And brush the high heavens with their woody heads;

Making the stout oaks bow.-But I forget
That sprightly Ver trips on old Winter's heel:-
Cease we these notes, too tragic for the time,
Nor jar against great Nature's symphony;
When e'en the blustrous elements grow tuneful,
Or listen to the concert. Hark! how loud
The cuckoo wakes the solitary wood!
Soft sigh the winds as o'er the greens they stray,
And murmuring brooks within their channels play.

PROGNE'S DREAM:

DARKLY EXPRESSIVE OF SOME PAST EVENTS THAT WERE SOON TO BE REVEALED TO HER.

-LAST night I dream'd

(Whate'er it may forebode,it moves me strangely),
That I was rapt into the raving deep;
An old and reverend sire conducted me:
He plunged into the bosom of the main,
And bade me not to fear, but follow him.
I follow'd; with impetuous speed we dived,
And heard the dashing thunder o'er our heads:
Many a slippery fathom down we sunk,
Beneath all plummets' sound, and reach'd the
bottom.

When there, I ask'd my venerable guide
If he could tell me where my sister was?—
He told me that she lay not far from thence
Within the bosom of a flinty rock,

Where Neptune kept her for his paramour,

Hid from the jealous Amphitritè's sight;
And said he could conduct me to the place.
I begg'd he would. Through dreadful ways we
pass'd,

"Twixt rocks that frightfully lour'd on either side, Whence here and there the branching coral sprung; O'er dead men's bones we walk'd, o'er heaps of gold and gems,

Into a hideous kind of wilderness,

Where stood a stern and prison-looking rock,
Daub'd with a mossy verdure all around,
The mockery of paint. As we drew near
Out sprung a hydra from a den below,
A speckled fury; fearfully it hiss'd,
And roll'd its seagreen eyes so angrily
As it would kill with looking. My old guide
Against its sharp head hurl'd a rugged stone-
The curling monster raised a brazen shriek,
Wallow'd, and died in fitful agonies.

We gain'd the cave. Through woven adamant
I look'd, and saw my sister all alone.

Employ'd she seem'd in writing something sad,
So sad she look'd: her cheek was wondrous wan,
Her mournful locks like weary sedges hung.
I call'd-she, turning, started when she saw me,
And threw her head aside, as if ashamed;
She wept, but would not speak-I call'd again:
Still she was mute. Then madly I address'd,
With all the lion-sinews of despair,

To break the flinty ribs that held me out;
And with the struggling waked.—

A STORM;

Raised to account for the late Return of a Messenger.

THE sun went down in wrath;

The skies foam'd brass, and soon the' unchain'd winds

Burst from the howling dungeon of the north;
And raised such high delirium on the main,
Such angry clamour; while such boiling waves
Flash'd on the peevish eye of moody night,
It look'd as if the seas would scald the heavens.
Still louder chid the winds, the' enchafed surge
Still answer'd louder; and when the sickly morn
Peep'd ruefully through the blotted, thick-brow'd
To view the ruinous havoc of the dark, [east,
The stately towers of Athens seem'd to stand
On hollow foam, tide-whipp'd; the ships that lay,
Scorning the blast, within the marble arms
Of the sea-chid Portumnus, danced like corks
Upon the' enraged deep, kicking each other;
And some were dash'd to fragments in this fray,
Against the harbour's rocky chest. The sea
So roar'd, so madly raged, so proudly swell'd,
As it would thunder full into the streets,
And steep the tall Cecropian battlements
In foaming brine. The airy citadel,

Perch'd like an eagle on a high-brow'd rock,
Shook the salt water from its stubborn sides
With eager quaking; the Cyclades appear'd
Like ducking cormorants-Such a mutiny
Outclamour'd all tradition, and gain'd belief
To ranting prodigies of heretofore.
Seven days it storm'd, &c.