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466 on it. The manner, however, in which Hamlet receives his ghostly father’s directions to “Swear” at hin associates, is sufficingly confirmatory of my reading of it. I see no reason therefore for the old gentleman mincing the word as Mr. Umbra directs.

A few words on Shakspeare's ghosts in general, and I have done. It may not have been observed, but it is a fact, that all Shakspeare’s ghosts are fat and determined. Julius Caesar is not only jolly himself, but hates all lean and hungry men. He wishes Cassius were fatter. Banquo is a merry gentleman who is craved for at the feast, as one who would do it justice, and who comes upon the wish. Indeed, it is quite to me, that Shakspeare wished his ghosts to be well embodied; and if I but add one ounce to the ribs of any of his spirits I shall not have written in vain.

THE RHAPSODIsT.

NOON.

Rart by: her two gray steeda, the car of Morn Bears her above the lark (his lofty song. Pouring from Heav’n’s.high crown): yet ere the cope Be won, she hears, thickening: upon hex steps, The snost and tread of Phoebus’ rolling wain Torn up the road of day ; her pale-shod wheels, ¥ea, ev'n the flaxen ringlets of the Dame, Are blazing all to hindward !—On he whirls,

And scarce a chariot length between !—She burns, And chides, and panta, and cries !—Over his team Hyperion bends, loud-cheering ; Phlegon * sweats, And thon; Pyrois shakes himself to foam, Whilst fierce Eoiis at the nostril breathes His dragon-soul,—that these gray Matineers, Their vantage ta’en, should win the goal of neon, And bear the palm away !—’Tis won! ’tis won !—

Now turn thee from the glorious skies, (so bright, The eagle blind-fold soars against the sun,) To Earth’s refreshing view: yet even her robe Is gelden green, almost too rich emblazed ; The hills, and the wide woodland, and the valleys, Burn with excessive day, and light o’erflows The general horizontal globe terrene— Now in the meads, ye Shepherds, now begin To charm the listening hours ; adown the vale Let your sweet song go echoing. Where, I pray, Where now’s the woody Muse’s worshipper ? The fond-eyed boy, that stealing summer’s breath Pours it within his pipe,—as down the side


 * Phlegon, ZZthon, Pyrois, and Eois, the four horses of the chariot of the Sun. |