SEVENTH STEP IN RENDERING.

IDEAL PICTURES.

Ideal pictures, or unreal, poetic, fanciful creations of the imagination should be living in the mind vividly, even as the real, substantial pictures. They should be rendered with a touch of delicacy and artistic finesse and poetic suggestiveness, avoiding too much realism.

From the fact that ideal, unreal pictures are not so common as the actual and the real, some minds fail to grasp them so readily. Some of Moore's poems: Lalla Rookh," "The Sylph's Ball," and Tennyson's Merman," and " Mermaid" present unreal pictures. Real objects, small and delicate, should be pictured as close at hand and should be portrayed with fitting expression.

THE SEA FAIRIES.

Slow sail'd the weary mariners and saw,
Betwixt the green brink and the running foam,
Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest
To little harps of gold; and while they mused,
Whispering to each other half in fear,

Shrill music reach'd them on the middle sea.

Whither away, whither away, whither away? fly no more. Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossoming shore?

Day and night to the billow the fountain calls:

Down shower the gambolling waterfalls
From wandering over the lea:

Out of the live-green heart of the dells

They freshen the silvery-crimson shells,

And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells
High over the full-toned sea:

O hither, come hither and furl your sails,

Come hither to me and to me:

Hither, come hither and frolic and play;
Here it is only the mew that wails;
We will sing to you all the day:
Mariner, mariner, furl your sails,
For here are the blissful downs and dales,
And merrily merrily carol the gales,
And the spangle dances in bight and bay,
And the rainbow forms and flies on the land
Over the islands free;

And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand;

Hither, come hither and see;

And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave,

And sweet is the colour of cove and cave,

And sweet shall your welcome be:

O hither, come hither, and be our lords,

For merry brides are we:

We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words:

Oh listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten

With pleasure and love and jubilee :

When the sharp clear twang of the golden chords

Runs up the ridged sea.

Who can light on as happy a shore

All the world o'er, all the world o'er?

Whither away? listen and stay: mariner, mariner, fly no

more.

TENNYSON.

PARADISE AND THE PERI.

One morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood, disconsolate;
And as she listened to the springs
Of life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings
Through the half-open portal glowing,
She wept to think her recreant race
Should e'er have lost that glorious place!

"How happy," exclaimed this child of air,

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Are the holy spirits who wander there,

'Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall!

Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, One blossom of heaven outblooms them all! "

The glorious angel who was keeping
The gates of light beheld her weeping;
And, as he nearer drew and listened,
A tear within his eyelids glistened.-

Nymph of a fair but erring line! "
Gently he said, "one hope is thine.

'Tis written in the book of fate,
The Peri yet may be forgiven,
Who brings to this eternal gate
The gift that is most dear to Heaven!
Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin;
'Tis sweet to let the pardoned in !"

Rapidly as comets run

To the embraces of the sun,

Down the blue vault the Peri flies,

And, lighted earthward by a glance
That just then broke from morning's eyes,

Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse. Over the vale of Baalbec winging,

The Peri sees a child at play, Among the rosy wild-flowers singing,

As rosy and as wild as they;
Chasing with eager hands and eyes,
The beautiful blue damsel-flies

That fluttered round the jasmine stems,
Like winged flowers or flying gems:
And near the boy, who, tired with play,
Now nestling 'mid the roses lay,
She saw a wearied man dismount
From his hot steed, and on the brink
Of a small temple's rustic fount
Impatient fling him down to drink.

Then swift his haggard brow he turned
To the fair child, who fearless sat-
Though never yet hath day-beam burned
Upon a brow more fierce than that—
Sullenly fierce a mixture dire,
Like thunder-clouds of gloom and fire,
In which the Peri's eye could read
Dark tales of many a ruthless deed.

Yet tranquil now that man of crime
(As if the balmy evening time
Softened his spirit) looked and lay,
Watching the rosy infant's play;
Though still, whene'er his eye by chance
Fell on the boy's its lurid glance

Met that unclouded, joyous gaze,
As torches that have burnt all night
Encounter morning's glorious rays.

But hark! the vesper call to prayer,
As slow the orb of daylight sets,
Is rising sweetly on the air

From Syria's thousand minarets!
The boy has started from the bed
Of flowers, where he had laid his head,
And down upon the fragrant sod

Kneels, with his forehead to the south,
Lisping th' eternal name of God

From purity's own cherub mouth;
And looking, while his hands and eyes
Are lifted to the glowing skies,
Like a stray babe of paradise,
Just lighted on that flowery plain,
And seeking for its home again !

And how felt he, the wretched man
Reclining there while memory ran
O'er many a year of guilt and strife
That marked the dark flood of his life,
Nor found one sunny resting-place,

Nor brought him back one branch of grace?-
"There was a time," he said, in mild,
Heart-humbled tones, " thou blessed child!
When young, and haply pure as thou,
I looked and prayed like thee; but now "
He hung his head; each nobler aim

And hope and feeling which had slept
From boyhood's hour, that instant came

Fresh o'er him, and he wept- he wept!

And now! behold him kneeling there,
By the child's side in humble prayer,
While the same sunbeam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,