CCXXXII. VESUVIUS, AS SEEN FROM CAPRI. A WREATH of light blue vapour, pure and rare, Till the faint currents of the upper air Vineyards, and bays, and cities white and fair. Might we not hope this beauty would engage All living things into one pure delight? A vain belief;-for here, our records tell, Rome's understanding tyrant, from men's sight Hid, as within a guilty citadel, The shame of his dishonourable age. F. HERBERT TRENCH. CCXXXIII. IN MEMORIAM: RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH, Late Archbishop of Dublin. HAST known at eve the sea without a sound, Lying in the beauty of descended rest, Calm'd by the floating light upon its breast, And surgy war of elements unbound. The brow is changed that hath looked up alway, Now, after the last motion of the breath, CCXXXIV. THE LATTICE AT SUNRISE. As on my bed at dawn I mused and prayed, I saw my lattice prankt upon the wall, A sunny phantom interlaced with shade; To say we see not, for the glory comes Nightly and daily, like the flowing sea; His lustre pierceth through the midnight glooms; And, at prime hour, behold! He follows me With golden shadows to my secret rooms!" CHARLES TENNYSON-TURNER. CCXXXV. THE BUOY-BELL. How like the leper, with his own sad cry That lonely bell set in the rushing shoals, In seamen's dreams a pleasant part to bear, CCXXXVI. ON STARTLING SOME PIGEONS. A HUNDRED wings are dropt as soft as one As there ye sit from your own roof arraigning Yet ye are blest! with not a thought that brings An eagle, weary of his mighty wings, With anxious inquest fills his little span. |