the year of our Lord 1830, St. John's Church, hearts of the people to be benevolently disposed in the town of Hampton, Elizabeth City County. toward our long neglected Zion.”

In which church the services of the Protestant This bears date April 28, 1826.

Episcopal Church are to be performed agreeably A comunittee of the citizens of Hampton

to rubrics in such case made and provided. It is alwas appointed to wait on the venerable Bish- ways to be remembered, that Saint John's Church op Moore, "to solicit bis advice upon the best |

thus consecrated and set apart to the worship of manner of repairing the Protestant Episcopal .

| Almighty God, is by the act of consecration thus Church in Hampton, and beg of him his par- |

I performed, separated from all worldly and uphal

lowed uses, and to be considered sacred to the ticular aid and patronage in carrying into ef-service of the Holy and

el service of the Holy and undivided Trinity fect the same." The letter below will show

“ In testimony whereof, I have on the day and how that “old man eloquent," felt on the

year above written, subscribed my hand and afsubject. It is not among the Bishop's pub- | fixed my seal. lished letters, and is without date:

Seal.] RICHARD CAANNING MOORE." "My Dear BRETHREN :-My long confinement at The Rev. Mr. Chivers having resigned his the north prevented my reception of your letter, afternoon appointment, after officiating for until very lately; and the feebleness of my frame, sixteen years, and ministering to them in their since my return, must apologize to you for any ap- day of destitution, the Rev. John P. Bausparent neglect which has attended my reply. It man was elected Rector in 1843, and resigned will afford me the greatest pleasure to assist yon in 1845; the Rev. William H. Good was electwith my counsel in the reorganization of your ed in 1845, and continued until the close of church, and with that purpose in view, I will en 1848; and the parish remained without regular leavor to visit Hampton in a short time, of which rectoral services, until the 1st of January, you shall be duly notified, when we can converse

1851, when the writer took charge; since at large on the subject proposed for my conside

| which time an organ (the first one) las been ration. To see that temple repaired in which the l. former inhabitants of Hampton worshipped God, I put up, new, pe

put up, new pews have been added, and and to see you placed under the care of a faithfuimoney enough obtained to make permanent and indicious clergyman, will inspire my mind and comfortable repairs. If the design of the with the greatest delight. May the Almighty true friends of the church, to make it a temsmile on the proposed design, and carry it into ple in which generations to come may worfull and complete effect. Believe me, gentlemen, ship God in comfort, fail, the fault and the very affectionately, your friend and pastor, Tpunishment will lie with those who knew

RICHARD CHANNING MOORE.” | their duty and did it not."

BROODING-PLACES ON THE FALKLAND | to take care of themselves. The male bird ISLANDS.

goes to the sea for fish, and when he has satTRANSLATED FOR THE INTERNATIONAL FROM THE GERMAN. isfied his hunger hurries back and takes the D Y the name of “brooding-places," the navi- place of the female, while she in turn goes in D cators of the south seas understand places pursuit of food. Even when they are changselected by various sea-fowls, where they in ing places, they know how to manage it so as common build their nests, lay their eggs, and not to leave their eggs for a moment upcovbring up their young. Here they assemble ered.

mbla ered. When, for instance, the male comes in immense masses, and in the laying out and be

ont and back from fishing, he nestles close beside the construction of these places, exhibit great female and gradually crowds her off the nest caution, judgment, and industry.

with such care as to cover the eggs completeWhen a sufficient number have assembled ly with his feathers without exposing them on the shore, they appear first to hold a con- to the air at all. In this way they guard their sultation, and then to set about executing the

eggs against being stolen by the other females, great purpose for which they have come to

which are so greedy to raise large families that gether. First, they choose out a level spot of

they seize every chance to rob the surroundsufficient extent, often of four or five acres,

|ing nests. The royal penguin is exceedingly near the beach. In this they avoid ground cunning in this sort of trick, and never loses that is too stony, which would be dangerous to their eggs. Next, they deliberate on the

often happens that the brood of this bird, on plan of their future camp, after which they lay growing up turns out to be of two or three ont distinctly a regular parallelogram, offering

different species, a sure proof that the parents room enough for the brother and sisterhood, were no honester than their neighbors. somewhere from one to five acres. One side

It is not only interesting but instructive and of the place is bounded by the sea, and is al.even touching to watclı from a little distance ways left open for entrance and exit; the the life and movements of these broodingother three sides are inclosed with a wall of places. You can then see the birds walking up stones and roots.

and down the exterior path or public proinThese industrious feathered workers first enade in pairs, or even four, six, or eight to of all remove from the place all obstacles to gether, looking very like officers promenading their design; they take up the stones with on a parade day. Then all at once, the whole their bills and carry them to the boundaries

brooding-place is in continuous commotion, a to compose the wall. Within this wall they

flock of the penguins come back froin the sea build a perfectly smooth and even foot-path

and waddle rapidly along through the narrow some six or eight feet wide, which is used by

paths, to greet their mates after this brief day as a public promenade, and by night for separation; another company are on the way the back and forward march of the sentinels. to get food for themselves or to bring in proAfter they have in this way completed | Visions.

leted visions. At the same time the cove is dark

Al their embankments on the three land wardened by an immense cloud of albatrosses, that sides, they lay out the remaining part of the

continually hover above the brooding-place, interior into equal little quadrangles, separat

| descending from their excursions or mounting ed from each other by narrow foot-paths, I into the air to go upon them. One can look crossing at right angles.' In each crossing of at these birds for hours, and not grow weary these paths an albatross builds his nest, and of gazing, observing and wondering at their in the middle of each quadrangle, a penguin, busy social life. so that every albatross is surrounded by four

ARIADNE. penguins, and every penguin has albatross on WRITTEN FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE four sides as neighbors. In this way the

BY E. W. ELLSWORTH. whole place is regularly occupied, and only

[Scene, part of the island of Naxng. Enter, sindry Dryads, habiled as fair young maidens adorned with flowers, and bearing in their hands

branches of trees. sea-fowl, such as the green comorant and the

RYAD: We shadowy Oceanides, 80-called Nelly.

Jove's warders of the island trees, Though the penguin and albatross live so

The tufted pillars tall and stout,

And all the bosky camp about, near and in such intimacy they not only build Maintain our lives in sounding shades their nests in very different fashions, but the Of old æolian colonnades;

But post about the neighbor land penguin plunders the nest of its friend when

In woof of insubstantial wear: ever it has an opportunity. The nest of the Our ways are on the water sand, penguin is a simple hollow in the ground, just

Our joy is in the desert air.

The very best of our delights deep enough to keep its eggs from rolling out,

Are by the moon of summer nights. while the albatross raises a little hill of earth, Darkness to us is holiday: grass, and muscles, eight or ten inches high,

When winds and waves are up at play,

When, on the thunder-beaten shore, with the diameter of a water pail, and builds The swinging breakers split and roar, its nest on the top, whence it looks down on

Then is the moment of our glory,

In shadow of a promontory, its next neighbors and friends.

To trip and skip it to and fro, None of the nests in the entire brooding Even as the flashing bubbles go. place is left vacant an instant until the eggs

Or on the bleaker banks that lie,

For the salt seething wash, too high, are hatched, and the young ones old enough | Where rushes grow so sparse and great

VOL. V.-NO. 1.-4

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On ancien apleses or

With baked and barten floors between.
We glance about in mazy quire,
With much of coming and retire;
Nor let the lirnher measure fail,
Till, down behind the ocean bed,
The night dividing star is sped,
And Cynthia stoops the marish vale,
Wound in clouds and vigil pale,
Trailing the curtains of the west
About her ample couch of rest.
Thus, nightly on, we lead the year
Through all the constellated sphere.
But more obscure, in brakes and bowers,
During the sun-appointed hours,
We lodge, and are at rest, and see,
Dimly, the day's festivity,
Nor bail the spangled jewel set
Upon Aurora's coronet;
Nor trail in any morning dew;
Nor roam the park, nor trump the pool
Of lucid waters pebble cool,
Nor list the satyr's far balloo.
Noon, and the glowing hours, seem
Mutations of a laboriog dream.
Yet subject, still, to Jove's decree,
That governs, from the Olympian doors,
The populous and lonely shores,
We do & work of destiny:
When any mortal, sorely spent,
Girt with the thorns of discontent,
Or care, or hapless lore, invades,
This ancient neighborhood of shades,
Our gracious leave is to dispense,
Of woods, the slumbrous intluence:
The waverings and the murmurings
Or mmber shades and leafy wings;
Through all the courts of sense applying.
With sights, and sounds, and odorous sighing
To the world-wearied soul of man,
The gentle universal Pan-
As now we must: the roots around,
Or forests clutch a certain sound
Of weary feet; go, sisters, out:
Some one is pining, hereabout

II.
[Another part of the Island. Enter Ariadne.]
Ariadne: Here, in the heart of this sea-moatod igle,
Where we, but last night, made a summer's lodge
of transient rest from many pendulous days
Of swinging on the sick unquiet deep,
Why left he me, so lone, so unattended ?
What converse had he with felonious Night
That underneath ber dark consenting cloak,
He stole unchallenged from his Ariadne?
If, out of hope, I cannot answer that,
Slant-eyed Conjecture at my elbow stands,
To whisper me of things I would not hear.
Ah me, my Theseus, wherefore art thou gono!
Ah me, my Theseus, whither art thou gone!
Ob how shall I, an unacquainted maid,
So uninformed of whereabout I am,
And in & wild completely solitary,
Hopo to find ont my strangely alisent lord!
Sadness there is, and an unquiet fear,
Within my heart, to trace these hereabouts
Of idle woods, unthreaded labyrinths,
Rude mannered brooks, un pastured meadow sides,
All vagrant, voiceless, pathless, echoless.
Oh for the farthest breath of mortal sound!
From lacqueyed hall, or folded pensant haut-
Some noontide echo sweetly voluble:
Some song of toil reclining from the heat
Or low of kine, or neigh of tethered steeds,
Or honest clamor of some shepherd dog,
Laughter, or cries, or any living breath,
To make inroad upon this dreariness.
Methinks no shape of savave insolence,
No den unblest, nor hour inopportune,
Could daunt me now, nor warn my maiden feot
From friendly parle, that am distract of heart,
With doubt, desertion, utter loneliness.
Death would I seek to run from lonely fear,
And deem a hut a heaven, with company.
Yea, now to question of my true heart's lord,
And of the ports and alleys of this isle,
Which way they lead the clueless wanderer
To fields suburban, and the towers of men,
I would confront the strangest things that haunt
In horrid shades of brooding desolation:
Grillin, or satyr, sphinx, or sybil ape,
Or lop-eared demon from the dens of night,
Lot loose to caper out of Acheron.
Ab me, my Theseus, wherefore art thou gono!

Who left that crock of water at my side ?
Who stole my dog that loved no one but mo!
Why was the tent upstruck, I unawaked,
I lett, most loved, and last to be forgotten
By much obtaining, much indebted Theseus ?
Left to sleep on, to dream and slumber on;
Nothing to know, save fancies of the air,
While he, so strangly covert in his thoughts,
Was softly stirring to be gone from me.
Ah me, my Theseus, whither art thou gone!
Hast thou, in pleasant sport, deserted mo?
Is it a whim, & jest, a trick of task,
To mesh me in another labyrinth ?
Could Theseus so make mirth of Ariadno ?
Unless he did, I would not think he could.
And yet I will believe he is in jest.
More false than that, he could not be to me,
Since false to me, to his own self were false.
Now do I hold in hope what I have heard.
That love will sometimes cunning masks put on,
Speak with strange tongues, and wear odd liveries,
Transform himself to seemings most unlike,
And still be love in fearful opposites.
So may it be, but my immediate fear
Jostles that hope aside, and I remember
Of what my tutor tion did forewarn me.
Oh fond old man ! if thou didst know me here,
Thou wouldst move heaven and earth to bave me bome.
Much was his care of my uncaring youth,
And, with a reverend and considerate wit,
He curbed the frolic of my pupilage,
Less by the bridle, than the feeding it
With stories ending in moralities,
With applications and similitudes
Tacked to the merest leaf I looked upon,
Till, so it was, we two did love each other,
The sage and child, with mutual amity.
Oft, hand in hand, we passed iny father's gate,
At evening, when the horizontal day
Chequered his farewell on the western wall;
Sbving the court, where, for the frolic lords,
Under the profaned silence of the rose,
The syrinx, and the stringed sonorous shell,
Governed the twinkling heeled Terpsichore.
We softly went and turned towards the bay.
And found another world, contemplative
Of shells and pebbles by the ocean shore.
I do remember, once, on such an eve,
Pacing the polished margin of the deep,
We found two weeds that had embraced each other,
And talked of friendship, love and sympathy.
Ny pupil sueet, said he, beware of Lore:
For thon wilt shortly be besieged by him,
From the four winds of hearen, because thou art
Daughter of Minos, and already married
To expectation of a royal dorrer.
But o bercare! for, listen what I say,
By strong presentments I hare moved thy father
Bating a fair and well intending nay,
To leave thy love to thine unmuffied eye.
This is rare scope, my girl, 0 use it rarely,
Be slovo and nice in thy sweet liberty,
And let discretion honor thee in choice.
For lore is like a cup with drege at bottom !
Hand it with care, and pleasant it shall be
Snatch it, and thou may'st find it vitterness.
And now, my soon, my all sufficient lord,
How shall I answer old Sir Oracle?
It is too true that I have snatched my love,
And taste already of its bitterness.

But tritle not with love, my sportful Theseus.
Affection, when it bears an outward eye,
Be it of love, or social amity,
Or open-liddel general charity,
Becomes a holy universal thing
The beauty of the soul, which, therein lodged.
Surpasses every outward comeliness
Makes fanes of shargy shapes, and, of the fair,
Such presences as fill the gates of heaven.
Why is the dog, that knows no stint of heart.
Bnt roars a welcome like an untamed bear,
And leaps a dirty-footed fierce caress,
More valued than the sleek smooth mannered cat
That will not out of doors, whoever comes,
But hugs the fire in graceful idleness?
Birds of a glittering gilt, that lack a tongue,
Are shamed to drooping with the euphony
Of fond expression, and the voice beneath
The russet jacket of the soul of song.
What is that girdle of the Queen of Love,
Wherewith, as with the shell of Orpheus,
Things high and humble, the enthroned gods,
And tenants of the far un visited huts
Of wildernesses, sho alike subdues

Unto the awe of perfect harmony? What else but sweetness tempered all one way, And looks of sociable benignity! Which when she chooseth to be all herself, She doth put on, and in the act thereof, Buch thousand graces lacquey her about, And in her smile such plenitude of joyTbe extreme perfection of the divine gods Shines affable, as, to partake thereof, Hath oftentimes set Heaven in uproar. By these, and many special instances, It doth appear, or may be plainly shown, That, of all life, affection is the savorThe soul of it- and beauty is but dross: Being but the outer iris--film of love, The fleeting shade of an eternal thing. Beauty-the cloudy mock of Tantalus; Daughter of Time, betrothed unto Death, Who, all so soon as the lank anarch old Fingers ber palm, and lips her for his bride, Buffers collapse, and straightway doth become A hideous coinment of mortality. Know this, my lord, while thou dost run from me, The tide of true love hath its hours of ebb, If the attendant orb withdraw his light; And though there be a love as strong as death, There is a pride stronger than death or love; And whether 'tis that I am royal born, Or kingly blooded, or that once I was Sometimes a mistress in my father's court, I have of patience much-not overmuchAnd thou hadst best beware the boundary. Oh thou too cruel and injurions thorn! What hast thou done to my poor innocent hand! Thou art like Theseas, thou dost make me bleed; Offenceless I, yet thou dost make me bleed. This scratch I shall remember well, my lord ! Deceiver false! deserter! ronaway! My quick-heeled slave! my loose ungrateful bird ! Where'er thou art, or if thou hear or no, Know that thou art from this time given o'er, To tarry and return what time thou wilt. It is most like that thou dost lurk not far, In twilight of some envious cave or bower. Well ir thou dost-why-lurk thy heart's content. Poor rogue! thou art not worth this weariness. I will not flutter more, nor cry to thee. Bince thou art fledged, and toppled from the nest, Go-piek thy crumbs where thou canst find them best.

II.
Once more, once more, () yet again once more,
Spent is my breath with fear and weariness!
Vain toil it is to track this tangled wild-
This rank o'ergrown imprisoned solitude-
Whose very flowers are letters in my way;
Where I am chained abont with vines and briers,
Lad blindfold on through mazes tenantless,
And not a friendly echo answers me.
Oh for a foot as airy as the wing
Of the young brooding dove, to overpass,
On swift commission of my true heart's love,
All metes and bournes of this lone wilderness :
So should I quickly find my truant lord.
But, as it is, I can no farther go.
What shall I do? despair? lie down and die ?
L I give o'er my search I shall despair,
And if I do despair, I quickly die.
Avaunt Despair! I will not yet despair.
Begone, grin herald of oblivions Death!
Strong-pinioned Hope, embrnce thy wings abont me:
Shake not my fingers from thy golden chain.
Oh still bear up and pity Ariadne!
Alas! what hope have I but only Theseus,
And Theseus is not here to pity me.
Ah me, my Theseus, whither art thou gone!
Thou dost forget that thou hast called me wife,
And with sweet influence of boly vows
Grappled and grafted me unto thyself,
Oh how shall I, not knowing where thon art
Be all myself-thou dost dissever me.

Yonder I'll rest awhile, for now I see,
Through meshes of the internetted leaves,
A little plot, girt with a living wall:
A sylvan chamber, that the frolic Pan
llas built and bosomed with a leafy dome,
And windowed with a narrow glimpse of heaven.
Ite floor, sky-litten with the noontide sun,
Shows garniture of many colored flowers,
More dainty than the broidered webs of Tyre;
And all about, from beeches, oaks and pines,
Becesses deep of verbal solitude,
Come sounds of calm that woo my ruffled spirits
To e resigned and quiet contemplation.

Yond brook, that, like a child, runs wide astray,
Sings and skips on, nor knows its loneliness;
A squirrel chatters at a doorless nut:
A hammer bird drums on his hollow bark;
And bits of winged life, with aëry voicas,
Tinkle like fountains in a corridor.
Fair haunt of peace, ye quiet cadences,
Ye leafy caves of sadness and sweet sounds,
That have no feeling nor a fellowship
With the rash moods of terror and of pain,
I did not think ye could, in such an hour,
So steal from me, as in & sleep, a dreain-
What is't that comes between me and the light!
Protect me, Jove! Lo, what untended flowers,
That all night long, like little wakeful babes,
Darkly repine, and weep themselves asleep,
In the orient morning lift their pretty eyos,
Tear smiling, to behold the sun their siro
Enter the gilded chambers of the east-
Strange droopingness! What quality of air?

(Ariadne falls asleep.--Enter, the Dryads, as before. I 1st Dryad : Sprinkle out of flower bells Mortal sense entrapping spells;

Make no sound

On the ground;
Strew and lap and lay around.

Gnat nor snail

Here assail,
Beetle, slug, nor spider hero,

Now descend,

Nor depend,
Off from any thorny spear.

2d Dryad : So conclude. Whatever seems, We have her in a chain of dreams.

3d Dryad : As fair as foreign! Who is hore
In disarray of princely gear?
Here were a lass whose royal port
Might make an awe in Heaven's court;
But sorrowing beauty testifies
Ir tears that journey from her eyes,
To touches of interior pain;
And on her hand a sanguine stain.
Hair unlooped and sandals torn,
Zone unloosened from its bourne;
Surely some wandering bride of Sorrow.

4th Dryad : So let her sleep, and bid good morrow

1st Dryad : But, sisters, me it doth astound,
What maid it is that we have bound,
And Bacchus not, nor Ceres found.

2d Dryad : Bacchus has gone to Arcady;
Where certain swains, that merry be,
Ilave found a happy thunder stone,
That Jove has cast the vale upon;
So take occasion to be blest,
And Bacchus was invited guest.
His shaggy crew have helped the plan.
Silenus made the pipes of Pan,
The Satyrs teased the vines about,
And Bacchus sent a lubber lout,
Who Jurked, and stole, ere wink of moon,
The heedless Amalthea's horn.
Now all are gone to Arcady,
Head bent on rousing jollity.
Now riot ront will be, anon,
That shall the very sun eston,
By waters whist, and on the leas,
Under the old fantastic trees.
The oldest swain with longest cane,
And sad experience in his brain,
On such mad mirth shall fail to wink,
And grimly go aside to think.

3d Dryad : But, cedar-cinctured sistor, say. What news has winged our Queen away?

2d Dryad : Ceres has gone to see the feast
Made by the King of all the East;
Who breasts a beard so black and fair:
And breathes a wealth of gorgeous air,
Now all divided with Gulnare-
Whose odorous train came up from far,
Last night, at shut of evening star,
And filled, with pomp majestical,
The gardens and the palace ball
So Ceres runs to give them aid,
In likeness of an Indian maid-
Presents them each a dove apiece,
And wishes blessing and increaso.

3d Dryad : Hark! hark! I hear her rolling car. Our Queen is not so very far.

4th Dryad: Now make your facos long, I woen Here comes our sweet majestic Queen. (Enter Ceres, in likeness of a stately woman, bearing poppies and cars of wheat in ber hands, and crowned with a wreath of dowen and berries

Deres: What I loose, and chatting here at play,

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