As in those gardens where the day

Springs from the gems of Circassy—
O nothing earthly save the thrill

Of melody in woodland rill-
Or (music of the passion-hearted)
Joy's voice so peacefully departed
That, like the murmur in the shell,
Its echo dwelleth and will dwell-

Oh, nothing of the dross of ours—

Yet all the beauty-all the flowers

That list our Love, and deck our bowers

Adorn yon world afar, afar—

The wandering star.

'T was a sweet time for Nesace-for there

Her world lay lolling on the golden air,

Near four bright suns-a temporary rest―
An oasis in desert of the blest.
Away-away-'mid seas of rays that roll
Empyrean splendour o'er th' unchained soul-
The soul that scares (the billows are so dense)
Can struggle to its destined eminence-

To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode,

And late to ours, the favoured one of God

But, now, the ruler of an anchored realm,

She throws aside the sceptre-leaves the helm,
And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns,

Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.

Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely Earth, Whence sprang the "Idea of Beauty" into birth, (Falling in wreaths thro' many a startled star, Like woman's hair 'mid pearls, until, afar,

It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt)
She looked into Infinity-and knelt.

Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled

Fit emblems of the model of her world-
Seen but in beauty-not impeding sight

Of other beauty glittering thro' the light-
A wreath that twined each starry form around,
And all the opaled air in colour bound.

All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed

Of flowers of lilies such as reared the head
On the fair Capo Deucato," and sprang

So eagerly around about to hang

Upon the flying footsteps of deep pride

Of her who loved a mortal-and so died.

The Sephalica, budding with young bees,
Upreared its purple stem around her knees:

And gemmy flower," of Trebizond misnamed

Inmate of highest stars, where erst it shamed

(The fabled nectar that the heathen knew),