There seemed from the remotest seat
Of the wide mountain waste,
To the soft flower beneath our feet,
A magic circle traced,
A spirit interfused around

A thrilling silent life,

To momentary peace it bound
Our mortal nature's strife ;-

And still I felt the centre of

The magic circle there,

Was one fair form that filled with love
The lifeless atmosphere.

IV.

We paused beside the pools that lie
Under the forest bough,
Each seemed as 'twere a little sky
Gulfed in a world below;
A firmament of purple light,
Which in the dark earth lay,

More boundless than the depth of night,

And purer than the day

In which the lovely forests grew,

As in the upper air,

More perfect both in shape and hue

Than any spreading there.

There lay the glade and neighbouring lawu,

And through the dark-green wood

The white sun twinkling like the dawn

Out of a speckled cloud.

Sweet views which in our world above

Can never well be seen,

Were imaged by the water's love

Of that fair forest green.

And all was interfused beneath
With an Elysian glow,

An atmosphere without a breath,

A softer day below.

Like one beloved, the scene had lent

To the dark water's breast,

Its every leaf and lineament

With more than truth exprest,

Until an envious wind crept by,

Like an unwelcome thought,

Which from the mind's too faithful eye

Blots one dear image out.

Though thou art ever fair and kind,

The forests ever green,

Less oft is peace in S

-'s mind,

Than calm in waters seen.

CHARLES THE FIRST.

A FRAGMENT.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-The Pageant to celebrate the arrival of the Queen.

A Pursuivant. Place for the Marshal of the Masque ! First Speaker. What thinkest thou of this quaint masque, which turns

Like morning from the shadow of the night,

The night to day, and London to a place

Of peace and joy?

Second Speaker.

Eight years are gone,

And Hell to Heaven.

And they seem hours, since in this populous street
I trod on grass made green by summer's rain,
For the red plague kept state within that palace
Where now reigns vanity-in nine years more
The roots will be refreshed with civil blood;
And thank the mercy of insulted Heaven
That sin and wrongs wound as an orphan's cry,

The patience of the great Avenger's ear.

Third Speaker (a youth). Yet, father, 'tis a happy sight to

see,

Beautiful, innocent, and unforbidden

By God or man;-'tis like the bright procession

Of skiey visions in a solemn dream

From which men wake as from a paradise,

And draw new strength to tread the thorns of life.

If God be good, wherefore should this be evil?

And if this be not evil, dost thou not draw
Unseasonable poison from the flowers

Which bloom so rarely in this barren world!

Oh, kill these bitter thoughts which make the present
Dark as the future !—

When avarice and tyranny, vigilant fear,

And open-eyed conspiracy, lie sleeping

As on Hell's threshold; and all gentle thoughts

Waken to worship him who giveth joys

With his own gift.

Second Speaker. How young art thou in this old age of time How green in this grey world! Canst thou not think

Of change in that low scene, in which thou art

616

THE FIRST

AGMENT.

TL

Grate the arrival of the Que
Marshal of the Masque!

thou of this quaint a

of the night,
a place
Hell to Heaven

populous street
mer's rain,
that palace

Tears more

il blood;

aren

han's cry,

tis a happy sight to

rocession

us of life.
evil!

d!
The present

to

think

Not a spectator but an actor?

The day that dawns in fire will die in storms,

Even though the noon be calm. My travel's done;
Before the whirlwind wakes I shall have found

My inn of lasting rest, but thou must still

Be journeying on in this inclement air.

First Speaker.

Is the Archbishop.

Second Speaker.

Rather say the Pope.

London will be soon his Rome : he walks

As if he trod upon the heads of men.

He looks elate, drunken with blood and gold;—
Beside him moves the Babylonian woman
Invisibly, and with her as with his shadow,

Mitred adulterer! he is joined in siu,

Which turns Heaven's milk of mercy to revenge.

Another Citizen (lifting up his eyes). Good Lord! rain it down upon him.

Amid her ladies walks the papist queen

As if her nice feet scorned our English earth.

There's old Sir Henry Vane, the Earl of Pembroke,

Lord Essex, and Lord Keeper Coventry,

And others who made base their English breed
By vile participation of their honours

With papists, atheists, tyrants, and apostates.
When lawyers mask 'tis time for honest men
To strip their vizor from their purposes.

Fourth Speaker (a pursuivant).

*

Give place, give place!

You torch-bearers, advance to the great gate,
And then attend the Marshal of the Masque
Into the Royal presence.

Fifth Speaker (a law student).

What thinkest thou

Of this quaint show of ours, my aged friend?

First Speaker. I will not think but that our country's wounds May yet be healed-The king is just and gracious,

Though wicked councils now pervert his will:

These once cast off

Second Speaker.

As adders cast their skins

And keep their venom, so kings often change;

Councils and councillors hang on one another,

Hiding the loathsome [

Like the base patchwork of a leper's rags.

Third Speaker. Oh, still those dissonant thoughts-List,

loud music

Grows on the enchanted air! And see, the torches

Restlessly flashing, and the crowd divided

Like waves before an admiral's prow.

Another Speaker.

To the Marshal of the Masque !

Give place

Third Speaker. How glorious! See those thronging chariots Rolling like painted clouds before the wind:

Some are

Like curved shells dyed by the azure depths
Of Indian seas; some like the new-born moon;
And some like cars in which the Romans climbed
(Canopied by Victory's eagle wings outspread)
The Capitolian-See how gloriously

The mettled horses in the torchlight stir

Their gallant riders, while they check their pride,
Like shapes of some diviner element !

Second Speaker. Ay, there they are-
Nobles, and sons of nobles, patentees,
Monopolists, and stewards of this poor farm,
On whose lean sheep sit the prophetic crows.
Here is the pomp that strips the houseless orphan,
Here is the pride that breaks the desolate heart.
These are the lilies glorious as Solomon,
Who toil not, neither do they spin,-unless
It be the webs they catch poor rogues withal.
Here is the surfeit which to them who earn
The niggard wages of the earth, scarce leaves
The tithe that will support them till they crawi
Back to its cold hard bosom. Here is health
Followed by grim disease, glory by shame,
Waste by lank famine, wealth by squalid want,
And England's sin by England's punishment.
And, as the effect pursues the cause foregone,
Lo, giving substance to my words, behold
At once the sign and the thing signified-
A troop of cripples, beggars, and lean outcasts,
Horsed upon stumbling shapes, carted with dung,
Dragged for a day from cellars and low cabins
And rotten hiding-holes, to point the moral
Of this presentment, and bring up the rear
Of painted pomp with misery!

Speaker.

"Tis but

The anti-masque, and serves as discords do

In sweetest music. Who would love May flowers

If they succeeded not to Winter's flaw;

Or day unchanged by night; or joy itself
Without the touch of sorrow?