Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!

Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,

Over the violets there that lie

In myriad types of the human eye-
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave-from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.

They weep-from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.

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ISRAFEL.*

"And the angel Israfel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and who has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures."-KORAN.

None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,

And the giddy stars (so legends tell)
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell

Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above

In her highest noon,

The enamoured moon

Blushes with love,

While, to listen, the red levin

(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven)

Pauses in heaven.

And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire

Is owing to that lyre

By which he sits and sings

The trembling living wire

Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel trod,

Where deep thoughts are a duty—

Where Love's a grown-up God

Where the Houri glances are

Imbued with all the beauty

Which we worship in a star.

Therefore, thou art not wrong,

Israfeli, who despisest An unimpassioned song;

To thee the laurels belong,

Best bard, because the wisest ! Merrily live, and long!

The ecstasies above

With thy burning measures suit—— Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, With the fervour of thy luteWell may the stars be mute!

Yes, heaven is thine; but this

Is a world of sweets and sours; Our flowers are merely-flowers, And the shadow of thy perfect bliss Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell

Where Israfel

Hath dwelt, and he where I,

He might not sing so wildly well

A mortal melody,

While a bolder note than this might swell

From my lyre within the sky.

HERE are some qualities-some incorporate things,
That have a double life, which thus is made
A type of that twin entity which springs

From matter and light, evinc'd in solid and shade.
There is a two-fold Silence-sea and shore-

Body and soul. One dwells in lonely places,
Newly with grass o'ergrown; some solemn graces,

Some human memories and tearful lore,

Render him terrorless his name's "No More."
He is the corporate Silence: dread him not!
No power hath he of evil in himself;
But should some urgent fate (untimely lot!)

Bring thee to meet his shadow (nameless elf,
That haunteth the lone regions where hath trod
No foot of man), commend thyself to God!

HOU wouldst be loved?-then let thy heart
From its present pathway part not!
Being everything which now thou art,
Be nothing which thou art not.
So with the world thy gentle ways,

Thy grace, thy more than beauty,
Shall be an endless theme of praise,
And love-a simple duty.