Vague, glimmering visions to her view ;Catches of radiance, lost when caught, Bright labyrinths, that led to nought,

And vistas, with no pathway through ;Dwellings of bliss, that opening shone,

Then closed, dissolved, and left no traceAll that, in short, could tempt Hope on, But give her wing no resting-place ; Myself the while, with brow, as yet, Pure as the young moon's coronet, Through every dream still in her sight,

The' enchanter of each mocking scene, Who gave the hope, then brought the blight, Who said, "Behold, yon world of light," Then sudden dropt a veil between!

At length, when I perceived each thought, Waking or sleeping, fix'd on nought

But these illusive scenes, and me-
The phantom, who thus came and went,
In half revealments only meant

To madden curiosity--
When by such various arts I found

Her fancy to its utmost wound,

One night-'twas in a holy spot,

Which she for prayer had chosen—a grot
Of purest marble, built below

Her garden beds, through which a glow
From lamps invisible then stole,

Brightly pervading all the place—
Like that mysterious light, the soul,

Itself unseen, sheds through the face.
There, at her altar, while she knelt,
And all that woman ever felt,

When God and man both claim'd her sighs

Every warm thought, that ever dwelt,

Like summer clouds, 'twixt earth and skies,

Too

pure to fall, too gross to rise,

Spoke in her gestures, tones, and eyes

Then, as the mystic light's soft ray
Grew softer still, as though its ray
Wabreath'd from her, I heard her say:-

my dreams! whate'er

Thy nature be-human, divine,

still to fair,

ever mine!

Wonderful Spirit, who dost make lumber so lovely that it seems longer life to live awake,

Since heaven itself descends in dreams,

Why do I ever lose thee? why,

When on thy realms and thee I gaze, Still drops that veil, which I could die, Oh gladly, but one hour to raise ?

Long ere such miracles as thou

And thine came o'er my thoughts, a thirst For light was in this soul, which now Thy looks have into passion nursed.

"There's nothing bright above, below,

In sky-earth-ocean, that this breast Doth not intensely burn to know,

And thee, thee, thee, o'er all the rest!

"Then come, oh Spirit, from behind

The curtains of thy radiant home;
If thou wouldst be as angel shrined,
Or loved and clasp'd as mortal, come!

"Bring all thy dazzling wonders here,
That I may, waking, know and see ;
Or waft me hence to thy own sphere,
Thy heaven or-ay, even that with thee!

"Demon or God, who hold'st the book

66

Of knowledge spread beneath thine eye, Give me, with thee, but one bright look Into its leaves, and let me die!

By those ethereal wings, whose way
Lies through an element, so fraught
With living Mind, that, as they play,
Their
every movement is a thought!

"By that bright, wreathed hair, between Whose sunny clusters the sweet wind

Of Paradise so late hath been,

And left its fragrant soul behind !

"By those impassion'd eyes, that melt Their light into the inmost heart;

Like sunset in the waters, felt

As molten fire through every part—

"I do implore thee, oh most bright

And worshipp'd Spirit, shine but o'er My waking, wondering eyes this night, This one blest night-I ask no more!"

Exhausted, breathless, as she said
These burning words, her languid head
Upon the altar's steps she cast,

As if that brain-throb were its last

Till, startled by the breathing, nigh,
Of lips, that echoed back her sigh,
Sudden her brow again she raised;

And there, just lighted on the shrine,
Beheld me-not as I had blazed

Around her, full of light divine,
In her late dreams, but soften'd down
Into more mortal grace ;-my crown
Of flowers, too radiant for this world,

Left hanging on yon starry steep;
My wings shut up, like banners furl'd,
When Peace hath put their pomp to sleep;
Or like autumnal clouds, that keep
Their lightnings sheath'd, rather than mar
The dawning hour of some young star;
And nothing left, but what beseem'd
The' accessible, though glorious mate
Of mortal woman-whose eyes beam'd
Back upon hers, as passionate.

THE DEATH OF LILIS.

T was an evening bright and still
As ever blush'd on wave or bower,
Smiling from heaven, as if nought ill
Could happen in so sweet an hour.