tique or
mediaeval subjects, is only wanting in that romantic attraction
which, by association, attaches to things of the past. Yet, let these
modern subjects once excite interest, as it really appears they can,
and the incidents of to-day will acquire romantic attractions by the
same association of ideas.

The claims of ancient, mediaeval, and modern subjects will be
considered in detail at a future period.

The Carillon. (Antwerp and Bruges)

In these and others of the Flemish Towns, the _Carillon_, or chimes
which have a most fantastic and delicate music, are played almost
continually The custom is very ancient.

At Antwerp, there is a low wall
Binding the city, and a moat
Beneath, that the wind keeps afloat.
You pass the gates in a slow drawl
Of wheels. If it is warm at all
The Carillon will give you thought.

I climbed the stair in Antwerp church,
What time the urgent weight of sound
At sunset seems to heave it round.
Far up, the Carillon did search
The wind; and the birds came to perch
Far under, where the gables wound.

In Antwerp harbour on the Scheldt
I stood along, a certain space
Of night. The mist was near my face:
Deep on, the flow was heard and felt.
The Carillon kept pause, and dwelt
In music through the silent place.

At Bruges, when you leave the train,
--A singing numbness in your ears,--
The Carillon's first sound appears
Only the inner moil. Again
A little minute though--your brain
Takes quiet, and the whole sense hears.

John Memmeling and John Van Eyck
Hold state at Bruges. In sore shame
I scanned the works that keep their name.
The Carillon, which then did strike
Mine ears, was heard of theirs alike:
It set me closer unto them.

I climbed at Bruges all the flight
The Belfry has of ancient stone.
For leagues I saw the east wind blown:
The earth was grey, the sky was white.
I stood so near upon the height
That my flesh felt the Carillon.

_October_, 1849.

Emblems

I lay through one long afternoon,
Vacantly plucking the grass.
I lay on my back, with steadfast gaze
Watching the cloud-shapes pass;
Until the evening's chilly damps
Rose from the hollows below,
Where the cold marsh-reeds grow.

I saw the sun sink down behind
The high point of a mountain;
Its last light lingered on the weeds
That choked a shatt