And pointing to the west, cried-" there!" They looked! Fair shone the sky-sunbright-without a cloud :
And then they laughed, and then they clapped their hands. But ah! did their eyes mock them? or, in truth, Suddenly did the crystal sky grow dim?
It did!—the sunlight fled—a mighty shade Gathered, and blackened, and came on apace, Shooting forth, momently, on every side,
Titanian arms, that stretched athwart the heavens, Then swelled, recoiled, and with a whirling blaze Fell back into the mass with sullen roar ! Onward it came! and on before it flew Tempestuous wind, that, with a deafening rage And stifling vehemence did toss the crowd. Up with one vast, terrific shriek they rose And would have fled-but, even then, the ground Heaved 'neath their tread-the giant turrets rocked, And fell and instantly black night rushed down, And from its bosom burst a thunderous crash, Stunning and terrible. Fast, followed fast The livid flames that o'er the city glared And shewed its prostrate millions still as death!
Oh! fierce and fearful was that visitation Of the Most High; and had it long endured, All life had perished; but it passed, and lo! Forth broke the sun, and o'er the cheerful earth Cast cheerful beams: the 'wildered crowd arose,
And gazed around; and saw their mighty tower All thunder smitten, shattered, and with flames, And the last lingering shafts of vengeance, scorched. There stood their king, and the wild prophet there, Who, with uplifted arm and solemn voice, Cried," Now behold thy work! Thy realm is rent! Confusion and Dispersion are at work,
Scattering thy millions. Even now, behold How different tribes through different portals press, Driven by the arm of God to different lands. And lo! thy tower !—as it has been thy boast, So let it bear, to latest time, thy shame!"
Back! back! glide-I float as in a dream From the far ages. O'er the ancient earth The tide of many thousand years has rolled, And mighty realms have withered to a name; And mighty men have stalked across the globe, Whose giant shadows are flung down the vale Of time, sublimely terrible ;--and now In these last days, forth goes the traveller, In melancholy quest of old renown,
And finds alone this scathed and spectral tower, Man's earliest work, and truest monument!
ENDSLEIGH! the vernal spirit of the year Renews the world, and voices ever dear,
Sweet, well-known, welcome sounds, are floating by- Lays of the wood, and hymnings of the sky- And leap of brook, and sigh of western breeze, And flutterings of glad wings among the trees. A mighty Influence around, above, Awakes the breathing world to life and love; A mighty Power unseen-that not alone Girds Nature with a rich and flowery zone, And prompts a million melodies, but fills The human bosom with ecstatic thrills And longings infinite! For while the Spring Forms every leaf, and flushes every wing
* A beautiful cottage of His Grace the Duke of Bedford, situated on the Tamar.
With a new joyous being, on the soul Of Man, renewed, the inspirations fall, Reviving heart and hope;-new pulses born Even of the gales that bless the vernal morn; For health, and joy, and life, and music, come With the soft hours from their immortal home.
Endsleigh, sweet Endsleigh! Spring has wreathed her brow,
Her frank, young brow, with garlands green, and now It is thy hour of bloom, though Winter still,
In climes less favoured, sweeps the shrinking hill; And o'er yon northern fields with sullen sway Holds lingering empire through the doubtful day. It is thy hour of bloom;-her cinque-rayed breast The primrose opens to the whispering West, While on some southern bank, in verdurous pride, Blooms the victorious myrtle by her side; And that all-constant daisy-from her sleep That starts while yet the Winter-spell is deep— For scarcely on Devonia's genial sky
The faithful daisy shuts her watchful eye!
All these are thine, sweet Endsleigh! and the green
Of earliest budding trees; and, strown between Their roots, amid the ever-living grass, Scenting the morning breezes as they pass, The all-prized violet, dear gem of earth! Blue as the heavens that smiled it into birth!
And many a bud, by rainbow and by ray Nursed into bloom throughout the varied day; While breezes of the ocean, hour by hour, Waft soft the fragrance of our western bower.
A bower of sweets- of mirth and melody- Loved by the early butterfly and bee: Beautiful Endsleigh! when on rainbow wing Floats o'er thee, thus, the angel of the Spring, Still let me wander in thy breathing woods, Still let me linger near thy murmuring floods, And list as brook and river rush along; Of brook and river that soft liquid song, Which ceases not at Winter's voice severe, But falls for ever on Devonia's ear;- Mingled with woodland melodies that run From bough to bough incessant, and anon His voice that gives to all things else a charm, Poured 'mid the fickle shower and sun-glance warm The voice of the frank lark. But I must stray Far from thy smiling fields and golden day;
Farewell, ye matchless scenes!-the world hath power To call me hence,-and Care will have his hour.
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