That beneath thy soil lie sleeping,
England, with full heart, commends
This new treasure to thy keeping.

Take her, she is half thine own;
In her verses' rich outpouring,
Breathes the warm Italian heart,
Yearning for the land's restoring.

From thy skies her poet-heart
Caught a fresher inspiration,
And her soul obtained new strength,
With her bodily translation.

Freely take what thou hast given,
Less her verses' rhythmic beauty,
Than the stirring notes that called
Trumpet-like thy sons to duty.

Rarest of exotic flowers
In thy native chaplet twining,
To the temple of thy great
Add her--she is worth enshrining.

MY CASTLE.

I have a beautiful castle,
With towers and battlements fair;
And many a banner, with gay device,
Floats in the outer air.

The walls are of solid silver;
The towers are of massive gold;
And the lights that stream from the windows
A royal scene unfold.

Ah! could you but enter my castle
With its pomp of regal sheen,
You would say that it far surpasses
The palace of Aladeen.

Could you but enter as I do,
And pace through the vaulted hall,
And mark the stately columns,
And the pictures on the wall;

With the costly gems about them,
That send their light afar,
With a chaste and softened splendor
Like the light of a distant star!

And where is this wonderful castle,
With its rich emblazonings,
Whose pomp so far surpasses
The homes of the greatest kings?

Come out with me at morning
And lie in the meadow-grass,
And lift your eyes to the ether blue,
And you will see it pass.

There! can you not see the battlements;
And the turrets stately and high,
Whose lofty summits are tipped with clouds,
And lost in the arching sky?

Dear friend, you are only dreaming,
Your castle so stately and fair
Is only a fanciful structure,--
A castle in the air.

Perchance you are right. I know not
If a phantom it may be;
But yet, in my inmost heart, I feel
That it lives, and lives for me.

For when clouds and darkness are round me,
And my heart is heavy with care,
I steal me away from the noisy crowd,
To dwel