Was rent by the loud Thunderer ;
And I have felt that I could die,
To join the dreadful uproar. Storm
Has been at times my passionate,
My ardent love; and I have sate
And wept that I was such a worm,
Having no power a part to bear
With Heaven's avenging minister.

I have had softer feelings: Night
Hath pour'd her flood of silver light
Into my very soul; and wings
Have come in my imaginings,
And fann'd the fever of my brow.
I do remember even now,
How I have gaz'd, till soul and eye
Were fix'd in deep idolatry!

And I have gaz'd on woman's eye,

And kindled at its hallowed fire;
And felt her fresh breath stealing by,
With tones as sweet as Tubal's lyre.-
And I have seen her bosom swelling,
To hear the softly whispered vow,
As if the soul, in its deep dwelling,
Were all too full for stillness now;
And then I felt as every drop

Of my heart's blood were backward rushing,
And whelming spirit, life, and hope,
In its most wild tumultuous gushing.
Oh! I do worship woman-bright,
High-soul'd and lovely woman-age
Grows gay while living in her light;
And youth forgets his heritage
From Eden and his Parent's fall,
Deeming love's dream-his Heaven-his all.

I never interchang'd with men

My deeper feelings-I have kept

My sanctuary closest, when

Their eyes would scan it.

They ne'er wept

As I would wish to weep-they never

Have felt a longing wish to die ;

But feel as they could live for ever

In this world's hollow pageantry

How can I hold communion? Still
It sickens at the heart to keep
Its fountain sealed. Its waters will-

Ay, must, or the swell'd heart will break

Flow full and freely. I have felt

As I would give a world to shed
One burning tear; and yet have dwelt
As if I were among the dead,
Myself the only living thing,
Left of a total withering.

And yet there is a pride in feeling

That thoughts are mine they never knew; That though my heart may need their healing, Grief never will the soul subdue. There is a pride in self-communion

On things men cannot feel nor share-
In soaring on a nobler pinion,

To some bright home of purer air
Where man hath never been. They waken
Such thoughts as these-an energy

A spirit that will not be shaken, /
Ere frail mortality shall die.
They make man nobler than his race,
And give expansion, strength, to thought;
The tears they start leave not a trace,

For they are fragrant tears, and fraught
With soothing power-they heal and bless
The spirit in its loneliness.

I have a nameless feeling, when

I hear sweet music. I can find
No sympathy but silence then-
No kindred eye, or kindred mind,
To give me back my thoughts. Men are
Too tame, too passionless they deem
My holier feelings singular,

My heart's delirious joys a dream-
Myself, a strange enthusiast-Still
It is a source of pride to me,
To feel my blood tumultuously
Careering at the minstrel's will ;
To feel the warm, unbidden tears,
Press gently through the lash; and know,
That though they shame my manlier years,
They have a luxury in their flow,

Too high for their conception. Strange
That minds of an immortal birth,
Form'd through the universe to range,
Should so ignobly cling to earth,
Having no passion, but of sense;
No eye for their soul's loveliness;
No hate for their frame's impotence;
Degraded, slothful, powerless,
Just living, and no more; like worms,
Wasting the earth their life deforms.

I have met here and there a heart,
Whose passion-pulses beat like mine;
Some few, who liv'd like me, apart,
And learn'd their feelings to enshrine,
Like holy things. I have liv'd years
In one short hour, spent blissfully
In their communion-mingling tears,
Till I had been content to die,
One

My spirit was so chasten'd.

I do remember now a maid
Whose voice came o'er me like a tone
From some lost Peri.
I have said
How much I worshipped melody;
And sure I am, that all the strings
Mine ear hath ever heard, will die,
Ay, fade from my rememberings,
E'er I forget that tone. We parted,
I fear-for ever; for her cheek,
Save when some thought the life-blood started,
Wore not the fresher hues, which speak
Of life's continuance. Her eye

Was fraught with too much eloquence;
Its full, fixed look was too intense,
Too passionate-not soon to die.

She must fade soon-Oh! how the flowers,
The brightest flowers of earth, do fall!
How young that hollow grave devours
Life's fairest hope! How soon that pall,
Like Heaven's broad mantle, covereth all !

Rov.

CRITIQUE ON CERTAIN PASSAGES IN DANTE.

(Continued.)

[We again call the attention of amateurs to this critique. In the present instance, the explanation offered is one of the happiest we have ever seen.]

GENTLEMEN,

Among the arguments I offered, in my last communication, to support the interpretation I proposed, of the thirtieth line of the first canto of Dante's Inferno, I omitted to call your attention to the thirty-first line:

And lo! not far from the hill's first ascent-*

which not only points out the place of the first appearance of the panther, but shows conclusively that Dante had not yet reached the "cominciar dell' erta"-the beginning or foot of the ascent; because the interjection ecco is almost always used to denote the time and place of the first appearance of a new object, or the first occurrence of a new event. If Dante was prevented from going further by the "panther," when this panther was only "quasi al cominciar dell' erta," it follows of course that Dante had not yet arrived at the foot of the hill, his progress towards it being intercepted by the panther.I now pass on to another passage, which appears to me to have been always strangely misunderstood.

INF. CANT. III. v. 109, 111.

Caron dimonio, con occhi di bragia
Loro accennando tutte le raccoglie,
Batte col remo qualunque s' adagia.

The commentators have uniformly made batte an active verb, and have agreed to consider this last line as meaningthat Charon, impatient at the delay,

Beats soundly with his oar the loitering shades!

Let us see how this strange commentary is supported by the context. At verse 71, Dante seeing a great number of souls collecting on the bank of a river, turns to his conductor, saying,

Master, give me to know what souls are these,
And what is that which makes them seem, (for so
Even through this feeble light to me they seem)
In such swift haste to pass from shore to shore.

At verse 111, 117, these souls, which according to the commentators, require the stimulus of Charon's oar, (a long oar by the way, he must have had,) are described in the beautiful similitudes of Dante, as hastening to the boat

Like autumn foliage dropping to the ground,
Or falcons stooping to the fowler's call.*

Again, at verse 124, Virgil says that these 'lazy' souls, who, like asses at a ferry, must, it seems, be beaten with an oar to make them move, are always eager to get over; because, to use the poet's own strong language,

The justice of their Judge so pricks them on,
That fear is lost in longing.

Surely, such a commentary has no need of comment. The following is the explanation I would offer. Charon, says the poet,

With eyes of fire, and guiding glance and sign
Gathers them all together.

With what sign? The answer, one would think was obvious enough: the 'grim ferryman' batte col remo; strikes with his oar, and then-qualunque s' adagia-each one takes his seat in Charon's barque, and that willingly, and even eagerly; because in the words of Dante, above translated,

La divina giustizia gli sprona
Sì che la tema si volge in disio.

L. da Ponte.

THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH.

From the German of Schiller.

Take ye the world, cried Jove from heaven's far height
To mortals :-take all things to keep, or spend;
I give them for your heritance and right,

But share them all, as loving friend with friend.