“Lift up! and let me see, that I may tell Ye can be mad, and strange, and terrible; That ye have power, and passion, and a sound, As of the flying of an angel round The mighty world: that ye are one with time, And in the great primordium sublime Were cursed together, as an infant-twain,— A glory and a wonder! I would fain Hold truce, thou elder brother! for we are, In feature, as the sun is to a star. So are we like, and we are touch’d in tune With lunacy as music; and the moon, That setteth the tides sentinel before Thy camp of waters, on the pebbled shore, And measures their great footsteps to and fro, Hath lifted up into my brain the flow Of this mad tide of blood—ay? we are like In foam and frenzy; the same winds do strike, The same fierce sun-rays, from their battlement Of fire! so, when I perish impotent Before the might of death, they’ll say of me, He died as mad and frantic as the sea!” A cloud stood for the East, a cloud like night, Like a huge vulture, and the blessed light Of the great Sun grew shadow’d awfully; It seemed to mount up from the mighty sea, Shaking the showers from its solemn wings, And grew, and grew, and many a myriad springs Were on its bosom, teeming full of rain. There fell a terrible and wizard chain Of lightning, from its black and heated forge, And the dark waters took it to their gorge, And lifted up their shaggy flanks in wonder With rival chorus to the peal of thunder, That wheel’d in many a squadron terrible The stern black clouds, and as they rose and fell They oozed great showers; and Julio held up His wasted hands, in likeness of a cup, And drank the blessed waters, and they roll’d Upon his cheeks like tears, but sadly cold!— ’Twas very strange to look on Agathè! How the quick lightnings, in their elfin play, Stream’d pale upon her features, and they were Sickly, like tapers in a sepulchre! (To be continued.) * * * * * THE DAUGHTERS OF DR. BYLES. A SKETCH FROM REALITY. BY MISS LESLIE. (Concluded from page 65.) PART II.