METRICAL PIECES.

UNSUCCESSFUL.

I.

My spirit stood upon enchanted ground,
Which bore the spell of Fancy's rich domain;
I saw the splendors of her golden reign,
And breathed the glories that she flung around.
The earth was gay with fairy flowers,

That varied with the changing hours,

And mocked, with shifting hues, th' uncertain sight; Light music danced upon the air,

From unseen harps, that warbled there; And every sense drank deep of full delight.

The ethereal scene was peopled as I gazed;
The assembled myriads of the human race,

In crowds, that none could number, thronged the place;
And, on a gorgeous throne, on high upraised,
Sat the beauteous virgin Queen,

Mistress of the altered scene.

She waved her hand-the crowd was still ;-
Attentive to declare her will,

Four heralds waited in emblazoned pride;
Each held a coronet of flowers

Gathered from Fame's immortal bowers,
And each a trumpet to his lips applied.

3

"Sound," cried the Goddess; "lift your wreaths on high; Bid all who thirst for deathless fame draw nigh,

And join the contest for the glorious prize,

That waits, the worthiest brows to grace;

The plaudits of the human race

Shall mark their honoured names, and bear them to the skies."

The first proclaimed-" For him whose fancy dares,
With boldest flight to traverse worlds unknown,
And rival Nature's wonders, with her own—
This mystick wreath our Goddess Queen prepares."
He spake and every age and clime
Sent claimants for the palm sublime.
Richly gifted spirits came,

With hearts of fire and lips of flame,

And swept the appointed course with pinion swift and bold.

With ardour, like their own, inspired,

The gazing multitude admired,

And loud, from rank to rank, applauding murmurs rolled.

But none had won the high award.

Then rose in might old Avon's bard.

Glancing his heaven-ward eye, he waved his hand,
And struck the scene with Prospero's powerful wand
Lo, to the magic touch, all Nature yield!

The secret forms that unknown worlds concealed,
The fairy ring, the witch's cave,

The sacred mysteries of the grave,

At his command came visibly to light;
The spirits in air and sea that dwell,
Or lie within the cowslip's bell,

In clear and bodily shape, salute the astonished sight.
Then burst the applauding shout from all around;
The hills and heavens resound

With Shakspeare's name,

And on his brow descends the wreath of living flame.

Another trump-" Who holds the mightiest sway
O'er stormy passion, by his powerful word,
Pale Horror's master and Ambition's lord ;-
Whom all the unruly hosts of Wrath obey,
And, at his bidding, lay their terrors down,—

Again the great of every age,

Exert their strong poetick rage;

The fire of Greece, the force of Rome,
Whatever charmed in ancient days,
Whatever modern art displays,

Arrayed for victory, to the contest come.
In vain they strive,-in vain their passions swell;
For who, where all are great, shall all excel?

But see, where, grouped by Shakspeare's hand,
Those pale, disordered figures stand!
The passionate king, by stormy frenzy driven;
The Moor's frank heart, by jealous madness riven;
The ambitious Queen, that heaven and hell defied;
The unearthly prophets, that provoked her pride ;-