Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. 20, August 1877Various
History
Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. 20, August 1877
Various
Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals; Science -- Periodicals
That cry is yet prolonged. I wake to hear
The distant fog-horn peal: before mine eyes
Stands the white wall of mist,
Blending with vaporous skies.
Elusive gossamer, impervious
Even to the mighty sun-god's keen red shafts!
With what a jealous art
Thy secret thou dost guard!
Well do I know deep in thine inmost folds,
Within an opal hollow, there abides
The lady of the mist,
The Undine of the air--
A slender, winged, ethereal, lily form,
Dove-eyed, with fair, free-floating, pearl-wreathed hair,
In waving raiment swathed
Of changing, irised hues.
Where her feet, rosy as a shell, have grazed
The freshened grass, a richer emerald glows:
Into each flower-cup
Her cool dews she distils.
She knows the tops of jagged mountain-peaks,
She knows the green soft hollows of their sides,
And unafraid she floats
O'er the vast-circled seas.
She loves to bask within the moon's wan beams,
Lying, night-long, upon the moist, dark earth,
And leave her seeded pearls
With morning on the grass.
Ah! that athwart these dim, gray outer courts
Of her fantastic palace I might pass,
And reach the inmost shrine
Of her chaste solitude,
And feel her cool and dewy fingers press
My mortal-fevered brow, while in my heart
She poured with tender love
Her healing Lethe-balm!
See! the close curtain moves, the spell dissolves!
Slowly it lifts: the dazzling sunshine streams
Upon a newborn world
And laughing summer seas.
Swift, snowy-breasted sandbirds twittering glance
Through crystal air. On the horizon's marge,
Like a huge purple wraith,
The dusky fog retreats.
EMMA LAZARUS.
THE MARQUIS OF LOSSIE.
BY GEORGE MACDONALD, AUTHOR OF "MALCOLM."
CHAPTER LXI.
THOUGHTS.
When Malcolm took Kelpie to her stall the night of the arrival of Lady
Bellair and her nephew, he was rushed upon by Demon, and nearly prostrated
between his immoderate welcome and the startled rearing of the mare. The
hound had arrived a couple of hours before, while Malcolm was out. He
wondered he had not seen him with the carnage he had passed, never
suspecting he had had another conductress, or dreaming what his presence
there signified for him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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