To carry through the world those waves, which bore
The reflex of my City in their depths.
Oh City! Oh latest Throne! where I was rais'd
To be a mystery of loveliness
Unto all eyes, the time is well nigh come
When I must render up this glorious home
To keen _Discovery_: soon yon brilliant towers
Shall darken with the waving of her wand;
Darken, and shrink and shiver into huts,
Black specks amid a waste of dreary sand,
Low-built, mud-walled, Barbarian settlement,
How chang'd from this fair City!'
Thus far the Spirit:
Then parted Heavenward on the wing: and I
Was left alone on Calpe, and the Moon
Had fallen from the night, and all was dark!


[The following review of 'Timbuctoo' was published in the _Athenæum_
of 22nd July, 1829: 'We have accustomed ourselves to think, perhaps
without any very good reason, that poetry was likely to perish among
us for a considerable period after the great generation of poets which
is now passing away. The age seems determined to contradict us, and
that in the most decided manner; for it has put forth poetry by a
young man, and that where we should least expect it--namely, in a
prize poem. These productions have often been ingenious and elegant
but we have never before seen one of them which indicated really
first-rate poetical genius, and which would have done honour to any
men that ever wrote. Such, we do not hesitate to affirm, is the little
work before us; and the examiners seem to have felt it like ourselves,