542 Prose by a Versifier, and Verse by a Proser : [Nov. 



his life as frankly in the cause of the helpless, and for the sake of huma- 

 nity, as ever did high-born youth for fame and glory, and golden spurs, 

 descends, by a lineage more truly noble than if he sprang from the 

 most heroic stock of crowned robbers that ever troubled the world with 

 their achievements, George- William- Frederick Osborne, Duke of Leeds! 

 I think we had better return home, and dress for the evening. — 

 Allans ! 



THE VENUS DE MEDICIS. 



Oh, godlike thought embodied ! who can gaze 



Upon thy speaking channs without a sigh 



For the bright race whose beauty lives in thee ? 



Immortal in thy loveliness, the sunshine 



Of youth still floats around thee like a glory ; 



Albeit the sorcerer, whose magic mind 



And touch of power awakened thee to life. 



And into marble breathed divinity. 



Hath slept for many an age in the oblivion 



From which his spells have saved thee : — thou Immortal ! 



How helpless, yet how powerful, thou art ! 



Bending beseechingly, as if to sue 



For homage and for worship as a boon. 



I would I might partake the glorious dream 



Wherein thy maker, rapt as if to heaven. 



Beheld the One, of whom thou art the shadow ! 



What hand could strike thee down ? Amid the wreck 



Of cities and of nations, still thou livest. 



Safe in thy beauty, as within a shrine : 



— What hand could strike thee down ? The awful flood 



That swept imperial Rome from her foundations. 



Hath spared thee in its fury : Time himself. 



Whom mortal beauty may not charm, hath cast 



A softened look upon thy loveliness. 



And shed a mellowed tint upon thy form. 



Like the last ray that lingers in the west. 



Still, Goddess, art thou worshipped — not with prayers. 

 Or incense-breathing altars, as of old. 

 But with the deeper worship of the heart. 

 And the instinctive reverence of all eyes. 

 That turn to thee, as to thine evening star. 

 With looks of thoughtful love. AV"hen he, whose name 

 Still makes the flesh of despots creep, beheld thee. 

 He stayed his fearful course, and for a while 

 Forsook his sterner deity. Ambition, 

 And turned a second Verres for thy sake. 

 And bore tl^ee to a bright captivity, 

 AVhile humbled Florence wept for thee in vain; 

 And when the imperial meteor passed away,' 

 The crowned, and sceptred, and anointed wolves, 

 Which long had bayed it, as dogs bay the moon. 

 Grew honest at thy glance, and reverently 

 Restored thee to thy desecrated shrine. 



And there thou stand'st, their monument of shame ! 

 They set thee free — but, with a hardened eye 

 And hardened heart, beheld thy wretched country 

 Grappling her hydra-tyrant — as if thou. 

 All beautiful and helpless as thou art. 



