More beauty clung around her columned wall
Than even thy glowing bosom beats withal,*
And when old Time my wing did disenthral
Thence sprang I-as the eagle from his tower,
And years I left behind me in an hour.
What time upon her airy bounds I hung
One half the garden of her globe was flung
Unrolling as a chart unto my view-
Tenantless cities of the desert too!
Ianthe, beauty crowded on me then,
And half I wished to be again of men."

"My Angelo! and why of them to be?
A brighter dwelling-place is here for thee-
And greener fields than in yon world above,
And woman's loveliness-and passionate love."

"But list, Ianthe! when the air so soft Failed, as my pennon'd spirit leapt aloft,+

* "Shadowing more beauty in their airy brows Than have the white breasts of the queen of love." -MARLOWE.

† Pennon, for pinion.-MILTON.

Perhaps my brain grew dizzy-but the world
I left so late was into chaos hurl'd,

Sprang from her station, on the winds apart,
And rolled a flame, the fiery Heaven athwart.
Methought, my sweet one, then I ceased to soar,
And fell-not swiftly as I rose before,

But with a downward, tremulous motion thro'
Light, brazen rays, this golden star unto!
Nor long the measure of my falling hours,
For nearest of all stars was thine to ours-
Dread star! that came, amid a night of mirth,
A red Dædalion on the timid Earth."

"We came-and to thy Earth-but not to us
Be given our lady's bidding to discuss :
We came, my love; around, above, below,
Gay fire-fly of the night we come and go,
Nor ask a reason save the angel-nod

She grants to us as granted by her God-
But, Angelo, than thine grey Time unfurled

Never his fairy wing o'er fairier world!

Dim was its little disk, and angel eyes

Alone could see the phantom in the skies,
When first Al Aaraaf knew her course to be
Headlong thitherward o'er the starry sea-
But when its glory swelled upon the sky,
As glowing Beauty's bust beneath man's eye,
We paused before the heritage of men,

And thy star trembled—as doth Beauty then!"

Thus in discourse, the lovers whiled away
The night that waned and waned and brought no

day.

They fell for Heaven to them no hope imparts

Who hear not for the beating of their hearts.

TAMERLANE.

KIND solace in a dying hour!

Such, father, is not (now) my themeI will not madly deem that power

Of Earth may shrive me of the sin Unearthly pride hath revell'd inI have no time to dote or dream : You call it hope-that fire of fire! It is but agony of desire:

If I can hope-O God! I can

Its fount is holier-more divineI would not call thee fool, old man, But such is not a gift of thine.

Know thou the secret of a spirit

Bowed from its wild pride into shame.

O yearning heart! I did inherit

Thy withering portion with the fame,

The searing glory which hath shone Amid the Jewels of my throne, Halo of Hell! and with a pain Not Hell shall make me fear again— O craving heart, for the lost flowers And sunshine of my summer hours! The undying voice of that dead time, With its interminable chime, Rings, in the spirit of a spell, Upon thy emptiness-a knell,

I have not always been as now :
The fevered diadem on my brow
I claimed and won usurpingly-
Hath not the same fierce heirdom given
Rome to the Cæsar-this to me?

The heritage of a kingly mind, And a proud spirit which hath striven Triumphantly with human kind.

On mountain soil I first drew life:

The mists of the Taglay have shed

K