CORINNE AT THE CAPE OF MISENA.
BY L. E. L.
How much of mind is in this little scroll,
Whereon the artist's skill has bodied forth
The shapes which genius dreamed!—The quiet sea
Sleeps in the distance, with that happy sleep
Which, in the human world, but childhood knows—
Childhood, whose hope is present! Pale with light,
For colour has departed with the sun,
The moon has risen in the faint grey sky,
Bearing a clear young beauty on her brow,
Which has been turned to earth too short a while
To wear its shadow. With a darker hue
Than when the sun is on their shining leaves
The myrtles spread their branches to the night,
Whose dews are falling. By the moonlight touched
With silvery softness and with gentle shade,
The fairy city seems as if repose
And sleep alone were in its quiet walls.
Silence was made for such a night, or song,
