"_Elissa._ Methought that I was happy, because dead. All hurried to and fro; and many cried To each other--'Can I do thee any good?' But no one heeded: nothing could avail: The world was one great grave. I looked and saw Time on his two great wings--one, night--one, day-- Fly moth-like, right into the flickering sun; So that the sun went out, and they both perished. And one gat up and spoke--a holy man-- Exhorting them; but each and all cried out-- 'Go to!--it helps not--means not: we are dead.' * * * * * 'Bring out your hearts before me. Give your limbs To whom ye list or love. My son, Decay, Will take them: give them him. I want your hearts, That I may take them up to God.' There came These words amongst us, but we knew not whence. It was as if the air spake. And there rose Out of the earth a giant thing, all earth; His eye was earthy, and his arm was earthy: He had no heart. He but said, 'I am Decay;' And as he spake he crumbled into earth, And there was nothing of him. But we all Lifted our faces up at the word, God, And spied a dark star high above in the midst Of others, numberless as are the dead. And all plucked out their hearts, and held them in Their right hands. Many tried to pick out specks And stains, but could not: each gave up his heart. And something--all things--nothing--it was Death, Said as before, from air--'Let us to God!' And straight we rose, leaving behind the raw Worms and dead gods; all of us--soared and soared Right upwards, till the star I told thee of Looked like a moon--the moon became a sun: The sun--there came----" But here we must break off. What follows is too wild to be excused even by the privileges of a dream. A hand comes and tears off--Yet we may as well, perhaps, continue the quotation; it will show as fairly as any other instance how ungovernable, and all but delirious, the excited imagination of our poet is apt to become:-- "The sun--there came a hand between the sun and us, And its five fingers made five nights in air. God tore the glory from the sun's broad brow, _And flung the flaming scalp off flat to Hell_. I saw Him do it; and it passed close by us." We had something more to say of the many wild extravagancies which with Mr Bailey have become habitual, but we will not fatigue the reader by a recurrence to this topic. He has probably seen enough of the glaring faults of this poem--faults which, with us, he must have learnt to regret, from the examples we have given of the great genius which is here undoubtedly combined with them.