Se that I lacked the inward sense
Of star-like visitants,

And all my notions were too dense
For fiction to entrance,

Still here I cannot be without

One living spirit-mate;
Dream I or not, I need not doubt
That one on me doth wait,

To help my smiles, and put to rout
The thoughts I dread or hate.

There is a guest, a faithful guest,
Who takes all slights from me,
And bears such injury unconfest,
Not unforgivingly;

Who keeps a vigil of meek duty,

Close by my vulgar chair,

And breathes a power of voiceless beauty, For my poor thoughts to share.

Oh book! oh generous poet-friend!
I thank thee scarce aright,
That lovingly you condescend
To feed me with delight;
Neglect, frivolity, and pride

Dwell here, and do thee wrong,
Yet still with me there doth abide

Thy soft and wakeful song;

And if I ever turn away

From vain and weary toys,
From sullen work, and sanguine play,

And earthly passions' noise,
Ready, aye ready art thou here,

For love's and wisdom's pleading,

To throw between me and my fear,
A gracious interceding.

Then blessings on the mute live thing,
Whereby this room is blest ;
Long live the rhythmical word-king,
Who serves at my behest.
Stay with me, mild and holy seer,

Though I be cold and dull,
Make thou my silent hours more dear,
My life more beautiful.
Stay, like a woodland hermit's bell

That hangs among the trees,
To fill my lonely fancy's cell

With music when I please;

Come, when my sickened heart thinks ilt

Of nature and mankind,

Uplift me to thy better will,

Show me thy humbler mind.

I do not honour thee too much,
I ask thee not to be

A heart-worn clasp of inmost touch,
My soul's phylactery.

That were to err-but if I love

To feel that thou art near,

It hinders not that from above

Comes aid more strong, more dear

I only summon thee, sweet thing,

As that Arabian boy
Might call the genius of the ring

To break a short annoy ;
To bring a lustrous fruit or gem

From cloistered fancy's treasure,

To deck my spirit's diadem,

Or fill my lips with pleasure.

And so may thou my thoughts illume
With converse rare and pure,
So may this naked mind assume
Thy graceful garniture.

AN ENIGMA.

I am a singular character, so indefinite in my nature, that to define me you must change my form. I delight in anomalies and contrasts, more than in consistency and truth; I ever take refuge in falsehood, yet my name is one of the first taught to lisping childhood; though I am neither mind nor conscience, and know not love, my throne is in the centre of the heart of every creature living. When floating between two liquids I become a substance which, it is said, cannot be purchased in England. All I say is, look at the Elections! I am totally independent of opinion, and can stand without support. In all quarters of the globe but Europe I have played a conspicuous part, and not a statesman has ever existed who was not indebted to me for name and reputation. I partake of the nature of platina, yet I abhor gold, silver, tin, and copper; but as I am in the tail of a certain politician, you may be sure that I am not deficient in brass.

"ONCE MORE UPON THE THAMES."

Oh welcome me, thou broad white river!
Oh kiss my boat for acquaintance sake,

Be for an hour, what thou hast been-the giver

Of charms that a breath on the mirror can break.

Greet me-for I was thy playmate of yore;
Serve me-for I was thy errant knight;
Clasped in the folds of thy wreathed shore,
Let me learn a lesson of old delight.

Under the shade of thy willowy fringe,
My scull dips in with a plaintive crush,
Under the red sun a brief topaz-tinge

Gems the shower from the blade with a merry flush.

Soft is the laugh of the lapping stream,

Kind are the sighs of the reedy cove;

River, oh! river, lend me a dream,

Weave me the fancies my boyhood wove.

Fondly bend over me, drowsy trees;

Cradle me, waves, as I lie afloat;

Fetch me the meadow-hay's scent, young breeze, While I lay me down in my resting boat.

The river is empty-the slant sun hath wester'd, The thicket glows through a thousand eyes; My lily-crowned harbour is still and sequester'd, And I am alone with my memories.

CONSUMPTION.

She lay to breathe the summer air,
Her canopy the azure sky,
Her cheeks two lovely roses were,

An heavenly radiance lit her eye;
But ah! the lustre and the bloom
Were kindred to the dreary tomb.

The zephyr sighed "Thou wilt be nought "Ere next I brush the verdant plain : "Tho' many a summer here I sport,

"I may not greet thy smile again." Then all-unwilling thus to moan, Fluttered a farewell, and was gone.

Ere yet another summer came,

Ere yet that summer well had filed,
The fell disease's subtle flame,

Had number'd Mary with the dead—
Scarce on my ear had died away
Her voice who only spoke to pray.

CHARADE.

The wind it howled, and the hour was late

Of night in her ebon chair,

When my First he came to the castle gate,

And craved admittance there.

"Now our good Ladye be with you," he cried, "As she oft hath been with me,

For a traveller I, both far and wide

"Have wandered o'er land and sea."

The porter looked here, and the porter looked there,

He looked both high and low;

And he saw that my Second had silvered his hair,

And that care was on his brow.

"Come in," he said, " for it were shame "To refuse thee, so dark a night;

"Foul fall the name of fair Torquilstone's dame, "If she judge not my deed aright."