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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8209-h.zip b/8209-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d7d5fc --- /dev/null +++ b/8209-h.zip diff --git a/8209-h/8209-h.htm b/8209-h/8209-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b8c67a --- /dev/null +++ b/8209-h/8209-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3198 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> +<TITLE>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems 1817, by John Keats</TITLE> +<META HTTP-EQUIV="content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +</HEAD> +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems 1817, by John Keats + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Poems 1817 + +Author: John Keats + +Release Date: January 18, 2014 [EBook #8209] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS 1817 *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Thierry A, David King, Charles +Franks, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + +<H1>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems 1817, by John Keats</H1> + +<br> +<br> +<br> +<table width="380" border="0" cellspacing="1" cellpadding="2" align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="7">Poems 1817</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <font size="4"><br> + BY<br> + </font><br> + <font size="6">JOHN KEATS + </font></font><br><br><br> + <br> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="4"> "What + more felicity can fall to creature,<br> + Than to enjoy delight + with liberty."</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><i><b>Fate + of the Butterfly</b></i><b>.—</b>SPENSER.</font></td> + </tr> +</table> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> + +<table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="4">DEDICATION.<br> + <br> + TO LEIGH HUNT, ESQ.</font></p> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">G</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">lory + and loveliness have passed away;<br> + For if we wander out in early morn,<br> + No wreathed incense do we see upborne<br> + Into the east, to meet the smiling day:<br> + No crowd of nymphs soft voic'd and young, and gay,<br> + In woven baskets bringing ears of corn,<br> + Roses, and pinks, and violets, to adorn<br> + The shrine of Flora in her early May.<br> + But there are left delights as high as these,<br> + And I shall ever bless my destiny,<br> + That in a time, when under pleasant trees<br> + Pan is no longer sought, I feel a free<br> + A leafy luxury, seeing I could please<br> + With these poor offerings, a man like thee.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <p><br> + <br> + <font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">[The Short Pieces in the + middle of the Book, as well as some of the Sonnets,<br> + </font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">were written at + an earlier period than the rest of the Poems.]</font> </p> + </td> + </tr> +</table> + <br> +<br> +<br> + <br> +<table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="6">POEMS.</font></p> + <hr align="center" width="300" size="1"> + <font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <font size="5"><i>"Places of nestling green for Poets made."</i></font></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="4"> STORY + OF RIMINI.</font><br> + <br> + <hr align="center" width="300" size="1"> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> <font size="5">I</font> + stood tip-toe upon a little hill,<br> + The air was cooling, and so very still.<br> + That the sweet buds which with a modest pride<br> + Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside,<br> + Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems,<br> + Had not yet lost those starry diadems<br> + Caught from the early sobbing of the morn.<br> + The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn,<br> + And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept<br> + On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept<br> + A little noiseless noise among the leaves,<br> + Born of the very sigh that silence heaves:<br> + For not the faintest motion could be seen<br> + Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green.<br> + There was wide wand'ring for the greediest eye,<br> + To peer about upon variety;<br> + Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim,<br> + And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim;<br> + To picture out the quaint, and curious bending<br> + Of a fresh woodland alley, never ending;<br> + Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves,<br> + Guess were the jaunty streams refresh themselves.<br> + I gazed awhile, and felt as light, and free<br> + As though the fanning wings of Mercury<br> + Had played upon my heels: I was light-hearted,<br> + And many pleasures to my vision started;<br> + So I straightway began to pluck a posey<br> + Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">A bush of May flowers + with the bees about them;<br> + Ah, sure no tasteful nook would be without them;<br> + And let a lush laburnum oversweep them,<br> + And let long grass grow round the roots to keep them<br> + Moist, cool and green; and shade the violets,<br> + That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">A filbert hedge + with wild briar overtwined,<br> + And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind<br> + Upon their summer thrones; there too should be<br> + The frequent chequer of a youngling tree,<br> + That with a score of light green brethen shoots <br> + From the quaint mossiness of aged roots:<br> + Round which is heard a spring-head of clear waters<br> + Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters<br> + The spreading blue bells: it may haply mourn<br> + That such fair clusters should be rudely torn<br> + From their fresh beds, and scattered thoughtlessly<br> + By infant hands, left on the path to die.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Open afresh your + round of starry folds,<br> + Ye ardent marigolds!<br> + Dry up the moisture from your golden lids,<br> + For great Apollo bids<br> + That in these days your praises should be sung<br> + On many harps, which he has lately strung;<br> + And when again your dewiness he kisses,<br> + Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses:<br> + So haply when I rove in some far vale,<br> + His mighty voice may come upon the gale.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Here are sweet peas, + on tip-toe for a flight:<br> + With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,<br> + And taper fulgent catching at all things,<br> + To bind them all about with tiny rings.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Linger awhile upon + some bending planks<br> + That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks,<br> + And watch intently Nature's gentle doings:<br> + They will be found softer than ring-dove's cooings.<br> + How silent comes the water round that bend;<br> + Not the minutest whisper does it send<br> + To the o'erhanging sallows: blades of grass<br> + Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pass.<br> + Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach<br> + To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach<br> + A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds;<br> + Where swarms of minnows show their little heads,<br> + Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the streams,<br> + To taste the luxury of sunny beams<br> + Temper'd with coolness. How they ever wrestle<br> + With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle<br> + Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand.<br> + If you but scantily hold out the hand,<br> + That very instant not one will remain;<br> + But turn your eye, and they are there again.<br> + The ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses,<br> + And cool themselves among the em'rald tresses;<br> + The while they cool themselves, they freshness give,<br> + And moisture, that the bowery green may live:<br> + So keeping up an interchange of favours,<br> + Like good men in the truth of their behaviours<br> + Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop<br> + From low hung branches; little space they stop;<br> + But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek;<br> + Then off at once, as in a wanton freak:<br> + Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings,<br> + Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.<br> + Were I in such a place, I sure should pray<br> + That nought less sweet, might call my thoughts away,<br> + Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown<br> + Fanning away the dandelion's down;<br> + Than the light music of her nimble toes<br> + Patting against the sorrel as she goes.<br> + How she would start, and blush, thus to be caught<br> + Playing in all her innocence of thought.<br> + O let me lead her gently o'er the brook,<br> + Watch her half-smiling lips, and downward look;<br> + O let me for one moment touch her wrist;<br> + Let me one moment to her breathing list;<br> + And as she leaves me may she often turn<br> + Her fair eyes looking through her locks aubùrne.<br> + What next? A tuft of evening primroses,<br> + O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes;<br> + O'er which it well might take a pleasant sleep,<br> + But that 'tis ever startled by the leap<br> + Of buds into ripe flowers; or by the flitting<br> + Of diverse moths, that aye their rest are quitting;<br> + Or by the moon lifting her silver rim<br> + Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim<br> + Coming into the blue with all her light.<br> + O Maker of sweet poets, dear delight<br> + Of this fair world, and all its gentle livers;<br> + Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers,<br> + Mingler with leaves, and dew and tumbling streams,<br> + Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,<br> + Lover of loneliness, and wandering,<br> + Of upcast eye, and tender pondering!<br> + Thee must I praise above all other glories<br> + That smile us on to tell delightful stories.<br> + For what has made the sage or poet write<br> + But the fair paradise of Nature's light?<br> + In the calm grandeur of a sober line,<br> + We see the waving of the mountain pine;<br> + And when a tale is beautifully staid,<br> + We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade:<br> + When it is moving on luxurious wings,<br> + The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings:<br> + Fair dewy roses brush against our faces,<br> + And flowering laurels spring from diamond vases;<br> + O'er head we see the jasmine and sweet briar,<br> + And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire;<br> + While at our feet, the voice of crystal bubbles<br> + Charms us at once away from all our troubles:<br> + So that we feel uplifted from the world,<br> + Walking upon the white clouds wreath'd and curl'd.<br> + So felt he, who first told, how Psyche went<br> + On the smooth wind to realms of wonderment;<br> + What Psyche felt, and Love, when their full lips<br> + First touch'd; what amorous, and fondling nips<br> + They gave each other's cheeks; with all their sighs,<br> + And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes:<br> + The silver lamp,—the ravishment,—the wonder—<br> + The darkness,—loneliness,—the fearful thunder;<br> + Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown,<br> + To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.<br> + So did he feel, who pull'd the boughs aside,<br> + That we might look into a forest wide,<br> + To catch a glimpse of Fawns, and Dryades<br> + Coming with softest rustle through the trees;<br> + And garlands woven of flowers wild, and sweet,<br> + Upheld on ivory wrists, or sporting feet:<br> + Telling us how fair, trembling Syrinx fled<br> + Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread.<br> + Poor nymph,—poor Pan,—how he did weep to find,<br> + Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind<br> + Along the reedy stream; a half heard strain,<br> + Full of sweet desolation—balmy pain.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">What first inspired + a bard of old to sing<br> + Narcissus pining o'er the untainted spring?<br> + In some delicious ramble, he had found<br> + A little space, with boughs all woven round;<br> + And in the midst of all, a clearer pool<br> + Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool,<br> + The blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping<br> + Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping.<br> + And on the bank a lonely flower he spied,<br> + A meek and forlorn flower, with naught of pride,<br> + Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clearness,<br> + To woo its own sad image into nearness:<br> + Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move;<br> + But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love.<br> + So while the Poet stood in this sweet spot,<br> + Some fainter gleamings o'er his fancy shot;<br> + Nor was it long ere he had told the tale<br> + Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's bale.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Where had he been, + from whose warm head out-flew<br> + That sweetest of all songs, that ever new,<br> + That aye refreshing, pure deliciousness,<br> + Coming ever to bless<br> + The wanderer by moonlight? to him bringing<br> + Shapes from the invisible world, unearthly singing<br> + From out the middle air, from flowery nests,<br> + And from the pillowy silkiness that rests<br> + Full in the speculation of the stars.<br> + Ah! surely he had burst our mortal bars;<br> + Into some wond'rous region he had gone,<br> + To search for thee, divine Endymion!</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">He was a Poet, sure + a lover too,<br> + Who stood on Latmus' top, what time there blew<br> + Soft breezes from the myrtle vale below;<br> + And brought in faintness solemn, sweet, and slow<br> + A hymn from Dian's temple; while upswelling,<br> + The incense went to her own starry dwelling.<br> + But though her face was clear as infant's eyes,<br> + Though she stood smiling o'er the sacrifice,<br> + The Poet wept at her so piteous fate,<br> + Wept that such beauty should be desolate:<br> + So in fine wrath some golden sounds he won,<br> + And gave meek Cynthia her Endymion.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Queen of the wide + air; thou most lovely queen<br> + Of all the brightness that mine eyes have seen!<br> + As thou exceedest all things in thy shine,<br> + So every tale, does this sweet tale of thine.<br> + O for three words of honey, that I might<br> + Tell but one wonder of thy bridal night!</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Where distant ships + do seem to show their keels,<br> + Phoebus awhile delayed his mighty wheels,<br> + And turned to smile upon thy bashful eyes,<br> + Ere he his unseen pomp would solemnize.<br> + The evening weather was so bright, and clear,<br> + That men of health were of unusual cheer;<br> + Stepping like Homer at the trumpet's call,<br> + Or young Apollo on the pedestal:<br> + And lovely women were as fair and warm,<br> + As Venus looking sideways in alarm.<br> + The breezes were ethereal, and pure,<br> + And crept through half closed lattices to cure<br> + The languid sick; it cool'd their fever'd sleep,<br> + And soothed them into slumbers full and deep.<br> + Soon they awoke clear eyed: nor burnt with thirsting,<br> + Nor with hot fingers, nor with temples bursting:<br> + And springing up, they met the wond'ring sight<br> + Of their dear friends, nigh foolish with delight;<br> + Who feel their arms, and breasts, and kiss and stare,<br> + And on their placid foreheads part the hair.<br> + Young men, and maidens at each other gaz'd<br> + With hands held back, and motionless, amaz'd<br> + To see the brightness in each others' eyes;<br> + And so they stood, fill'd with a sweet surprise,<br> + Until their tongues were loos'd in poesy.<br> + Therefore no lover did of anguish die:<br> + But the soft numbers, in that moment spoken,<br> + Made silken ties, that never may be broken.<br> + Cynthia! I cannot tell the greater blisses,<br> + That follow'd thine, and thy dear shepherd's kisses:<br> + Was there a Poet born?—but now no more,<br> + My wand'ring spirit must no further soar.—</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">SPECIMEN</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="4"><br> + <font size="3">OF AN</font><br> + <font size="5">INDUCTION TO A POEM.</font></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">L</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">o! + I must tell a tale of chivalry;<br> + For large white plumes are dancing in mine eye.<br> + Not like the formal crest of latter days:<br> + But bending in a thousand graceful ways;<br> + So graceful, that it seems no mortal hand,<br> + Or e'en the touch of Archimago's wand,<br> + Could charm them into such an attitude.<br> + We must think rather, that in playful mood,<br> + Some mountain breeze had turned its chief delight,<br> + To show this wonder of its gentle might.<br> + Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry;<br> + For while I muse, the lance points slantingly<br> + Athwart the morning air: some lady sweet,<br> + Who cannot feel for cold her tender feet,<br> + From the worn top of some old battlement<br> + Hails it with tears, her stout defender sent:<br> + And from her own pure self no joy dissembling,<br> + Wraps round her ample robe with happy trembling.<br> + Sometimes, when the good Knight his rest would take,<br> + It is reflected, clearly, in a lake,<br> + With the young ashen boughs, 'gainst which it rests,<br> + And th' half seen mossiness of linnets' nests.<br> + Ah! shall I ever tell its cruelty,<br> + When the fire flashes from a warrior's eye,<br> + And his tremendous hand is grasping it,<br> + And his dark brow for very wrath is knit?<br> + Or when his spirit, with more calm intent,<br> + Leaps to the honors of a tournament,<br> + And makes the gazers round about the ring<br> + Stare at the grandeur of the balancing? <br> + No, no! this is far off:—then how shall I<br> + Revive the dying tones of minstrelsy,<br> + Which linger yet about lone gothic arches,<br> + In dark green ivy, and among wild larches?<br> + How sing the splendour of the revelries,<br> + When buts of wine are drunk off to the lees?<br> + And that bright lance, against the fretted wall,<br> + Beneath the shade of stately banneral,<br> + Is slung with shining cuirass, sword, and shield?<br> + Where ye may see a spur in bloody field.<br> + Light-footed damsels move with gentle paces<br> + Round the wide hall, and show their happy faces;<br> + Or stand in courtly talk by fives and sevens:<br> + Like those fair stars that twinkle in the heavens.<br> + Yet must I tell a tale of chivalry:<br> + Or wherefore comes that knight so proudly by?<br> + Wherefore more proudly does the gentle knight,<br> + Rein in the swelling of his ample might?</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Spenser! thy brows + are arched, open, kind,<br> + And come like a clear sun-rise to my mind;<br> + And always does my heart with pleasure dance,<br> + When I think on thy noble countenance:<br> + Where never yet was ought more earthly seen<br> + Than the pure freshness of thy laurels green.<br> + Therefore, great bard, I not so fearfully<br> + Call on thy gentle spirit to hover nigh<br> + My daring steps: or if thy tender care,<br> + Thus startled unaware,<br> + Be jealous that the foot of other wight<br> + Should madly follow that bright path of light<br> + Trac'd by thy lov'd Libertas; he will speak,<br> + And tell thee that my prayer is very meek;<br> + That I will follow with due reverence,<br> + And start with awe at mine own strange pretence.<br> + Him thou wilt hear; so I will rest in hope<br> + To see wide plains, fair trees and lawny slope:<br> + The morn, the eve, the light, the shade, the flowers:<br> + Clear streams, smooth lakes, and overlooking towers.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">CALIDORE.</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + <font size="4">A Fragment.</font></font> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">Y</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">oung + Calidore is paddling o'er the lake;<br> + His healthful spirit eager and awake<br> + To feel the beauty of a silent eve,<br> + Which seem'd full loath this happy world to leave;<br> + The light dwelt o'er the scene so lingeringly.<br> + He bares his forehead to the cool blue sky,<br> + And smiles at the far clearness all around,<br> + Until his heart is well nigh over wound,<br> + And turns for calmness to the pleasant green<br> + Of easy slopes, and shadowy trees that lean<br> + So elegantly o'er the waters' brim<br> + And show their blossoms trim.<br> + Scarce can his clear and nimble eye-sight follow<br> + The freaks, and dartings of the black-wing'd swallow,<br> + Delighting much, to see it half at rest,<br> + Dip so refreshingly its wings, and breast<br> + 'Gainst the smooth surface, and to mark anon,<br> + The widening circles into nothing gone.</font> </p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">And now the sharp + keel of his little boat<br> + Comes up with ripple, and with easy float,<br> + And glides into a bed of water lillies:<br> + Broad leav'd are they and their white canopies<br> + Are upward turn'd to catch the heavens' dew.<br> + Near to a little island's point they grew;<br> + Whence Calidore might have the goodliest view<br> + Of this sweet spot of earth. The bowery shore<br> + Went off in gentle windings to the hoar<br> + And light blue mountains: but no breathing man<br> + With a warm heart, and eye prepared to scan<br> + Nature's clear beauty, could pass lightly by<br> + Objects that look'd out so invitingly<br> + On either side. These, gentle Calidore<br> + Greeted, as he had known them long before.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">The sidelong view + of swelling leafiness,<br> + Which the glad setting sun, in gold doth dress;<br> + Whence ever, and anon the jay outsprings,<br> + And scales upon the beauty of its wings.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">The lonely turret, + shatter'd, and outworn,<br> + Stands venerably proud; too proud to mourn<br> + Its long lost grandeur: fir trees grow around,<br> + Aye dropping their hard fruit upon the ground.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">The little chapel + with the cross above<br> + Upholding wreaths of ivy; the white dove,<br> + That on the windows spreads his feathers light,<br> + And seems from purple clouds to wing its flight.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Green tufted islands + casting their soft shades<br> + Across the lake; sequester'd leafy glades,<br> + That through the dimness of their twilight show<br> + Large dock leaves, spiral foxgloves, or the glow<br> + Of the wild cat's eyes, or the silvery stems<br> + Of delicate birch trees, or long grass which hems<br> + A little brook. The youth had long been viewing<br> + These pleasant things, and heaven was bedewing<br> + The mountain flowers, when his glad senses caught<br> + A trumpet's silver voice. Ah! it was fraught<br> + With many joys for him: the warder's ken<br> + Had found white coursers prancing in the glen:<br> + Friends very dear to him he soon will see;<br> + So pushes off his boat most eagerly,<br> + And soon upon the lake he skims along,<br> + Deaf to the nightingale's first under-song;<br> + Nor minds he the white swans that dream so sweetly:<br> + His spirit flies before him so completely.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">And now he turns + a jutting point of land,<br> + Whence may be seen the castle gloomy, and grand:<br> + Nor will a bee buzz round two swelling peaches,<br> + Before the point of his light shallop reaches<br> + Those marble steps that through the water dip:<br> + Now over them he goes with hasty trip,<br> + And scarcely stays to ope the folding doors:<br> + Anon he leaps along the oaken floors<br> + Of halls and corridors.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Delicious sounds! + those little bright-eyed things<br> + That float about the air on azure wings,<br> + Had been less heartfelt by him than the clang<br> + Of clattering hoofs; into the court he sprang,<br> + Just as two noble steeds, and palfreys twain,<br> + Were slanting out their necks with loosened rein;<br> + While from beneath the threat'ning portcullis<br> + They brought their happy burthens. What a kiss,<br> + What gentle squeeze he gave each lady's hand!<br> + How tremblingly their delicate ancles spann'd!<br> + Into how sweet a trance his soul was gone,<br> + While whisperings of affection<br> + Made him delay to let their tender feet<br> + Come to the earth; with an incline so sweet<br> + From their low palfreys o'er his neck they bent:<br> + And whether there were tears of languishment,<br> + Or that the evening dew had pearl'd their tresses,<br> + He feels a moisture on his cheek, and blesses<br> + With lips that tremble, and with glistening eye<br> + All the soft luxury<br> + That nestled in his arms. A dimpled hand,<br> + Fair as some wonder out of fairy land,<br> + Hung from his shoulder like the drooping flowers<br> + Of whitest Cassia, fresh from summer showers:<br> + And this he fondled with his happy cheek<br> + As if for joy he would no further seek;<br> + When the kind voice of good Sir Clerimond<br> + Came to his ear, like something from beyond<br> + His present being: so he gently drew<br> + His warm arms, thrilling now with pulses new,<br> + From their sweet thrall, and forward gently bending,<br> + Thank'd heaven that his joy was never ending;<br> + While 'gainst his forehead he devoutly press'd<br> + A hand heaven made to succour the distress'd;<br> + A hand that from the world's bleak promontory<br> + Had lifted Calidore for deeds of glory.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Amid the pages, + and the torches' glare,<br> + There stood a knight, patting the flowing hair<br> + Of his proud horse's mane: he was withal<br> + A man of elegance, and stature tall:<br> + So that the waving of his plumes would be<br> + High as the berries of a wild ash tree,<br> + Or as the winged cap of Mercury.<br> + His armour was so dexterously wrought<br> + In shape, that sure no living man had thought<br> + It hard, and heavy steel: but that indeed<br> + It was some glorious form, some splendid weed,<br> + In which a spirit new come from the skies<br> + Might live, and show itself to human eyes.<br> + 'Tis the far-fam'd, the brave Sir Gondibert,<br> + Said the good man to Calidore alert;<br> + While the young warrior with a step of grace<br> + Came up,—a courtly smile upon his face,<br> + And mailed hand held out, ready to greet<br> + The large-eyed wonder, and ambitious heat<br> + Of the aspiring boy; who as he led<br> + Those smiling ladies, often turned his head<br> + To admire the visor arched so gracefully<br> + Over a knightly brow; while they went by<br> + The lamps that from the high-roof'd hall were pendent,<br> + And gave the steel a shining quite transcendent.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Soon in a pleasant + chamber they are seated;<br> + The sweet-lipp'd ladies have already greeted<br> + All the green leaves that round the window clamber,<br> + To show their purple stars, and bells of amber.<br> + Sir Gondibert has doff'd his shining steel,<br> + Gladdening in the free, and airy feel<br> + Of a light mantle; and while Clerimond<br> + Is looking round about him with a fond,<br> + And placid eye, young Calidore is burning<br> + To hear of knightly deeds, and gallant spurning<br> + Of all unworthiness; and how the strong of arm<br> + Kept off dismay, and terror, and alarm<br> + From lovely woman: while brimful of this,<br> + He gave each damsel's hand so warm a kiss,<br> + And had such manly ardour in his eye,<br> + That each at other look'd half staringly;<br> + And then their features started into smiles<br> + Sweet as blue heavens o'er enchanted isles.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Softly the breezes + from the forest came,<br> + Softly they blew aside the taper's flame;<br> + Clear was the song from Philomel's far bower;<br> + Grateful the incense from the lime-tree flower;<br> + Mysterious, wild, the far heard trumpet's tone;<br> + Lovely the moon in ether, all alone:<br> + Sweet too the converse of these happy mortals,<br> + As that of busy spirits when the portals<br> + Are closing in the west; or that soft humming<br> + We hear around when Hesperus is coming.<br> + Sweet be their sleep. * * * * * * * * *</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> </font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="3">TO</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="4"><br> + <br> + <font size="5">SOME LADIES.</font></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">W</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">hat + though while the wonders of nature exploring,<br> + I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend;<br> + Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring,<br> + Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast's friend:</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Yet over the steep, + whence the mountain stream rushes,<br> + With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove;<br> + Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes,<br> + Its spray that the wild flower kindly bedews.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Why linger you so, + the wild labyrinth strolling?<br> + Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare?<br> + Ah! you list to the nightingale's tender condoling,<br> + Responsive to sylphs, in the moon beamy air.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">'Tis morn, and the + flowers with dew are yet drooping,<br> + I see you are treading the verge of the sea:<br> + And now! ah, I see it—you just now are stooping<br> + To pick up the keep-sake intended for me.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">If a cherub, on + pinions of silver descending,<br> + Had brought me a gem from the fret-work of heaven;<br> + And smiles, with his star-cheering voice sweetly blending,<br> + The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given;</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">It had not created + a warmer emotion<br> + Than the present, fair nymphs, I was blest with + from you,<br> + Than the shell, from the bright golden sands of the ocean<br> + Which the emerald waves at your feet gladly threw.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">For, indeed, 'tis + a sweet and peculiar pleasure,<br> + (And blissful is he who such happiness finds,)<br> + To possess but a span of the hour of leisure,<br> + In elegant, pure, and aerial minds.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> </font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5"><i>On + receiving a curious Shell, and a Copy of Verses,<br> + from the same Ladies.</i></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">H</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">ast + thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem<br> + Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain?<br> + Bright as the humming-bird's green diadem,<br> + When it flutters in sun-beams that shine through + a fountain?</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Hast thou a goblet + for dark sparkling wine?<br> + That goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold?<br> + And splendidly mark'd with the story divine<br> + Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold?</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Hast thou a steed + with a mane richly flowing?<br> + Hast thou a sword that thine enemy's smart is?<br> + Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing?<br> + And wear'st thou the shield of the fam'd Britomartis?</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">What is it that + hangs from thy shoulder, so brave,<br> + Embroidered with many a spring peering flower?<br> + Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave?<br> + And hastest thou now to that fair lady's bower?</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Ah! courteous Sir + Knight, with large joy thou art crown'd;<br> + Full many the glories that brighten thy youth!<br> + I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound<br> + In magical powers to bless, and to sooth.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">On this scroll thou + seest written in characters fair<br> + A sun-beamy tale of a wreath, and a chain;<br> + And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare<br> + Of charming my mind from the trammels of pain.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">This canopy mark: + 'tis the work of a fay;<br> + Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish,<br> + When lovely Titania was far, far away,<br> + And cruelly left him to sorrow, and anguish.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">There, oft would + he bring from his soft sighing lute<br> + Wild strains to which, spell-bound, the nightingales + listened;<br> + The wondering spirits of heaven were mute,<br> + And tears 'mong the dewdrops of morning oft glistened.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">In this little dome, + all those melodies strange,<br> + Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh;<br> + Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness change;<br> + Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">So, when I am in + a voluptuous vein,<br> + I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose,<br> + And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain,<br> + Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Adieu, valiant Eric! + with joy thou art crown'd;<br> + Full many the glories that brighten thy youth,<br> + I too have my blisses, which richly abound<br> + In magical powers, to bless and to sooth.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + .</font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">TO + * * * *</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">H</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">adst + thou liv'd in days of old,<br> + O what wonders had been told <br> + Of thy lively countenance,<br> + And thy humid eyes that dance<br> + In the midst of their own brightness;<br> + In the very fane of lightness.<br> + Over which thine eyebrows, leaning,<br> + Picture out each lovely meaning:<br> + In a dainty bend they lie,<br> + Like two streaks across the sky,<br> + Or the feathers from a crow,<br> + Fallen on a bed of snow.<br> + Of thy dark hair that extends<br> + Into many graceful bends:<br> + As the leaves of Hellebore<br> + Turn to whence they sprung before.<br> + And behind each ample curl<br> + Peeps the richness of a pearl.<br> + Downward too flows many a tress<br> + With a glossy waviness;<br> + Full, and round like globes that rise<br> + From the censer to the skies<br> + Through sunny air. Add too, the sweetness<br> + Of thy honied voice; the neatness<br> + Of thine ankle lightly turn'd:<br> + With those beauties, scarce discrn'd,<br> + Kept with such sweet privacy,<br> + That they seldom meet the eye<br> + Of the little loves that fly<br> + Round about with eager pry.<br> + Saving when, with freshening lave,<br> + Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave;<br> + Like twin water lillies, born<br> + In the coolness of the morn.<br> + O, if thou hadst breathed then,<br> + Now the Muses had been ten.<br> + Couldst thou wish for lineage higher<br> + Than twin sister of Thalia?<br> + At least for ever, evermore,<br> + Will I call the Graces four.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Hadst thou liv'd + when chivalry<br> + Lifted up her lance on high,<br> + Tell me what thou wouldst have been?<br> + Ah! I see the silver sheen<br> + Of thy broidered, floating vest<br> + Cov'ring half thine ivory breast;<br> + Which, O heavens! I should see,<br> + But that cruel destiny<br> + Has placed a golden cuirass there;<br> + Keeping secret what is fair.<br> + Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested<br> + Thy locks in knightly casque are rested:<br> + O'er which bend four milky plumes<br> + Like the gentle lilly's blooms<br> + Springing from a costly vase.<br> + See with what a stately pace<br> + Comes thine alabaster steed;<br> + Servant of heroic deed!<br> + O'er his loins, his trappings glow<br> + Like the northern lights on snow.<br> + Mount his back! thy sword unsheath!<br> + Sign of the enchanter's death;<br> + Bane of every wicked spell;<br> + Silencer of dragon's yell.<br> + Alas! thou this wilt never do:<br> + Thou art an enchantress too,<br> + And wilt surely never spill<br> + Blood of those whose eyes can kill.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">TO<br> + <br> + <font size="5">HOPE.</font></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">W</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">hen + by my solitary hearth I sit,<br> + And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;<br> + When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit,<br> + And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;<br> + Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,<br> + And wave thy silver pinions o'er my + head.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Whene'er I wander, + at the fall of night,<br> + Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray,<br> + Should sad Despondency my musings fright,<br> + And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,<br> + Peep with the moon-beams through the + leafy roof,<br> + And keep that fiend Despondence far + aloof.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Should Disappointment, + parent of Despair,<br> + Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;<br> + When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,<br> + Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:<br> + Chace him away, sweet Hope, with visage + bright,<br> + And fright him as the morning frightens + night!</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Whene'er the fate + of those I hold most dear<br> + Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,<br> + O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer;<br> + Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:<br> + Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,<br> + And wave thy silver pinions o'er my + head!</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Should e'er unhappy + love my bosom pain,<br> + From cruel parents, or relentless fair;<br> + O let me think it is not quite in vain<br> + To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!<br> + Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed.<br> + And wave thy silver pinions o'er my + head!</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">In the long vista + of the years to roll,<br> + Let me not see our country's honour fade:<br> + O let me see our land retain her soul,<br> + Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade.<br> + From thy bright eyes unusual brightness + shed—<br> + Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Let me not see the + patriot's high bequest,<br> + Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!<br> + With the base purple of a court oppress'd,<br> + Bowing her head, and ready to expire:<br> + But let me see thee stoop from heaven + on wings<br> + That fill the skies with silver glitterings!</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">And as, in sparkling + majesty, a star<br> + Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;<br> + Brightening the half veil'd face of heaven afar:<br> + So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,<br> + Sweet Hope, celestial influence round + me shed,<br> + Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><i>February, 1815.</i></font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">IMITATION + OF SPENSER.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">N</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">ow + Morning from her orient chamber came,<br> + And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill;<br> + Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame,<br> + Silv'ring the untainted gushes of its rill;<br> + Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distill,<br> + And after parting beds of simple flowers,<br> + By many streams a little lake did fill,<br> + Which round its marge reflected woven bowers,<br> + And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> There + the king-fisher saw his plumage bright<br> + Vieing with fish of brilliant dye below;<br> + Whose silken fins, and golden scales' light<br> + Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow:<br> + There saw the swan his neck of arched snow,<br> + And oar'd himself along with majesty;<br> + Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show<br> + Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony,<br> + And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> Ah! + could I tell the wonders of an isle<br> + That in that fairest lake had placed been,<br> + I could e'en Dido of her grief beguile;<br> + Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen:<br> + For sure so fair a place was never seen,<br> + Of all that ever charm'd romantic eye:<br> + It seem'd an emerald in the silver sheen<br> + Of the bright waters; or as when on high,<br> + Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the coerulean sky.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> And + all around it dipp'd luxuriously<br> + Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide,<br> + Which, as it were in gentle amity,<br> + Rippled delighted up the flowery side;<br> + As if to glean the ruddy tears, it tried,<br> + Which fell profusely from the rose-tree stem!<br> + Haply it was the workings of its pride,<br> + In strife to throw upon the shore a gem<br> + Outvieing all the buds in Flora's diadem.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> </font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td> + <hr width="100" size="3"> + <hr width="80" size="5"> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">W</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">oman! + when I behold thee flippant, vain,<br> + Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies;<br> + Without that modest softening that enhances<br> + The downcast eye, repentant of the pain<br> + That its mild light creates to heal again:<br> + E'en then, elate, my spirit leaps, and prances,<br> + E'en then my soul with exultation dances<br> + For that to love, so long, I've dormant lain:<br> + But when I see thee meek, and kind, and tender,<br> + Heavens! how desperately do I adore<br> + Thy winning graces;—to be thy defender<br> + I hotly burn—to be a Calidore—<br> + A very Red Cross Knight—a stout Leander—<br> + Might I be loved by thee like these of yore.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Light feet, dark + violet eyes, and parted hair;<br> + Soft dimpled hands, white neck, and creamy breast,<br> + Are things on which the dazzled senses rest<br> + Till the fond, fixed eyes, forget they stare.<br> + From such fine pictures, heavens! I cannot dare<br> + To turn my admiration, though unpossess'd<br> + They be of what is worthy,—though not drest<br> + In lovely modesty, and virtues rare.<br> + Yet these I leave as thoughtless as a lark;<br> + These lures I straight forget,—e'en ere I dine,<br> + Or thrice my palate moisten: but when I mark<br> + Such charms with mild intelligences shine,<br> + My ear is open like a greedy shark,<br> + To catch the tunings of a voice divine.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Ah! who can e'er + forget so fair a being?<br> + Who can forget her half retiring sweets?<br> + God! she is like a milk-white lamb that bleats<br> + For man's protection. Surely the All-seeing,<br> + Who joys to see us with his gifts agreeing,<br> + Will never give him pinions, who intreats<br> + Such innocence to ruin,—who vilely cheats<br> + A dove-like bosom. In truth there is no freeing<br> + One's thoughts from such a beauty; when I hear<br> + A lay that once I saw her hand awake,<br> + Her form seems floating palpable, and near;<br> + Had I e'er seen her from an arbour take<br> + A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear,<br> + And o'er my eyes the trembling moisture shake.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><BR> + </font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + </font></p> + +<table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="6">EPISTLES.</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + <br> + </font> + <hr align="center" width="300" size="1"> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <table width="420" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"> + <tr> + <td><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="4">"Among + the rest a shepheard (though but young<br> + Yet hartned to his pipe) with all the skill<br> + His few yeeres could, began to fit his quill."</font> <br> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="right"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="4">Britannia's + Pastorals.—BROWNE.</font></td> + </tr> + </table> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <hr align="center" width="300" size="1"> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> <font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + </font></p> +<table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">TO <br> + <br> + <font size="5">GEORGE FELTON MATHEW.</font></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">S</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">weet + are the pleasures that to verse belong,<br> + And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song;<br> + Nor can remembrance, Mathew! bring to view<br> + A fate more pleasing, a delight more true<br> + Than that in which the brother Poets joy'd,<br> + Who with combined powers, their wit employ'd<br> + To raise a trophy to the drama's muses.<br> + The thought of this great partnership diffuses<br> + Over the genius loving heart, a feeling<br> + Of all that's high, and great, and good, and healing.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Too partial friend! + fain would I follow thee<br> + Past each horizon of fine poesy;<br> + Fain would I echo back each pleasant note<br> + As o'er Sicilian seas, clear anthems float<br> + 'Mong the light skimming gondolas far parted,<br> + Just when the sun his farewell beam has darted:<br> + But 'tis impossible; far different cares<br> + Beckon me sternly from soft "Lydian airs,"<br> + And hold my faculties so long in thrall,<br> + That I am oft in doubt whether at all<br> + I shall again see Phoebus in the morning:<br> + Or flush'd Aurora in the roseate dawning!<br> + Or a white Naiad in a rippling stream;<br> + Or a rapt seraph in a moonlight beam;<br> + Or again witness what with thee I've seen,<br> + The dew by fairy feet swept from the green,<br> + After a night of some quaint jubilee<br> + Which every elf and fay had come to see:<br> + When bright processions took their airy march<br> + Beneath the curved moon's triumphal arch.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">But might I now + each passing moment give<br> + To the coy muse, with me she would not live<br> + In this dark city, nor would condescend<br> + 'Mid contradictions her delights to lend.<br> + Should e'er the fine-eyed maid to me be kind,<br> + Ah! surely it must be whene'er I find<br> + Some flowery spot, sequester'd, wild, romantic,<br> + That often must have seen a poet frantic;<br> + Where oaks, that erst the Druid knew, are growing,<br> + And flowers, the glory of one day, are blowing;<br> + Where the dark-leav'd laburnum's drooping clusters<br> + Reflect athwart the stream their yellow lustres,<br> + And intertwined the cassia's arms unite,<br> + With its own drooping buds, but very white.<br> + Where on one side are covert branches hung,<br> + 'Mong which the nightingales have always sung<br> + In leafy quiet; where to pry, aloof,<br> + Atween the pillars of the sylvan roof,<br> + Would be to find where violet beds were nestling,<br> + And where the bee with cowslip bells was wrestling.<br> + There must be too a ruin dark, and gloomy,<br> + To say "joy not too much in all that's bloomy."</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Yet this is vain—O + Mathew lend thy aid<br> + To find a place where I may greet the maid—<br> + Where we may soft humanity put on,<br> + And sit, and rhyme and think on Chatterton;<br> + And that warm-hearted Shakspeare sent to meet him<br> + Four laurell'd spirits, heaven-ward to intreat him.<br> + With reverence would we speak of all the sages<br> + Who have left streaks of light athwart their ages:<br> + And thou shouldst moralize on Milton's blindness,<br> + And mourn the fearful dearth of human kindness<br> + To those who strove with the bright golden wing<br> + Of genius, to flap away each sting<br> + Thrown by the pitiless world. We next could tell<br> + Of those who in the cause of freedom fell:<br> + Of our own Alfred, of Helvetian Tell;<br> + Of him whose name to ev'ry heart's a solace,<br> + High-minded and unbending William Wallace.<br> + While to the rugged north our musing turns<br> + We well might drop a tear for him, and Burns.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Felton! without + incitements such as these,<br> + How vain for me the niggard Muse to tease:<br> + For thee, she will thy every dwelling grace,<br> + And make "a sun-shine in a shady place:"<br> + For thou wast once a flowret blooming wild,<br> + Close to the source, bright, pure, and undefil'd,<br> + Whence gush the streams of song: in happy hour<br> + Came chaste Diana from her shady bower,<br> + Just as the sun was from the east uprising;<br> + And, as for him some gift she was devising,<br> + Beheld thee, pluck'd thee, cast thee in the stream<br> + To meet her glorious brother's greeting beam.<br> + I marvel much that thou hast never told<br> + How, from a flower, into a fish of gold<br> + Apollo chang'd thee; how thou next didst seem<br> + A black-eyed swan upon the widening stream;<br> + And when thou first didst in that mirror trace<br> + The placid features of a human face:<br> + That thou hast never told thy travels strange.<br> + And all the wonders of the mazy range<br> + O'er pebbly crystal, and o'er golden sands;<br> + Kissing thy daily food from Naiad's pearly hands.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><i>November, 1815.</i></font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> </font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">TO<br> + <br> + <font size="5">MY BROTHER GEORGE.</font></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">F</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">ull + many a dreary hour have I past,<br> + My brain bewilder'd, and my mind o'ercast<br> + With heaviness; in seasons when I've thought<br> + No spherey strains by me could e'er be caught<br> + From the blue dome, though I to dimness gaze<br> + On the far depth where sheeted lightning plays;<br> + Or, on the wavy grass outstretch'd supinely,<br> + Pry 'mong the stars, to strive to think divinely:<br> + That I should never hear Apollo's song,<br> + Though feathery clouds were floating all along<br> + The purple west, and, two bright streaks between,<br> + The golden lyre itself were dimly seen:<br> + That the still murmur of the honey bee<br> + Would never teach a rural song to me:<br> + That the bright glance from beauty's eyelids slanting<br> + Would never make a lay of mine enchanting,<br> + Or warm my breast with ardour to unfold<br> + Some tale of love and arms in time of old.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">But there are times, + when those that love the bay,<br> + Fly from all sorrowing far, far away;<br> + A sudden glow comes on them, nought they see<br> + In water, earth, or air, but poesy.<br> + It has been said, dear George, and true I hold it,<br> + (For knightly Spenser to Libertas told it,)<br> + That when a Poet is in such a trance,<br> + In air he sees white coursers paw, and prance,<br> + Bestridden of gay knights, in gay apparel,<br> + Who at each other tilt in playful quarrel,<br> + And what we, ignorantly, sheet-lightning call,<br> + Is the swift opening of their wide portal,<br> + When the bright warder blows his trumpet clear,<br> + Whose tones reach nought on earth but Poet's ear.<br> + When these enchanted portals open wide,<br> + And through the light the horsemen swiftly glide,<br> + The Poet's eye can reach those golden halls,<br> + And view the glory of their festivals:<br> + Their ladies fair, that in the distance seem<br> + Fit for the silv'ring of a seraph's dream;<br> + Their rich brimm'd goblets, that incessant run<br> + Like the bright spots that move about the sun;<br> + And, when upheld, the wine from each bright jar<br> + Pours with the lustre of a falling star.<br> + Yet further off, are dimly seen their bowers,<br> + Of which, no mortal eye can reach the flowers;<br> + And 'tis right just, for well Apollo knows<br> + 'Twould make the Poet quarrel with the rose.<br> + All that's reveal'd from that far seat of blisses,<br> + Is, the clear fountains' interchanging kisses.<br> + As gracefully descending, light and thin,<br> + Like silver streaks across a dolphin's fin,<br> + When he upswimmeth from the coral caves.<br> + And sports with half his tail above the waves.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">These wonders strange + be sees, and many more,<br> + Whose head is pregnant with poetic lore.<br> + Should he upon an evening ramble fare<br> + With forehead to the soothing breezes bare,<br> + Would he naught see but the dark, silent blue<br> + With all its diamonds trembling through and through:<br> + Or the coy moon, when in the waviness<br> + Of whitest clouds she does her beauty dress,<br> + And staidly paces higher up, and higher,<br> + Like a sweet nun in holy-day attire?<br> + Ah, yes! much more would start into his sight—<br> + The revelries, and mysteries of night:<br> + And should I ever see them, I will tell you<br> + Such tales as needs must with amazement spell you.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">These are the living + pleasures of the bard:<br> + But richer far posterity's award.<br> + What does he murmur with his latest breath,<br> + While his proud eye looks through the film of death?<br> + "What though I leave this dull, and earthly mould,<br> + Yet shall my spirit lofty converse hold<br> + With after times.—The patriot shall feel<br> + My stern alarum, and unsheath his steel;<br> + Or, in the senate thunder out my numbers<br> + To startle princes from their easy slumbers.<br> + The sage will mingle with each moral theme<br> + My happy thoughts sententious; he will teem<br> + With lofty periods when my verses fire him,<br> + And then I'll stoop from heaven to inspire him.<br> + Lays have I left of such a dear delight<br> + That maids will sing them on their bridal night.<br> + Gay villagers, upon a morn of May<br> + When they have tired their gentle limbs, with play,<br> + And form'd a snowy circle on the grass,<br> + And plac'd in midst of all that lovely lass<br> + Who chosen is their queen,—with her fine head<br> + Crowned with flowers purple, white, and red:<br> + For there the lily, and the musk-rose, sighing,<br> + Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying:<br> + Between her breasts, that never yet felt trouble,<br> + A bunch of violets full blown, and double,<br> + Serenely sleep:—she from a casket takes<br> + A little book,—and then a joy awakes<br> + About each youthful heart,—with stifled cries,<br> + And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes:<br> + For she's to read a tale of hopes, and fears;<br> + One that I foster'd in my youthful years:<br> + The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep,<br> + Gush ever and anon with silent creep,<br> + Lured by the innocent dimples. To sweet rest<br> + Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast,<br> + Be lull'd with songs of mine. Fair world, adieu!<br> + Thy dales, and hills, are fading from my view:<br> + Swiftly I mount, upon wide spreading pinions,<br> + Far from the narrow bounds of thy dominions.<br> + Full joy I feel, while thus I cleave the air,<br> + That my soft verse will charm thy daughters fair,<br> + And warm thy sons!" Ah, my dear friend and brother,<br> + Could I, at once, my mad ambition smother,<br> + For tasting joys like these, sure I should be<br> + Happier, and dearer to society.<br> + At times, 'tis true, I've felt relief from pain<br> + When some bright thought has darted through my brain:<br> + Through all that day I've felt a greater pleasure<br> + Than if I'd brought to light a hidden treasure.<br> + As to my sonnets, though none else should heed them,<br> + I feel delighted, still, that you should read them.<br> + Of late, too, I have had much calm enjoyment,<br> + Stretch'd on the grass at my best lov'd employment<br> + Of scribbling lines for you. These things I thought<br> + While, in my face, the freshest breeze I caught.<br> + E'en now I'm pillow'd on a bed of flowers<br> + That crowns a lofty clift, which proudly towers<br> + Above the ocean-waves. The stalks, and blades,<br> + Chequer my tablet with their, quivering shades.<br> + On one side is a field of drooping oats,<br> + Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats<br> + So pert and useless, that they bring to mind<br> + The scarlet coats that pester human-kind.<br> + And on the other side, outspread, is seen<br> + Ocean's blue mantle streak'd with purple, and green.<br> + Now 'tis I see a canvass'd ship, and now<br> + Mark the bright silver curling round her prow.<br> + I see the lark down-dropping to his nest.<br> + And the broad winged sea-gull never at rest;<br> + For when no more he spreads his feathers free,<br> + His breast is dancing on the restless sea.<br> + Now I direct my eyes into the west,<br> + Which at this moment is in sunbeams drest:<br> + Why westward turn? 'Twas but to say adieu!<br> + 'Twas but to kiss my hand, dear George, to you!</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><i>August, 1816.</i></font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> </font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">TO<br> + <font size="5"><br> + CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE.</font></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">O</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">ft + have you seen a swan superbly frowning,<br> + And with proud breast his own white shadow crowning;<br> + He slants his neck beneath the waters bright<br> + So silently, it seems a beam of light<br> + Come from the galaxy: anon he sports,—<br> + With outspread wings the Naiad Zephyr courts,<br> + Or ruffles all the surface of the lake<br> + In striving from its crystal face to take<br> + Some diamond water drops, and them to treasure<br> + In milky nest, and sip them off at leisure.<br> + But not a moment can he there insure them,<br> + Nor to such downy rest can he allure them;<br> + For down they rush as though they would be free,<br> + And drop like hours into eternity.<br> + Just like that bird am I in loss of time,<br> + Whene'er I venture on the stream of rhyme;<br> + With shatter'd boat, oar snapt, and canvass rent,<br> + I slowly sail, scarce knowing my intent;<br> + Still scooping up the water with my fingers,<br> + In which a trembling diamond never lingers.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">By this, friend + Charles, you may full plainly see<br> + Why I have never penn'd a line to thee:<br> + Because my thoughts were never free, and clear,<br> + And little fit to please a classic ear;<br> + Because my wine was of too poor a savour<br> + For one whose palate gladdens in the flavour<br> + Of sparkling Helicon:—small good it were<br> + To take him to a desert rude, and bare.<br> + Who had on Baiae's shore reclin'd at ease,<br> + While Tasso's page was floating in a breeze<br> + That gave soft music from Armida's bowers,<br> + Mingled with fragrance from her rarest flowers:<br> + Small good to one who had by Mulla's stream<br> + Fondled the maidens with the breasts of cream;<br> + Who had beheld Belphoebe in a brook,<br> + And lovely Una in a leafy nook,<br> + And Archimago leaning o'er his book:<br> + Who had of all that's sweet tasted, and seen,<br> + From silv'ry ripple, up to beauty's queen;<br> + From the sequester'd haunts of gay Titania,<br> + To the blue dwelling of divine Urania:<br> + One, who, of late, had ta'en sweet forest walks<br> + With him who elegantly chats, and talks—<br> + The wrong'd Libert as,—who has told you stories<br> + Of laurel chaplets, and Apollo's glories;<br> + Of troops chivalrous prancing; through a city,<br> + And tearful ladies made for love, and pity:<br> + With many else which I have never known.<br> + Thus have I thought; and days on days have flown<br> + Slowly, or rapidly—unwilling still<br> + For you to try my dull, unlearned quill.<br> + Nor should I now, but that I've known you long;<br> + That you first taught me all the sweets of song:<br> + The grand, the sweet, the terse, the free, the fine;<br> + What swell'd with pathos, and what right divine:<br> + Spenserian vowels that elope with ease,<br> + And float along like birds o'er summer seas;<br> + Miltonian storms, and more, Miltonian tenderness;<br> + Michael in arms, and more, meek Eve's fair slenderness.<br> + Who read for me the sonnet swelling loudly<br> + Up to its climax and then dying proudly?<br> + Who found for me the grandeur of the ode,<br> + Growing, like Atlas, stronger from its load?<br> + Who let me taste that more than cordial dram,<br> + The sharp, the rapier-pointed epigram?<br> + Shew'd me that epic was of all the king,<br> + Round, vast, and spanning all like Saturn's ring?<br> + You too upheld the veil from Clio's beauty,<br> + And pointed out the patriot's stern duty;<br> + The might of Alfred, and the shaft of Tell;<br> + The hand of Brutus, that so grandly fell<br> + Upon a tyrant's head. Ah! had I never seen,<br> + Or known your kindness, what might I have been?<br> + What my enjoyments in my youthful years,<br> + Bereft of all that now my life endears?<br> + And can I e'er these benefits forget?<br> + And can I e'er repay the friendly debt?<br> + No, doubly no;—yet should these rhymings please,<br> + I shall roll on the grass with two-fold ease:<br> + For I have long time been my fancy feeding<br> + With hopes that you would one day think the reading<br> + Of my rough verses not an hour misspent;<br> + Should it e'er be so, what a rich content!<br> + Some weeks have pass'd since last I saw the spires<br> + In lucent Thames reflected:—warm desires<br> + To see the sun o'er peep the eastern dimness,<br> + And morning shadows streaking into slimness<br> + Across the lawny fields, and pebbly water;<br> + To mark the time as they grow broad, and shorter;<br> + To feel the air that plays about the hills,<br> + And sips its freshness from the little rills;<br> + To see high, golden corn wave in the light<br> + When Cynthia smiles upon a summer's night,<br> + And peers among the cloudlet's jet and white,<br> + As though she were reclining in a bed<br> + Of bean blossoms, in heaven freshly shed.<br> + No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures<br> + Than I began to think of rhymes and measures:<br> + The air that floated by me seem'd to say<br> + "Write! thou wilt never have a better day."<br> + And so I did. When many lines I'd written,<br> + Though with their grace I was not oversmitten,<br> + Yet, as my hand was warm, I thought I'd better<br> + Trust to my feelings, and write you a letter.<br> + Such an attempt required an inspiration<br> + Of a peculiar sort,—a consummation;—<br> + Which, had I felt, these scribblings might have been<br> + Verses from which the soul would never wean:<br> + But many days have past since last my heart<br> + Was warm'd luxuriously by divine Mozart;<br> + By Arne delighted, or by Handel madden'd;<br> + Or by the song of Erin pierc'd and sadden'd:<br> + What time you were before the music sitting,<br> + And the rich notes to each sensation fitting.<br> + Since I have walk'd with you through shady lanes<br> + That freshly terminate in open plains,<br> + And revel'd in a chat that ceased not<br> + When at night-fall among your books we got:<br> + No, nor when supper came, nor after that,—<br> + Nor when reluctantly I took my hat;<br> + No, nor till cordially you shook my hand<br> + Mid-way between our homes:—your accents bland<br> + Still sounded in my ears, when I no more<br> + Could hear your footsteps touch the grav'ly floor.<br> + Sometimes I lost them, and then found again;<br> + You chang'd the footpath for the grassy plain.<br> + In those still moments I have wish'd you joys<br> + That well you know to honour:—"Life's very toys<br> + With him," said I, "will take a pleasant charm;<br> + It cannot be that ought will work him harm."<br> + These thoughts now come o'er me with all their might:—<br> + Again I shake your hand,—friend Charles, good night.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><i>September, 1816.</i></font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> </font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + </font></p> +<table width="400" border="0" cellspacing="1" cellpadding="2" align="center"> + <tr> + <td align="center"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="6">SONNETS</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <hr align="center" width="300" size="1"> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">I.<br> + <br> + TO MY BROTHER GEORGE.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">M</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">any + the wonders I this day have seen:<br> + The sun, when first he kist away the tears<br> + That fill'd the eyes of morn;—the laurel'd peers<br> + Who from the feathery gold of evening lean:—<br> + The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,<br> + Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its + fears,— <br> + Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears<br> + Must think on what will be, and what has been.<br> + E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,<br> + Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping<br> + So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,<br> + And she her half-discover'd revels keeping.<br> + But what, without the social thought of thee,<br> + Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">II.<br> + <br> + TO * * * * * *</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">H</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">ad + I a man's fair form, then might my sighs<br> + Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell,<br> + Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well<br> + Would passion arm me for the enterprize:<br> + But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies;<br> + No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;<br> + I am no happy shepherd of the dell<br> + Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes;<br> + Yet must I dote upon thee,—call thee sweet.<br> + Sweeter by far than Hybla's honied roses<br> + When steep'd in dew rich to intoxication.<br> + Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet,<br> + And when the moon her pallid face discloses,<br> + I'll gather some by spells, and incantation.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> +<p> </p> +<table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">III.<br> + <br> + <i>Written on the day that Mr. Leigh Hunt left Prison.</i></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">W</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">hat + though, for showing truth to flatter'd state<br> + Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has he,<br> + In his immortal spirit, been as free<br> + As the sky-searching lark, and as elate.<br> + Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait?<br> + Think you he nought but prison walls did see,<br> + Till, so unwilling, thou unturn'dst the key?<br> + Ah, no! far happier, nobler was his fate!<br> + In Spenser's halls he strayed, and bowers fair,<br> + Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew<br> + With daring Milton through the fields of air:<br> + To regions of his own his genius true<br> + Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair<br> + When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew?</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">IV.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">H</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">ow + many bards gild the lapses of time!<br> + A few of them have ever been the food<br> + Of my delighted fancy,—I could brood<br> + Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:<br> + And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,<br> + These will in throngs before my mind intrude:<br> + But no confusion, no disturbance rude<br> + Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.<br> + So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store;<br> + The songs of birds—the whisp'ring of the leaves—<br> + The voice of waters—the great bell that heaves<br> + With solemn sound,—and thousand others more,<br> + That distance of recognizance bereaves,<br> + Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">V.<br> + <br> + <i>To a Friend who sent me some Roses.</i></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">A</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">s + late I rambled in the happy fields,<br> + What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew<br> + From his lush clover covert;—when anew<br> + Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields:<br> + I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,<br> + A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw<br> + Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew<br> + As is the wand that queen Titania wields.<br> + And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,<br> + I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd: <br> + But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me<br> + My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd:<br> + Soft voices had they, that with tender plea<br> + Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness + unquell'd.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><BR> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">VI.<br> + <br> + To G. A. W.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">N</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">ymph + of the downward smile, and sidelong glance,<br> + In what diviner moments of the day<br> + Art thou most lovely? When gone far astray<br> + Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance?<br> + Or when serenely wand'ring in a trance<br> + Of sober thought? Or when starting away,<br> + With careless robe, to meet the morning ray,<br> + Thou spar'st the flowers in thy mazy dance?<br> + Haply 'tis when thy ruby lips part sweetly,<br> + And so remain, because thou listenest:<br> + But thou to please wert nurtured so completely<br> + That I can never tell what mood is best.<br> + I shall as soon pronounce which grace more neatly<br> + Trips it before Apollo than the rest.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><BR> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">VII.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">O</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> + Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,<br> + Let it not be among the jumbled heap<br> + Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—<br> + Nature's observatory—whence the dell,<br> + Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,<br> + May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep<br> + 'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift + leap<br> + Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.<br> + But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,<br> + Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,<br> + Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,<br> + Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be<br> + Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,<br> + When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">VIII.<br> + <br> + TO MY BROTHERS.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">S</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">mall, + busy flames play through the fresh laid coals,<br> + And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep<br> + Like whispers of the household gods that keep<br> + A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.<br> + And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles,<br> + Your eyes are fix'd, as in poetic sleep,<br> + Upon the lore so voluble and deep,<br> + That aye at fall of night our care condoles.<br> + This is your birth-day Tom, and I rejoice<br> + That thus it passes smoothly, quietly.<br> + Many such eves of gently whisp'ring noise<br> + May we together pass, and calmly try<br> + What are this world's true joys,—ere the great voice,<br> + From its fair face, shall bid our spirits fly.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><i>November 18, + 1816.</i></font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">IX.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">K</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">een, + fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there<br> + Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;<br> + The stars look very cold about the sky,<br> + And I have many miles on foot to fare.<br> + Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,<br> + Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,<br> + Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,<br> + Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair:<br> + For I am brimfull of the friendliness<br> + That in a little cottage I have found;<br> + Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,<br> + And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd;<br> + Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,<br> + And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> </p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">X.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">T</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">o + one who has been long in city pent,<br> + 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair<br> + And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer<br> + Full in the smile of the blue firmament.<br> + Who is more happy, when, with hearts content,<br> + Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair<br> + Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair<br> + And gentle tale of love and languishment?<br> + Returning home at evening, with an ear<br> + Catching the notes of Philomel,—an eye<br> + Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,<br> + He mourns that day so soon has glided by:<br> + E'en like the passage of an angel's tear<br> + That falls through the clear ether silently.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><BR> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">XI.<br> + <br> + <i>On first looking into Chapman's Homer.</i></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">M</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">uch + have I traveled in the realms of gold,<br> + And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;<br> + Round many western islands have I been<br> + Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.<br> + Oft of one wide expanse had I been told<br> + That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne;<br> + Yet did I never breathe its pure serene<br> + Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:<br> + Then felt I like some watcher of the skies<br> + When a new planet swims into his ken;<br> + Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes<br> + He star'd at the Pacific—and all his men<br> + Look'd at each other with a wild surmise—<br> + Silent, upon a peak in Darien.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><BR> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">XII.<br> + <br> + <i>On leaving some Friends at an early Hour.</i></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">G</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">ive + me a golden pen, and let me lean<br> + On heap'd up flowers, in regions clear, and far;<br> + Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,<br> + Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen<br> + The silver strings of heavenly harp atween:<br> + And let there glide by many a pearly car,<br> + Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar,<br> + And half discovered wings, and glances keen.<br> + The while let music wander round my ears.<br> + And as it reaches each delicious ending,<br> + Let me write down a line of glorious + tone,<br> + And full of many wonders of the spheres:<br> + For what a height my spirit is contending!<br> + 'Tis not content so soon to be alone.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">XIII.<br> + <br> + ADDRESSED TO HAYDON.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">H</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">ighmindedness, + a jealousy for good,<br> + A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,<br> + Dwells here and there with people of no name,<br> + In noisome alley, and in pathless wood:<br> + And where we think the truth least understood,<br> + Oft may be found a "singleness of aim,"<br> + That ought to frighten into hooded shame<br> + A money mong'ring, pitiable brood.<br> + How glorious this affection for the cause<br> + Of stedfast genius, toiling gallantly!<br> + What when a stout unbending champion awes<br> + Envy, and Malice to their native sty?<br> + Unnumber'd souls breathe out a still applause,<br> + Proud to behold him in his country's eye.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><BR> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">XIV.<br> + <br> + ADDRESSED TO THE SAME.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">G</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">reat + spirits now on earth are sojourning;<br> + He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,<br> + Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake,<br> + Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing:<br> + He of the rose, the violet, the spring.<br> + The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake:<br> + And lo!—whose stedfastness would never take<br> + A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering.<br> + And other spirits there are standing apart<br> + Upon the forehead of the age to come;<br> + These, these will give the world another heart,<br> + And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum<br> + Of mighty workings?——————<br> + Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><BR> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">XV.<br> + <br> + <i>On the Grasshopper and Cricket.</i></font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">T</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">he + poetry of earth is never dead:<br> + When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,<br> + And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run<br> + From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;<br> + That is the Grasshopper's—he takes the lead<br> + In summer luxury,—he has never done<br> + With his delights; for when tired out with fun<br> + He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.<br> + The poetry of earth is ceasing never:<br> + On a lone winter evening, when the frost<br> + Has wrought a silence, from the stove + there shrills<br> + The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,<br> + And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,<br> + The Grasshopper's among some grassy + hills.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><i>December 30, + 1816.</i></font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">XVI.<br> + <br> + TO KOSCIUSKO.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">G</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">ood + Kosciusko, thy great name alone<br> + Is a full harvest whence to reap high feeling;<br> + It comes upon us like the glorious pealing<br> + Of the wide spheres—an everlasting tone.<br> + And now it tells me, that in worlds unknown,<br> + The names of heroes, burst from clouds concealing,<br> + And changed to harmonies, for ever stealing<br> + Through cloudless blue, and round each silver throne.<br> + It tells me too, that on a happy day,<br> + When some good spirit walks upon the earth,<br> + Thy name with Alfred's, and the great of yore<br> + Gently commingling, gives tremendous birth<br> + To a loud hymn, that sounds far, far away<br> + To where the great God lives for evermore.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">XVII.</font></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">H</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">appy + is England! I could be content<br> + To see no other verdure than its own;<br> + To feel no other breezes than are blown<br> + Through its tall woods with high romances blent:<br> + Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment<br> + For skies Italian, and an inward groan<br> + To sit upon an Alp as on a throne,<br> + And half forget what world or worldling meant.<br> + Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters;<br> + Enough their simple loveliness for me,<br> + Enough their whitest arms in silence + clinging:<br> + Yet do I often warmly burn to see<br> + Beauties of deeper glance, and hear + their singing,<br> + And float with them about the summer waters.</font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + <br> + </font></p> +<table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="6">SLEEP + AND POETRY</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5"><br> + <br> + </font> + <hr align="center" width="300" size="1"> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <table width="360" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"> + <tr> + <td><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="4">"As I lay + in my bed slepe full unmete<br> + Was unto me, but why that I ne might<br> + Rest I ne wist, for there n'as erthly wight</font> <font size="4"><br> + <font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">[As I suppose] had + more of hertis ese<br> + Than I, for I n'ad sicknesse nor disese."</font></font> </td> + </tr> + </table> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <table width="240" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"> + <tr> + <td align="right"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="4">CHAUCER.</font> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <hr align="center" width="300" size="1"> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + </font></p> +<table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td align="center"><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">SLEEP + AND POETRY </font> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td align="center"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5">W</font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">hat + is more gentle than a wind in summer?<br> + What is more soothing than the pretty hummer<br> + That stays one moment in an open flower,<br> + And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?<br> + What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing<br> + In a green island, far from all men's knowing?<br> + More healthful than the leafiness of dales?<br> + More secret than a nest of nightingales?<br> + More serene than Cordelia's countenance?<br> + More full of visions than a high romance?<br> + What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes!<br> + Low murmurer of tender lullabies!<br> + Light hoverer around our happy pillows!<br> + Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows!<br> + Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses!<br> + Most happy listener! when the morning blesses<br> + Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes<br> + That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">But what is higher + beyond thought than thee?<br> + Fresher than berries of a mountain tree?<br> + More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more regal,<br> + Than wings of swans, than doves, than dim-seen eagle?<br> + What is it? And to what shall I compare it?<br> + It has a glory, and nought else can share it:<br> + The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy,<br> + Chacing away all worldliness and folly;<br> + Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder,<br> + Or the low rumblings earth's regions under;<br> + And sometimes like a gentle whispering<br> + Of all the secrets of some wond'rous thing<br> + That breathes about us in the vacant air;<br> + So that we look around with prying stare,<br> + Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial lymning,<br> + And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning;<br> + To see the laurel wreath, on high suspended,<br> + That is to crown our name when life is ended.<br> + Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice,<br> + And from the heart up-springs, rejoice! rejoice!<br> + Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things,<br> + And die away in ardent mutterings.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">No one who once + the glorious sun has seen,<br> + And all the clouds, and felt his bosom clean<br> + For his great Maker's presence, but must know<br> + What 'tis I mean, and feel his being glow:<br> + Therefore no insult will I give his spirit,<br> + By telling what he sees from native merit.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">O Poesy! for thee + I hold my pen<br> + That am not yet a glorious denizen<br> + Of thy wide heaven—Should I rather kneel<br> + Upon some mountain-top until I feel<br> + A glowing splendour round about me hung,<br> + And echo back the voice of thine own tongue?<br> + O Poesy! for thee I grasp my pen<br> + That am not yet a glorious denizen<br> + Of thy wide heaven; yet, to my ardent prayer,<br> + Yield from thy sanctuary some clear air,<br> + Smoothed for intoxication by the breath<br> + Of flowering bays, that I may die a death<br> + Of luxury, and my young spirit follow<br> + The morning sun-beams to the great Apollo<br> + Like a fresh sacrifice; or, if I can bear<br> + The o'erwhelming sweets, 'twill bring to me the fair<br> + Visions of all places: a bowery nook<br> + Will be elysium—an eternal book<br> + Whence I may copy many a lovely saying<br> + About the leaves, and flowers—about the playing<br> + Of nymphs in woods, and fountains; and the shade<br> + Keeping a silence round a sleeping maid;<br> + And many a verse from so strange influence<br> + That we must ever wonder how, and whence<br> + It came. Also imaginings will hover<br> + Round my fire-side, and haply there discover<br> + Vistas of solemn beauty, where I'd wander<br> + In happy silence, like the clear meander<br> + Through its lone vales; and where I found a spot<br> + Of awfuller shade, or an enchanted grot,<br> + Or a green hill o'erspread with chequered dress<br> + Of flowers, and fearful from its loveliness,<br> + Write on my tablets all that was permitted,<br> + All that was for our human senses fitted.<br> + Then the events of this wide world I'd seize<br> + Like a strong giant, and my spirit teaze<br> + Till at its shoulders it should proudly see<br> + Wings to find out an immortality.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Stop and consider! + life is but a day;<br> + A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way<br> + From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep<br> + While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep<br> + Of Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan?<br> + Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown;<br> + The reading of an ever-changing tale;<br> + The light uplifting of a maiden's veil;<br> + A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air;<br> + A laughing school-boy, without grief or care,<br> + Riding the springy branches of an elm.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">O for ten years, + that I may overwhelm<br> + Myself in poesy; so I may do the deed<br> + That my own soul has to itself decreed.<br> + Then will I pass the countries that I see<br> + In long perspective, and continually<br> + Taste their pure fountains. First the realm I'll pass<br> + Of Flora, and old Pan: sleep in the grass,<br> + Feed upon apples red, and strawberries,<br> + And choose each pleasure that my fancy sees;<br> + Catch the white-handed nymphs in shady places,<br> + To woo sweet kisses from averted faces,—<br> + Play with their fingers, touch their shoulders white<br> + Into a pretty shrinking with a bite<br> + As hard as lips can make it: till agreed,<br> + A lovely tale of human life we'll read.<br> + And one will teach a tame dove how it best<br> + May fan the cool air gently o'er my rest; <br> + Another, bending o'er her nimble tread,<br> + Will set a green robe floating round her head,<br> + And still will dance with ever varied case,<br> + Smiling upon the flowers and the trees:<br> + Another will entice me on, and on<br> + Through almond blossoms and rich cinnamon;<br> + Till in the bosom of a leafy world<br> + We rest in silence, like two gems upcurl'd<br> + In the recesses of a pearly shell.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">And can I ever bid + these joys farewell?<br> + Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life,<br> + Where I may find the agonies, the strife<br> + Of human hearts: for lo! I see afar,<br> + O'er sailing the blue cragginess, a car<br> + And steeds with streamy manes—the charioteer<br> + Looks out upon the winds with glorious fear:<br> + And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly<br> + Along a huge cloud's ridge; and now with sprightly<br> + Wheel downward come they into fresher skies,<br> + Tipt round with silver from the sun's bright eyes.<br> + Still downward with capacious whirl they glide,<br> + And now I see them on a green-hill's side<br> + In breezy rest among the nodding stalks.<br> + The charioteer with wond'rous gesture talks<br> + To the trees and mountains; and there soon appear<br> + Shapes of delight, of mystery, and fear,<br> + Passing along before a dusky space<br> + Made by some mighty oaks: as they would chase<br> + Some ever-fleeting music on they sweep.<br> + Lo! how they murmur, laugh, and smile, and weep:<br> + Some with upholden hand and mouth severe;<br> + Some with their faces muffled to the ear<br> + Between their arms; some, clear in youthful bloom,<br> + Go glad and smilingly, athwart the gloom;<br> + Some looking back, and some with upward gaze;<br> + Yes, thousands in a thousand different ways<br> + Flit onward—now a lovely wreath of girls<br> + Dancing their sleek hair into tangled curls;<br> + And now broad wings. Most awfully intent<br> + The driver, of those steeds is forward bent,<br> + And seems to listen: O that I might know<br> + All that he writes with such a hurrying glow.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">The visions all + are fled—the car is fled<br> + Into the light of heaven, and in their stead<br> + A sense of real things comes doubly strong,<br> + And, like a muddy stream, would bear along<br> + My soul to nothingness: but I will strive<br> + Against all doublings, and will keep alive<br> + The thought of that same chariot, and the strange<br> + Journey it went.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> Is + there so small a range<br> + In the present strength of manhood, that the high<br> + Imagination cannot freely fly<br> + As she was wont of old? prepare her steeds,<br> + Paw up against the light, and do strange deeds<br> + Upon the clouds? Has she not shewn us all?<br> + From the clear space of ether, to the small<br> + Breath of new buds unfolding? From the meaning<br> + Of Jove's large eye-brow, to the tender greening<br> + Of April meadows? Here her altar shone,<br> + E'en in this isle; and who could paragon<br> + The fervid choir that lifted up a noise<br> + Of harmony, to where it aye will poise<br> + Its mighty self of convoluting sound,<br> + Huge as a planet, and like that roll round,<br> + Eternally around a dizzy void?<br> + Ay, in those days the Muses were nigh cloy'd<br> + With honors; nor had any other care<br> + Than to sing out and sooth their wavy hair.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Could all this be + forgotten? Yes, a schism<br> + Nurtured by foppery and barbarism,<br> + Made great Apollo blush for this his land.<br> + Men were thought wise who could not understand<br> + His glories: with a puling infant's force<br> + They sway'd about upon a rocking horse,<br> + And thought it Pegasus. Ah dismal soul'd!<br> + The winds of heaven blew, the ocean roll'd<br> + Its gathering waves—ye felt it not. The blue<br> + Bared its eternal bosom, and the dew<br> + Of summer nights collected still to make<br> + The morning precious: beauty was awake!<br> + Why were ye not awake? But ye were dead<br> + To things ye knew not of,—were closely wed<br> + To musty laws lined out with wretched rule<br> + And compass vile: so that ye taught a school<br> + Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit,<br> + Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit,<br> + Their verses tallied. Easy was the task:<br> + A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask<br> + Of Poesy. Ill-fated, impious race!<br> + That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his face,<br> + And did not know it,—no, they went about,<br> + Holding a poor, decrepid standard out<br> + Mark'd with most flimsy mottos, and in large<br> + The name of one Boileau!</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> + + O ye whose charge<br> + It is to hover round our pleasant hills!<br> + Whose congregated majesty so fills<br> + My boundly reverence, that I cannot trace<br> + Your hallowed names, in this unholy place,<br> + So near those common folk; did not their shames<br> + Affright you? Did our old lamenting Thames<br> + Delight you? Did ye never cluster round<br> + Delicious Avon, with a mournful sound,<br> + And weep? Or did ye wholly bid adieu<br> + To regions where no more the laurel grew?<br> + Or did ye stay to give a welcoming<br> + To some lone spirits who could proudly sing<br> + Their youth away, and die? 'Twas even so:<br> + But let me think away those times of woe:<br> + Now 'tis a fairer season; ye have breathed<br> + Rich benedictions o'er us; ye have wreathed<br> + Fresh garlands: for sweet music has been heard<br> + In many places;—some has been upstirr'd<br> + From out its crystal dwelling in a lake,<br> + By a swan's ebon bill; from a thick brake,<br> + Nested and quiet in a valley mild,<br> + Bubbles a pipe; fine sounds are floating wild<br> + About the earth: happy are ye and glad.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">These things are + doubtless: yet in truth we've had<br> + Strange thunders from the potency of song;<br> + Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong,<br> + From majesty: but in clear truth the themes<br> + Are ugly clubs, the Poets Polyphemes<br> + Disturbing the grand sea. A drainless shower<br> + Of light is poesy; 'tis the supreme of power;<br> + 'Tis might half slumb'ring on its own right arm.<br> + The very archings of her eye-lids charm<br> + A thousand willing agents to obey,<br> + And still she governs with the mildest sway:<br> + But strength alone though of the Muses born<br> + Is like a fallen angel: trees uptorn,<br> + Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres<br> + Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs,<br> + And thorns of life; forgetting the great end<br> + Of poesy, that it should be a friend<br> + To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> Yet + I rejoice: a myrtle fairer than<br> + E'er grew in Paphos, from the bitter weeds<br> + Lifts its sweet head into the air, and feeds<br> + A silent space with ever sprouting green.<br> + All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen,<br> + Creep through the shade with jaunty fluttering,<br> + Nibble the little cupped flowers and sing.<br> + Then let us clear away the choaking thorns<br> + From round its gentle stem; let the young fawns,<br> + Yeaned in after times, when we are flown,<br> + Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrown<br> + With simple flowers: let there nothing be<br> + More boisterous than a lover's bended knee;<br> + Nought more ungentle than the placid look<br> + Of one who leans upon a closed book;<br> + Nought more untranquil than the grassy slopes<br> + Between two hills. All hail delightful hopes!<br> + As she was wont, th' imagination<br> + Into most lovely labyrinths will be gone,<br> + And they shall be accounted poet kings<br> + Who simply tell the most heart-easing things.<br> + O may these joys be ripe before I die.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Will not some say + that I presumptuously<br> + Have spoken? that from hastening disgrace<br> + 'Twere better far to hide my foolish face?<br> + That whining boyhood should with reverence bow<br> + Ere the dread thunderbolt could reach? How!<br> + If I do hide myself, it sure shall be<br> + In the very fane, the light of Poesy:<br> + If I do fall, at least I will be laid<br> + Beneath the silence of a poplar shade;<br> + And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven;<br> + And there shall be a kind memorial graven.<br> + But oft' Despondence! miserable bane!<br> + They should not know thee, who athirst to gain<br> + A noble end, are thirsty every hour.<br> + What though I am not wealthy in the dower<br> + Of spanning wisdom; though I do not know<br> + The shiftings of the mighty winds, that blow<br> + Hither and thither all the changing thoughts<br> + Of man: though no great minist'ring reason sorts<br> + Out the dark mysteries of human souls<br> + To clear conceiving: yet there ever rolls<br> + A vast idea before me, and I glean<br> + Therefrom my liberty; thence too I've seen<br> + The end and aim of Poesy. 'Tis clear<br> + As any thing most true; as that the year<br> + Is made of the four seasons—manifest<br> + As a large cross, some old cathedral's crest,<br> + Lifted to the white clouds. Therefore should I<br> + Be but the essence of deformity,<br> + A coward, did my very eye-lids wink<br> + At speaking out what I have dared to think.<br> + Ah! rather let me like a madman run<br> + Over some precipice; let the hot sun<br> + Melt my Dedalian wings, and drive me down<br> + Convuls'd and headlong! Stay! an inward frown<br> + Of conscience bids me be more calm awhile.<br> + An ocean dim, sprinkled with many an isle,<br> + Spreads awfully before me. How much toil!<br> + How many days! what desperate turmoil!<br> + Ere I can have explored its widenesses.<br> + Ah, what a task! upon my bended knees,<br> + I could unsay those—no, impossible!<br> + Impossible!</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> For + sweet relief I'll dwell<br> + On humbler thoughts, and let this strange assay<br> + Begun in gentleness die so away.<br> + E'en now all tumult from my bosom fades:<br> + I turn full hearted to the friendly aids<br> + That smooth the path of honour; brotherhood,<br> + And friendliness the nurse of mutual good.<br> + The hearty grasp that sends a pleasant sonnet<br> + Into the brain ere one can think upon it;<br> + The silence when some rhymes are coming out;<br> + And when they're come, the very pleasant rout:<br> + The message certain to be done to-morrow.<br> + 'Tis perhaps as well that it should be to borrow<br> + Some precious book from out its snug retreat,<br> + To cluster round it when we next shall meet.<br> + Scarce can I scribble on; for lovely airs<br> + Are fluttering round the room like doves in pairs;<br> + Many delights of that glad day recalling,<br> + When first my senses caught their tender falling.<br> + And with these airs come forms of elegance<br> + Stooping their shoulders o'er a horse's prance,<br> + Careless, and grand—fingers soft and round<br> + Parting luxuriant curls;—and the swift bound<br> + Of Bacchus from his chariot, when his eye<br> + Made Ariadne's cheek look blushingly.<br> + Thus I remember all the pleasant flow<br> + Of words at opening a portfolio.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Things such as these + are ever harbingers<br> + To trains of peaceful images: the stirs<br> + Of a swan's neck unseen among the rushes:<br> + A linnet starting all about the bushes:<br> + A butterfly, with golden wings broad parted,<br> + Nestling a rose, convuls'd as though it smarted<br> + With over pleasure—many, many more,<br> + Might I indulge at large in all my store<br> + Of luxuries: yet I must not forget<br> + Sleep, quiet with his poppy coronet:<br> + For what there may be worthy in these rhymes<br> + I partly owe to him: and thus, the chimes<br> + Of friendly voices had just given place<br> + To as sweet a silence, when I 'gan retrace<br> + The pleasant day, upon a couch at ease.<br> + It was a poet's house who keeps the keys<br> + Of pleasure's temple. Round about were hung<br> + The glorious features of the bards who sung<br> + In other ages—cold and sacred busts<br> + Smiled at each other. Happy he who trusts<br> + To clear Futurity his darling fame!<br> + Then there were fauns and satyrs taking aim<br> + At swelling apples with a frisky leap<br> + And reaching fingers, 'mid a luscious heap<br> + Of vine leaves. Then there rose to view a fane<br> + Of liny marble, and thereto a train<br> + Of nymphs approaching fairly o'er the sward:<br> + One, loveliest, holding her white band toward<br> + The dazzling sun-rise: two sisters sweet<br> + Bending their graceful figures till they meet<br> + Over the trippings of a little child:<br> + And some are hearing, eagerly, the wild<br> + Thrilling liquidity of dewy piping.<br> + See, in another picture, nymphs are wiping<br> + Cherishingly Diana's timorous limbs;—<br> + A fold of lawny mantle dabbling swims<br> + At the bath's edge, and keeps a gentle motion<br> + With the subsiding crystal: as when ocean<br> + Heaves calmly its broad swelling smoothiness o'er<br> + Its rocky marge, and balances once more<br> + The patient weeds; that now unshent by foam<br> + Feel all about their undulating home.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Sappho's meek head + was there half smiling down<br> + At nothing; just as though the earnest frown<br> + Of over thinking had that moment gone<br> + From off her brow, and left her all alone.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Great Alfred's too, + with anxious, pitying eyes,<br> + As if he always listened to the sighs<br> + Of the goaded world; and Kosciusko's worn<br> + By horrid suffrance—mightily forlorn.</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif">Petrarch, outstepping + from the shady green,<br> + Starts at the sight of Laura; nor can wean<br> + His eyes from her sweet face. Most happy they!<br> + For over them was seen a free display<br> + Of out-spread wings, and from between them shone<br> + The face of Poesy: from off her throne<br> + She overlook'd things that I scarce could tell.<br> + The very sense of where I was might well<br> + Keep Sleep aloof: but more than that there came<br> + Thought after thought to nourish up the flame<br> + Within my breast; so that the morning light<br> + Surprised me even from a sleepless night;<br> + And up I rose refresh'd, and glad, and gay,<br> + Resolving to begin that very day<br> + These lines; and howsoever they be done,<br> + I leave them as a father does his son.<br> + <br> + <br> + </font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="5"> <i>Finis.</i></font></p> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> </font><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><br> + <br> + <br> + </font></p> + <table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="2" cellpadding="2"> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif" size="4">Corrections:</font></p> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <p>Three spelling errors were corrected for the Project Gutenberg + edition.<br> + The original lines appeared in the 1817 edition as follows :<br> + </p> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <blockquote> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"><b>To****</b><br> + Line 10: Like to streaks across the sky,</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> <b>To Charles Cowden + Clarke </b><br> + Line 82: Of my rough verses not an hour mispent;</font></p> + <p><font face="Times New Roman, Times, serif"> <b>Sleep and Poetry</b><br> + Line 181: Could all this be forgotten? Yes, a scism</font></p> + </blockquote> + </td> + </tr> +</table> +<p> +<BR> +<BR> +<BR> +<BR> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems 1817, by John Keats + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS 1817 *** + +***** This file should be named 8209-h.htm or 8209-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/2/0/8209/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Thierry A, David King, Charles +Franks, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Poems 1817 + +Author: John Keats + +Release Date: January 18, 2014 [EBook #8209] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS 1817 *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Thierry A, David King, Charles +Franks, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +POEMS 1817 + +by + +JOHN KEATS + + + + + + + +"What more felicity can fall to creature, +Than to enjoy delight with liberty." + +_Fate of the Butterfly_.--SPENSER. + + + + +DEDICATION. + +TO LEIGH HUNT, ESQ. + +Glory and loveliness have passed away; + For if we wander out in early morn, + No wreathed incense do we see upborne +Into the east, to meet the smiling day: +No crowd of nymphs soft voic'd and young, and gay, + In woven baskets bringing ears of corn, + Roses, and pinks, and violets, to adorn +The shrine of Flora in her early May. +But there are left delights as high as these, + And I shall ever bless my destiny, +That in a time, when under pleasant trees + Pan is no longer sought, I feel a free +A leafy luxury, seeing I could please + With these poor offerings, a man like thee. + + + +[The Short Pieces in the middle of the Book, as well +as some of the Sonnets, were written at an earlier +period than the rest of the Poems.] + + + + +POEMS. + + + +"Places of nestling green for Poets made." + STORY OF RIMINI. + + + +I stood tip-toe upon a little hill, +The air was cooling, and so very still. +That the sweet buds which with a modest pride +Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, +Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems, +Had not yet lost those starry diadems +Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. +The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn, +And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept +On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept +A little noiseless noise among the leaves, +Born of the very sigh that silence heaves: +For not the faintest motion could be seen +Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. +There was wide wand'ring for the greediest eye, +To peer about upon variety; +Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, +And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim; +To picture out the quaint, and curious bending +Of a fresh woodland alley, never ending; +Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves, +Guess were the jaunty streams refresh themselves. +I gazed awhile, and felt as light, and free +As though the fanning wings of Mercury +Had played upon my heels: I was light-hearted, +And many pleasures to my vision started; +So I straightway began to pluck a posey +Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy. + +A bush of May flowers with the bees about them; +Ah, sure no tasteful nook would be without them; +And let a lush laburnum oversweep them, +And let long grass grow round the roots to keep them +Moist, cool and green; and shade the violets, +That they may bind the moss in leafy nets. + +A filbert hedge with wild briar overtwined, +And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind +Upon their summer thrones; there too should be +The frequent chequer of a youngling tree, +That with a score of light green brethen shoots +From the quaint mossiness of aged roots: +Round which is heard a spring-head of clear waters +Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters +The spreading blue bells: it may haply mourn +That such fair clusters should be rudely torn +From their fresh beds, and scattered thoughtlessly +By infant hands, left on the path to die. + +Open afresh your round of starry folds, +Ye ardent marigolds! +Dry up the moisture from your golden lids, +For great Apollo bids +That in these days your praises should be sung +On many harps, which he has lately strung; +And when again your dewiness he kisses, +Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses: +So haply when I rove in some far vale, +His mighty voice may come upon the gale. + +Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight: +With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white, +And taper fulgent catching at all things, +To bind them all about with tiny rings. + +Linger awhile upon some bending planks +That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks, +And watch intently Nature's gentle doings: +They will be found softer than ring-dove's cooings. +How silent comes the water round that bend; +Not the minutest whisper does it send +To the o'erhanging sallows: blades of grass +Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pass. +Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach +To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach +A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds; +Where swarms of minnows show their little heads, +Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the streams, +To taste the luxury of sunny beams +Temper'd with coolness. How they ever wrestle +With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle +Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand. +If you but scantily hold out the hand, +That very instant not one will remain; +But turn your eye, and they are there again. +The ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses, +And cool themselves among the em'rald tresses; +The while they cool themselves, they freshness give, +And moisture, that the bowery green may live: +So keeping up an interchange of favours, +Like good men in the truth of their behaviours +Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop +From low hung branches; little space they stop; +But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek; +Then off at once, as in a wanton freak: +Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings, +Pausing upon their yellow flutterings. +Were I in such a place, I sure should pray +That nought less sweet, might call my thoughts away, +Than the soft rustle of a maiden's gown +Fanning away the dandelion's down; +Than the light music of her nimble toes +Patting against the sorrel as she goes. +How she would start, and blush, thus to be caught +Playing in all her innocence of thought. +O let me lead her gently o'er the brook, +Watch her half-smiling lips, and downward look; +O let me for one moment touch her wrist; +Let me one moment to her breathing list; +And as she leaves me may she often turn +Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne. +What next? A tuft of evening primroses, +O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes; +O'er which it well might take a pleasant sleep, +But that 'tis ever startled by the leap +Of buds into ripe flowers; or by the flitting +Of diverse moths, that aye their rest are quitting; +Or by the moon lifting her silver rim +Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim +Coming into the blue with all her light. +O Maker of sweet poets, dear delight +Of this fair world, and all its gentle livers; +Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers, +Mingler with leaves, and dew and tumbling streams, +Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams, +Lover of loneliness, and wandering, +Of upcast eye, and tender pondering! +Thee must I praise above all other glories +That smile us on to tell delightful stories. +For what has made the sage or poet write +But the fair paradise of Nature's light? +In the calm grandeur of a sober line, +We see the waving of the mountain pine; +And when a tale is beautifully staid, +We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade: +When it is moving on luxurious wings, +The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings: +Fair dewy roses brush against our faces, +And flowering laurels spring from diamond vases; +O'er head we see the jasmine and sweet briar, +And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire; +While at our feet, the voice of crystal bubbles +Charms us at once away from all our troubles: +So that we feel uplifted from the world, +Walking upon the white clouds wreath'd and curl'd. +So felt he, who first told, how Psyche went +On the smooth wind to realms of wonderment; +What Psyche felt, and Love, when their full lips +First touch'd; what amorous, and fondling nips +They gave each other's cheeks; with all their sighs, +And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes: +The silver lamp,--the ravishment,--the wonder-- +The darkness,--loneliness,--the fearful thunder; +Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, +To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne. +So did he feel, who pull'd the boughs aside, +That we might look into a forest wide, +To catch a glimpse of Fawns, and Dryades +Coming with softest rustle through the trees; +And garlands woven of flowers wild, and sweet, +Upheld on ivory wrists, or sporting feet: +Telling us how fair, trembling Syrinx fled +Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread. +Poor nymph,--poor Pan,--how he did weep to find, +Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind +Along the reedy stream; a half heard strain, +Full of sweet desolation--balmy pain. + +What first inspired a bard of old to sing +Narcissus pining o'er the untainted spring? +In some delicious ramble, he had found +A little space, with boughs all woven round; +And in the midst of all, a clearer pool +Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool, +The blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping +Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping. +And on the bank a lonely flower he spied, +A meek and forlorn flower, with naught of pride, +Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clearness, +To woo its own sad image into nearness: +Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move; +But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love. +So while the Poet stood in this sweet spot, +Some fainter gleamings o'er his fancy shot; +Nor was it long ere he had told the tale +Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's bale. + +Where had he been, from whose warm head out-flew +That sweetest of all songs, that ever new, +That aye refreshing, pure deliciousness, +Coming ever to bless +The wanderer by moonlight? to him bringing +Shapes from the invisible world, unearthly singing +From out the middle air, from flowery nests, +And from the pillowy silkiness that rests +Full in the speculation of the stars. +Ah! surely he had burst our mortal bars; +Into some wond'rous region he had gone, +To search for thee, divine Endymion! + +He was a Poet, sure a lover too, +Who stood on Latmus' top, what time there blew +Soft breezes from the myrtle vale below; +And brought in faintness solemn, sweet, and slow +A hymn from Dian's temple; while upswelling, +The incense went to her own starry dwelling. +But though her face was clear as infant's eyes, +Though she stood smiling o'er the sacrifice, +The Poet wept at her so piteous fate, +Wept that such beauty should be desolate: +So in fine wrath some golden sounds he won, +And gave meek Cynthia her Endymion. + +Queen of the wide air; thou most lovely queen +Of all the brightness that mine eyes have seen! +As thou exceedest all things in thy shine, +So every tale, does this sweet tale of thine. +O for three words of honey, that I might +Tell but one wonder of thy bridal night! + +Where distant ships do seem to show their keels, +Phoebus awhile delayed his mighty wheels, +And turned to smile upon thy bashful eyes, +Ere he his unseen pomp would solemnize. +The evening weather was so bright, and clear, +That men of health were of unusual cheer; +Stepping like Homer at the trumpet's call, +Or young Apollo on the pedestal: +And lovely women were as fair and warm, +As Venus looking sideways in alarm. +The breezes were ethereal, and pure, +And crept through half closed lattices to cure +The languid sick; it cool'd their fever'd sleep, +And soothed them into slumbers full and deep. +Soon they awoke clear eyed: nor burnt with thirsting, +Nor with hot fingers, nor with temples bursting: +And springing up, they met the wond'ring sight +Of their dear friends, nigh foolish with delight; +Who feel their arms, and breasts, and kiss and stare, +And on their placid foreheads part the hair. +Young men, and maidens at each other gaz'd +With hands held back, and motionless, amaz'd +To see the brightness in each others' eyes; +And so they stood, fill'd with a sweet surprise, +Until their tongues were loos'd in poesy. +Therefore no lover did of anguish die: +But the soft numbers, in that moment spoken, +Made silken ties, that never may be broken. +Cynthia! I cannot tell the greater blisses, +That follow'd thine, and thy dear shepherd's kisses: +Was there a Poet born?--but now no more, +My wand'ring spirit must no further soar.-- + + + + +SPECIMEN OF AN INDUCTION TO A POEM. + + +Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry; +For large white plumes are dancing in mine eye. +Not like the formal crest of latter days: +But bending in a thousand graceful ways; +So graceful, that it seems no mortal hand, +Or e'en the touch of Archimago's wand, +Could charm them into such an attitude. +We must think rather, that in playful mood, +Some mountain breeze had turned its chief delight, +To show this wonder of its gentle might. +Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry; +For while I muse, the lance points slantingly +Athwart the morning air: some lady sweet, +Who cannot feel for cold her tender feet, +From the worn top of some old battlement +Hails it with tears, her stout defender sent: +And from her own pure self no joy dissembling, +Wraps round her ample robe with happy trembling. +Sometimes, when the good Knight his rest would take, +It is reflected, clearly, in a lake, +With the young ashen boughs, 'gainst which it rests, +And th' half seen mossiness of linnets' nests. +Ah! shall I ever tell its cruelty, +When the fire flashes from a warrior's eye, +And his tremendous hand is grasping it, +And his dark brow for very wrath is knit? +Or when his spirit, with more calm intent, +Leaps to the honors of a tournament, +And makes the gazers round about the ring +Stare at the grandeur of the balancing? +No, no! this is far off:--then how shall I +Revive the dying tones of minstrelsy, +Which linger yet about lone gothic arches, +In dark green ivy, and among wild larches? +How sing the splendour of the revelries, +When buts of wine are drunk off to the lees? +And that bright lance, against the fretted wall, +Beneath the shade of stately banneral, +Is slung with shining cuirass, sword, and shield? +Where ye may see a spur in bloody field. +Light-footed damsels move with gentle paces +Round the wide hall, and show their happy faces; +Or stand in courtly talk by fives and sevens: +Like those fair stars that twinkle in the heavens. +Yet must I tell a tale of chivalry: +Or wherefore comes that knight so proudly by? +Wherefore more proudly does the gentle knight, +Rein in the swelling of his ample might? + +Spenser! thy brows are arched, open, kind, +And come like a clear sun-rise to my mind; +And always does my heart with pleasure dance, +When I think on thy noble countenance: +Where never yet was ought more earthly seen +Than the pure freshness of thy laurels green. +Therefore, great bard, I not so fearfully +Call on thy gentle spirit to hover nigh +My daring steps: or if thy tender care, +Thus startled unaware, +Be jealous that the foot of other wight +Should madly follow that bright path of light +Trac'd by thy lov'd Libertas; he will speak, +And tell thee that my prayer is very meek; +That I will follow with due reverence, +And start with awe at mine own strange pretence. +Him thou wilt hear; so I will rest in hope +To see wide plains, fair trees and lawny slope: +The morn, the eve, the light, the shade, the flowers: +Clear streams, smooth lakes, and overlooking towers. + + + + +CALIDORE. + +A fragment. + + +Young Calidore is paddling o'er the lake; +His healthful spirit eager and awake +To feel the beauty of a silent eve, +Which seem'd full loath this happy world to leave; +The light dwelt o'er the scene so lingeringly. +He bares his forehead to the cool blue sky, +And smiles at the far clearness all around, +Until his heart is well nigh over wound, +And turns for calmness to the pleasant green +Of easy slopes, and shadowy trees that lean +So elegantly o'er the waters' brim +And show their blossoms trim. +Scarce can his clear and nimble eye-sight follow +The freaks, and dartings of the black-wing'd swallow, +Delighting much, to see it half at rest, +Dip so refreshingly its wings, and breast +'Gainst the smooth surface, and to mark anon, +The widening circles into nothing gone. + +And now the sharp keel of his little boat +Comes up with ripple, and with easy float, +And glides into a bed of water lillies: +Broad leav'd are they and their white canopies +Are upward turn'd to catch the heavens' dew. +Near to a little island's point they grew; +Whence Calidore might have the goodliest view +Of this sweet spot of earth. The bowery shore +Went off in gentle windings to the hoar +And light blue mountains: but no breathing man +With a warm heart, and eye prepared to scan +Nature's clear beauty, could pass lightly by +Objects that look'd out so invitingly +On either side. These, gentle Calidore +Greeted, as he had known them long before. + +The sidelong view of swelling leafiness, +Which the glad setting sun, in gold doth dress; +Whence ever, and anon the jay outsprings, +And scales upon the beauty of its wings. + +The lonely turret, shatter'd, and outworn, +Stands venerably proud; too proud to mourn +Its long lost grandeur: fir trees grow around, +Aye dropping their hard fruit upon the ground. + +The little chapel with the cross above +Upholding wreaths of ivy; the white dove, +That on the windows spreads his feathers light, +And seems from purple clouds to wing its flight. + +Green tufted islands casting their soft shades +Across the lake; sequester'd leafy glades, +That through the dimness of their twilight show +Large dock leaves, spiral foxgloves, or the glow +Of the wild cat's eyes, or the silvery stems +Of delicate birch trees, or long grass which hems +A little brook. The youth had long been viewing +These pleasant things, and heaven was bedewing +The mountain flowers, when his glad senses caught +A trumpet's silver voice. Ah! it was fraught +With many joys for him: the warder's ken +Had found white coursers prancing in the glen: +Friends very dear to him he soon will see; +So pushes off his boat most eagerly, +And soon upon the lake he skims along, +Deaf to the nightingale's first under-song; +Nor minds he the white swans that dream so sweetly: +His spirit flies before him so completely. + +And now he turns a jutting point of land, +Whence may be seen the castle gloomy, and grand: +Nor will a bee buzz round two swelling peaches, +Before the point of his light shallop reaches +Those marble steps that through the water dip: +Now over them he goes with hasty trip, +And scarcely stays to ope the folding doors: +Anon he leaps along the oaken floors +Of halls and corridors. + +Delicious sounds! those little bright-eyed things +That float about the air on azure wings, +Had been less heartfelt by him than the clang +Of clattering hoofs; into the court he sprang, +Just as two noble steeds, and palfreys twain, +Were slanting out their necks with loosened rein; +While from beneath the threat'ning portcullis +They brought their happy burthens. What a kiss, +What gentle squeeze he gave each lady's hand! +How tremblingly their delicate ancles spann'd! +Into how sweet a trance his soul was gone, +While whisperings of affection +Made him delay to let their tender feet +Come to the earth; with an incline so sweet +From their low palfreys o'er his neck they bent: +And whether there were tears of languishment, +Or that the evening dew had pearl'd their tresses, +He feels a moisture on his cheek, and blesses +With lips that tremble, and with glistening eye +All the soft luxury +That nestled in his arms. A dimpled hand, +Fair as some wonder out of fairy land, +Hung from his shoulder like the drooping flowers +Of whitest Cassia, fresh from summer showers: +And this he fondled with his happy cheek +As if for joy he would no further seek; +When the kind voice of good Sir Clerimond +Came to his ear, like something from beyond +His present being: so he gently drew +His warm arms, thrilling now with pulses new, +From their sweet thrall, and forward gently bending, +Thank'd heaven that his joy was never ending; +While 'gainst his forehead he devoutly press'd +A hand heaven made to succour the distress'd; +A hand that from the world's bleak promontory +Had lifted Calidore for deeds of glory. + +Amid the pages, and the torches' glare, +There stood a knight, patting the flowing hair +Of his proud horse's mane: he was withal +A man of elegance, and stature tall: +So that the waving of his plumes would be +High as the berries of a wild ash tree, +Or as the winged cap of Mercury. +His armour was so dexterously wrought +In shape, that sure no living man had thought +It hard, and heavy steel: but that indeed +It was some glorious form, some splendid weed, +In which a spirit new come from the skies +Might live, and show itself to human eyes. +'Tis the far-fam'd, the brave Sir Gondibert, +Said the good man to Calidore alert; +While the young warrior with a step of grace +Came up,--a courtly smile upon his face, +And mailed hand held out, ready to greet +The large-eyed wonder, and ambitious heat +Of the aspiring boy; who as he led +Those smiling ladies, often turned his head +To admire the visor arched so gracefully +Over a knightly brow; while they went by +The lamps that from the high-roof'd hall were pendent, +And gave the steel a shining quite transcendent. + +Soon in a pleasant chamber they are seated; +The sweet-lipp'd ladies have already greeted +All the green leaves that round the window clamber, +To show their purple stars, and bells of amber. +Sir Gondibert has doff'd his shining steel, +Gladdening in the free, and airy feel +Of a light mantle; and while Clerimond +Is looking round about him with a fond, +And placid eye, young Calidore is burning +To hear of knightly deeds, and gallant spurning +Of all unworthiness; and how the strong of arm +Kept off dismay, and terror, and alarm +From lovely woman: while brimful of this, +He gave each damsel's hand so warm a kiss, +And had such manly ardour in his eye, +That each at other look'd half staringly; +And then their features started into smiles +Sweet as blue heavens o'er enchanted isles. + +Softly the breezes from the forest came, +Softly they blew aside the taper's flame; +Clear was the song from Philomel's far bower; +Grateful the incense from the lime-tree flower; +Mysterious, wild, the far heard trumpet's tone; +Lovely the moon in ether, all alone: +Sweet too the converse of these happy mortals, +As that of busy spirits when the portals +Are closing in the west; or that soft humming +We hear around when Hesperus is coming. +Sweet be their sleep. * * * * * * * * * + + + + +TO SOME LADIES. + + +What though while the wonders of nature exploring, + I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend; +Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring, + Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast's friend: + +Yet over the steep, whence the mountain stream rushes, + With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove; +Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes, + Its spray that the wild flower kindly bedews. + +Why linger you so, the wild labyrinth strolling? + Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare? +Ah! you list to the nightingale's tender condoling, + Responsive to sylphs, in the moon beamy air. + +'Tis morn, and the flowers with dew are yet drooping, + I see you are treading the verge of the sea: +And now! ah, I see it--you just now are stooping + To pick up the keep-sake intended for me. + +If a cherub, on pinions of silver descending, + Had brought me a gem from the fret-work of heaven; +And smiles, with his star-cheering voice sweetly blending, + The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given; + +It had not created a warmer emotion + Than the present, fair nymphs, I was blest with from you, +Than the shell, from the bright golden sands of the ocean + Which the emerald waves at your feet gladly threw. + +For, indeed, 'tis a sweet and peculiar pleasure, + (And blissful is he who such happiness finds,) +To possess but a span of the hour of leisure, + In elegant, pure, and aerial minds. + + + + +ON RECEIVING A CURIOUS SHELL, AND A COPY OF VERSES, +FROM THE SAME LADIES. + + +Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem + Pure as the ice-drop that froze on the mountain? +Bright as the humming-bird's green diadem, + When it flutters in sun-beams that shine through a fountain? + +Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine? + That goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold? +And splendidly mark'd with the story divine + Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold? + +Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing? + Hast thou a sword that thine enemy's smart is? +Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing? + And wear'st thou the shield of the fam'd Britomartis? + +What is it that hangs from thy shoulder, so brave, + Embroidered with many a spring peering flower? +Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave? + And hastest thou now to that fair lady's bower? + +Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art crown'd; + Full many the glories that brighten thy youth! +I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound + In magical powers to bless, and to sooth. + +On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair + A sun-beamy tale of a wreath, and a chain; +And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare + Of charming my mind from the trammels of pain. + +This canopy mark: 'tis the work of a fay; + Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish, +When lovely Titania was far, far away, + And cruelly left him to sorrow, and anguish. + +There, oft would he bring from his soft sighing lute + Wild strains to which, spell-bound, the nightingales listened; +The wondering spirits of heaven were mute, + And tears 'mong the dewdrops of morning oft glistened. + +In this little dome, all those melodies strange, + Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh; +Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness change; + Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die. + +So, when I am in a voluptuous vein, + I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose, +And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain, + Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose. + +Adieu, valiant Eric! with joy thou art crown'd; + Full many the glories that brighten thy youth, +I too have my blisses, which richly abound + In magical powers, to bless and to sooth. + + + + +TO * * * * + + +Hadst thou liv'd in days of old, +O what wonders had been told +Of thy lively countenance, +And thy humid eyes that dance +In the midst of their own brightness; +In the very fane of lightness. +Over which thine eyebrows, leaning, +Picture out each lovely meaning: +In a dainty bend they lie, +Like two streaks across the sky, +Or the feathers from a crow, +Fallen on a bed of snow. +Of thy dark hair that extends +Into many graceful bends: +As the leaves of Hellebore +Turn to whence they sprung before. +And behind each ample curl +Peeps the richness of a pearl. +Downward too flows many a tress +With a glossy waviness; +Full, and round like globes that rise +From the censer to the skies +Through sunny air. Add too, the sweetness +Of thy honied voice; the neatness +Of thine ankle lightly turn'd: +With those beauties, scarce discrn'd, +Kept with such sweet privacy, +That they seldom meet the eye +Of the little loves that fly +Round about with eager pry. +Saving when, with freshening lave, +Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave; +Like twin water lillies, born +In the coolness of the morn. +O, if thou hadst breathed then, +Now the Muses had been ten. +Couldst thou wish for lineage higher +Than twin sister of Thalia? +At least for ever, evermore, +Will I call the Graces four. + +Hadst thou liv'd when chivalry +Lifted up her lance on high, +Tell me what thou wouldst have been? +Ah! I see the silver sheen +Of thy broidered, floating vest +Cov'ring half thine ivory breast; +Which, O heavens! I should see, +But that cruel destiny +Has placed a golden cuirass there; +Keeping secret what is fair. +Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested +Thy locks in knightly casque are rested: +O'er which bend four milky plumes +Like the gentle lilly's blooms +Springing from a costly vase. +See with what a stately pace +Comes thine alabaster steed; +Servant of heroic deed! +O'er his loins, his trappings glow +Like the northern lights on snow. +Mount his back! thy sword unsheath! +Sign of the enchanter's death; +Bane of every wicked spell; +Silencer of dragon's yell. +Alas! thou this wilt never do: +Thou art an enchantress too, +And wilt surely never spill +Blood of those whose eyes can kill. + + + + +TO HOPE. + + +When by my solitary hearth I sit, + And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom; +When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit, + And the bare heath of life presents no bloom; + Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed, + And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head. + +Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night, + Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray, +Should sad Despondency my musings fright, + And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, + Peep with the moon-beams through the leafy roof, + And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof. + +Should Disappointment, parent of Despair, + Strive for her son to seize my careless heart; +When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air, + Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart: + Chace him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright, + And fright him as the morning frightens night! + +Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear + Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow, +O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer; + Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow: + Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed, + And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head! + +Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain, + From cruel parents, or relentless fair; +O let me think it is not quite in vain + To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air! + Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed. + And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head! + +In the long vista of the years to roll, + Let me not see our country's honour fade: +O let me see our land retain her soul, + Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade. + From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed-- + Beneath thy pinions canopy my head! + +Let me not see the patriot's high bequest, + Great Liberty! how great in plain attire! +With the base purple of a court oppress'd, + Bowing her head, and ready to expire: + But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings + That fill the skies with silver glitterings! + +And as, in sparkling majesty, a star + Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud; +Brightening the half veil'd face of heaven afar: + So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, + Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed, + Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head. + +_February, 1815_. + + + + +IMITATION OF SPENSER. + + + Now Morning from her orient chamber came, + And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill; + Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame, + Silv'ring the untainted gushes of its rill; + Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distill, + And after parting beds of simple flowers, + By many streams a little lake did fill, + Which round its marge reflected woven bowers, +And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers. + + There the king-fisher saw his plumage bright + Vieing with fish of brilliant dye below; + Whose silken fins, and golden scales' light + Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow: + There saw the swan his neck of arched snow, + And oar'd himself along with majesty; + Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show + Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony, +And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously. + + Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle + That in that fairest lake had placed been, + I could e'en Dido of her grief beguile; + Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen: + For sure so fair a place was never seen, + Of all that ever charm'd romantic eye: + It seem'd an emerald in the silver sheen + Of the bright waters; or as when on high, +Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the coerulean sky. + + And all around it dipp'd luxuriously + Slopings of verdure through the glossy tide, + Which, as it were in gentle amity, + Rippled delighted up the flowery side; + As if to glean the ruddy tears, it tried, + Which fell profusely from the rose-tree stem! + Haply it was the workings of its pride, + In strife to throw upon the shore a gem +Outvieing all the buds in Flora's diadem. + + + +Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain, + Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies; + Without that modest softening that enhances +The downcast eye, repentant of the pain +That its mild light creates to heal again: + E'en then, elate, my spirit leaps, and prances, + E'en then my soul with exultation dances +For that to love, so long, I've dormant lain: +But when I see thee meek, and kind, and tender, + Heavens! how desperately do I adore +Thy winning graces;--to be thy defender + I hotly burn--to be a Calidore-- +A very Red Cross Knight--a stout Leander-- + Might I be loved by thee like these of yore. + +Light feet, dark violet eyes, and parted hair; + Soft dimpled hands, white neck, and creamy breast, + Are things on which the dazzled senses rest +Till the fond, fixed eyes, forget they stare. +From such fine pictures, heavens! I cannot dare + To turn my admiration, though unpossess'd + They be of what is worthy,--though not drest +In lovely modesty, and virtues rare. +Yet these I leave as thoughtless as a lark; + These lures I straight forget,--e'en ere I dine, +Or thrice my palate moisten: but when I mark + Such charms with mild intelligences shine, +My ear is open like a greedy shark, + To catch the tunings of a voice divine. + +Ah! who can e'er forget so fair a being? + Who can forget her half retiring sweets? + God! she is like a milk-white lamb that bleats +For man's protection. Surely the All-seeing, +Who joys to see us with his gifts agreeing, + Will never give him pinions, who intreats + Such innocence to ruin,--who vilely cheats +A dove-like bosom. In truth there is no freeing +One's thoughts from such a beauty; when I hear + A lay that once I saw her hand awake, +Her form seems floating palpable, and near; + Had I e'er seen her from an arbour take +A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear, + And o'er my eyes the trembling moisture shake. + + + + + +EPISTLES + + +"Among the rest a shepheard (though but young + Yet hartned to his pipe) with all the skill + His few yeeres could, began to fit his quill." + +Britannia's Pastorals.--BROWNE. + + + + +TO GEORGE FELTON MATHEW. + + +Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong, +And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song; +Nor can remembrance, Mathew! bring to view +A fate more pleasing, a delight more true +Than that in which the brother Poets joy'd, +Who with combined powers, their wit employ'd +To raise a trophy to the drama's muses. +The thought of this great partnership diffuses +Over the genius loving heart, a feeling +Of all that's high, and great, and good, and healing. + +Too partial friend! fain would I follow thee +Past each horizon of fine poesy; +Fain would I echo back each pleasant note +As o'er Sicilian seas, clear anthems float +'Mong the light skimming gondolas far parted, +Just when the sun his farewell beam has darted: +But 'tis impossible; far different cares +Beckon me sternly from soft "Lydian airs," +And hold my faculties so long in thrall, +That I am oft in doubt whether at all +I shall again see Phoebus in the morning: +Or flush'd Aurora in the roseate dawning! +Or a white Naiad in a rippling stream; +Or a rapt seraph in a moonlight beam; +Or again witness what with thee I've seen, +The dew by fairy feet swept from the green, +After a night of some quaint jubilee +Which every elf and fay had come to see: +When bright processions took their airy march +Beneath the curved moon's triumphal arch. + +But might I now each passing moment give +To the coy muse, with me she would not live +In this dark city, nor would condescend +'Mid contradictions her delights to lend. +Should e'er the fine-eyed maid to me be kind, +Ah! surely it must be whene'er I find +Some flowery spot, sequester'd, wild, romantic, +That often must have seen a poet frantic; +Where oaks, that erst the Druid knew, are growing, +And flowers, the glory of one day, are blowing; +Where the dark-leav'd laburnum's drooping clusters +Reflect athwart the stream their yellow lustres, +And intertwined the cassia's arms unite, +With its own drooping buds, but very white. +Where on one side are covert branches hung, +'Mong which the nightingales have always sung +In leafy quiet; where to pry, aloof, +Atween the pillars of the sylvan roof, +Would be to find where violet beds were nestling, +And where the bee with cowslip bells was wrestling. +There must be too a ruin dark, and gloomy, +To say "joy not too much in all that's bloomy." + +Yet this is vain--O Mathew lend thy aid +To find a place where I may greet the maid-- +Where we may soft humanity put on, +And sit, and rhyme and think on Chatterton; +And that warm-hearted Shakspeare sent to meet him +Four laurell'd spirits, heaven-ward to intreat him. +With reverence would we speak of all the sages +Who have left streaks of light athwart their ages: +And thou shouldst moralize on Milton's blindness, +And mourn the fearful dearth of human kindness +To those who strove with the bright golden wing +Of genius, to flap away each sting +Thrown by the pitiless world. We next could tell +Of those who in the cause of freedom fell: +Of our own Alfred, of Helvetian Tell; +Of him whose name to ev'ry heart's a solace, +High-minded and unbending William Wallace. +While to the rugged north our musing turns +We well might drop a tear for him, and Burns. + +Felton! without incitements such as these, +How vain for me the niggard Muse to tease: +For thee, she will thy every dwelling grace, +And make "a sun-shine in a shady place:" +For thou wast once a flowret blooming wild, +Close to the source, bright, pure, and undefil'd, +Whence gush the streams of song: in happy hour +Came chaste Diana from her shady bower, +Just as the sun was from the east uprising; +And, as for him some gift she was devising, +Beheld thee, pluck'd thee, cast thee in the stream +To meet her glorious brother's greeting beam. +I marvel much that thou hast never told +How, from a flower, into a fish of gold +Apollo chang'd thee; how thou next didst seem +A black-eyed swan upon the widening stream; +And when thou first didst in that mirror trace +The placid features of a human face: +That thou hast never told thy travels strange. +And all the wonders of the mazy range +O'er pebbly crystal, and o'er golden sands; +Kissing thy daily food from Naiad's pearly hands. + +_November, 1815_. + + + + +TO MY BROTHER GEORGE. + +Full many a dreary hour have I past, +My brain bewilder'd, and my mind o'ercast +With heaviness; in seasons when I've thought +No spherey strains by me could e'er be caught +From the blue dome, though I to dimness gaze +On the far depth where sheeted lightning plays; +Or, on the wavy grass outstretch'd supinely, +Pry 'mong the stars, to strive to think divinely: +That I should never hear Apollo's song, +Though feathery clouds were floating all along +The purple west, and, two bright streaks between, +The golden lyre itself were dimly seen: +That the still murmur of the honey bee +Would never teach a rural song to me: +That the bright glance from beauty's eyelids slanting +Would never make a lay of mine enchanting, +Or warm my breast with ardour to unfold +Some tale of love and arms in time of old. + +But there are times, when those that love the bay, +Fly from all sorrowing far, far away; +A sudden glow comes on them, nought they see +In water, earth, or air, but poesy. +It has been said, dear George, and true I hold it, +(For knightly Spenser to Libertas told it,) +That when a Poet is in such a trance, +In air he sees white coursers paw, and prance, +Bestridden of gay knights, in gay apparel, +Who at each other tilt in playful quarrel, +And what we, ignorantly, sheet-lightning call, +Is the swift opening of their wide portal, +When the bright warder blows his trumpet clear, +Whose tones reach nought on earth but Poet's ear. +When these enchanted portals open wide, +And through the light the horsemen swiftly glide, +The Poet's eye can reach those golden halls, +And view the glory of their festivals: +Their ladies fair, that in the distance seem +Fit for the silv'ring of a seraph's dream; +Their rich brimm'd goblets, that incessant run +Like the bright spots that move about the sun; +And, when upheld, the wine from each bright jar +Pours with the lustre of a falling star. +Yet further off, are dimly seen their bowers, +Of which, no mortal eye can reach the flowers; +And 'tis right just, for well Apollo knows +'Twould make the Poet quarrel with the rose. +All that's reveal'd from that far seat of blisses, +Is, the clear fountains' interchanging kisses. +As gracefully descending, light and thin, +Like silver streaks across a dolphin's fin, +When he upswimmeth from the coral caves. +And sports with half his tail above the waves. + +These wonders strange be sees, and many more, +Whose head is pregnant with poetic lore. +Should he upon an evening ramble fare +With forehead to the soothing breezes bare, +Would he naught see but the dark, silent blue +With all its diamonds trembling through and through: +Or the coy moon, when in the waviness +Of whitest clouds she does her beauty dress, +And staidly paces higher up, and higher, +Like a sweet nun in holy-day attire? +Ah, yes! much more would start into his sight-- +The revelries, and mysteries of night: +And should I ever see them, I will tell you +Such tales as needs must with amazement spell you. + +These are the living pleasures of the bard: +But richer far posterity's award. +What does he murmur with his latest breath, +While his proud eye looks through the film of death? +"What though I leave this dull, and earthly mould, +Yet shall my spirit lofty converse hold +With after times.--The patriot shall feel +My stern alarum, and unsheath his steel; +Or, in the senate thunder out my numbers +To startle princes from their easy slumbers. +The sage will mingle with each moral theme +My happy thoughts sententious; he will teem +With lofty periods when my verses fire him, +And then I'll stoop from heaven to inspire him. +Lays have I left of such a dear delight +That maids will sing them on their bridal night. +Gay villagers, upon a morn of May +When they have tired their gentle limbs, with play, +And form'd a snowy circle on the grass, +And plac'd in midst of all that lovely lass +Who chosen is their queen,--with her fine head +Crowned with flowers purple, white, and red: +For there the lily, and the musk-rose, sighing, +Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying: +Between her breasts, that never yet felt trouble, +A bunch of violets full blown, and double, +Serenely sleep:--she from a casket takes +A little book,--and then a joy awakes +About each youthful heart,--with stifled cries, +And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes: +For she's to read a tale of hopes, and fears; +One that I foster'd in my youthful years: +The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep, +Gush ever and anon with silent creep, +Lured by the innocent dimples. To sweet rest +Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast, +Be lull'd with songs of mine. Fair world, adieu! +Thy dales, and hills, are fading from my view: +Swiftly I mount, upon wide spreading pinions, +Far from the narrow bounds of thy dominions. +Full joy I feel, while thus I cleave the air, +That my soft verse will charm thy daughters fair, +And warm thy sons!" Ah, my dear friend and brother, +Could I, at once, my mad ambition smother, +For tasting joys like these, sure I should be +Happier, and dearer to society. +At times, 'tis true, I've felt relief from pain +When some bright thought has darted through my brain: +Through all that day I've felt a greater pleasure +Than if I'd brought to light a hidden treasure. +As to my sonnets, though none else should heed them, +I feel delighted, still, that you should read them. +Of late, too, I have had much calm enjoyment, +Stretch'd on the grass at my best lov'd employment +Of scribbling lines for you. These things I thought +While, in my face, the freshest breeze I caught. +E'en now I'm pillow'd on a bed of flowers +That crowns a lofty clift, which proudly towers +Above the ocean-waves. The stalks, and blades, +Chequer my tablet with their, quivering shades. +On one side is a field of drooping oats, +Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats +So pert and useless, that they bring to mind +The scarlet coats that pester human-kind. +And on the other side, outspread, is seen +Ocean's blue mantle streak'd with purple, and green. +Now 'tis I see a canvass'd ship, and now +Mark the bright silver curling round her prow. +I see the lark down-dropping to his nest. +And the broad winged sea-gull never at rest; +For when no more he spreads his feathers free, +His breast is dancing on the restless sea. +Now I direct my eyes into the west, +Which at this moment is in sunbeams drest: +Why westward turn? 'Twas but to say adieu! +'Twas but to kiss my hand, dear George, to you! + +_August, 1816_. + + + + +TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE. + + +Oft have you seen a swan superbly frowning, +And with proud breast his own white shadow crowning; +He slants his neck beneath the waters bright +So silently, it seems a beam of light +Come from the galaxy: anon he sports,-- +With outspread wings the Naiad Zephyr courts, +Or ruffles all the surface of the lake +In striving from its crystal face to take +Some diamond water drops, and them to treasure +In milky nest, and sip them off at leisure. +But not a moment can he there insure them, +Nor to such downy rest can he allure them; +For down they rush as though they would be free, +And drop like hours into eternity. +Just like that bird am I in loss of time, +Whene'er I venture on the stream of rhyme; +With shatter'd boat, oar snapt, and canvass rent, +I slowly sail, scarce knowing my intent; +Still scooping up the water with my fingers, +In which a trembling diamond never lingers. + +By this, friend Charles, you may full plainly see +Why I have never penn'd a line to thee: +Because my thoughts were never free, and clear, +And little fit to please a classic ear; +Because my wine was of too poor a savour +For one whose palate gladdens in the flavour +Of sparkling Helicon:--small good it were +To take him to a desert rude, and bare. +Who had on Baiae's shore reclin'd at ease, +While Tasso's page was floating in a breeze +That gave soft music from Armida's bowers, +Mingled with fragrance from her rarest flowers: +Small good to one who had by Mulla's stream +Fondled the maidens with the breasts of cream; +Who had beheld Belphoebe in a brook, +And lovely Una in a leafy nook, +And Archimago leaning o'er his book: +Who had of all that's sweet tasted, and seen, +From silv'ry ripple, up to beauty's queen; +From the sequester'd haunts of gay Titania, +To the blue dwelling of divine Urania: +One, who, of late, had ta'en sweet forest walks +With him who elegantly chats, and talks-- +The wrong'd Libert as,--who has told you stories +Of laurel chaplets, and Apollo's glories; +Of troops chivalrous prancing; through a city, +And tearful ladies made for love, and pity: +With many else which I have never known. +Thus have I thought; and days on days have flown +Slowly, or rapidly--unwilling still +For you to try my dull, unlearned quill. +Nor should I now, but that I've known you long; +That you first taught me all the sweets of song: +The grand, the sweet, the terse, the free, the fine; +What swell'd with pathos, and what right divine: +Spenserian vowels that elope with ease, +And float along like birds o'er summer seas; +Miltonian storms, and more, Miltonian tenderness; +Michael in arms, and more, meek Eve's fair slenderness. +Who read for me the sonnet swelling loudly +Up to its climax and then dying proudly? +Who found for me the grandeur of the ode, +Growing, like Atlas, stronger from its load? +Who let me taste that more than cordial dram, +The sharp, the rapier-pointed epigram? +Shew'd me that epic was of all the king, +Round, vast, and spanning all like Saturn's ring? +You too upheld the veil from Clio's beauty, +And pointed out the patriot's stern duty; +The might of Alfred, and the shaft of Tell; +The hand of Brutus, that so grandly fell +Upon a tyrant's head. Ah! had I never seen, +Or known your kindness, what might I have been? +What my enjoyments in my youthful years, +Bereft of all that now my life endears? +And can I e'er these benefits forget? +And can I e'er repay the friendly debt? +No, doubly no;--yet should these rhymings please, +I shall roll on the grass with two-fold ease: +For I have long time been my fancy feeding +With hopes that you would one day think the reading +Of my rough verses not an hour misspent; +Should it e'er be so, what a rich content! +Some weeks have pass'd since last I saw the spires +In lucent Thames reflected:--warm desires +To see the sun o'er peep the eastern dimness, +And morning shadows streaking into slimness +Across the lawny fields, and pebbly water; +To mark the time as they grow broad, and shorter; +To feel the air that plays about the hills, +And sips its freshness from the little rills; +To see high, golden corn wave in the light +When Cynthia smiles upon a summer's night, +And peers among the cloudlet's jet and white, +As though she were reclining in a bed +Of bean blossoms, in heaven freshly shed. +No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures +Than I began to think of rhymes and measures: +The air that floated by me seem'd to say +"Write! thou wilt never have a better day." +And so I did. When many lines I'd written, +Though with their grace I was not oversmitten, +Yet, as my hand was warm, I thought I'd better +Trust to my feelings, and write you a letter. +Such an attempt required an inspiration +Of a peculiar sort,--a consummation;-- +Which, had I felt, these scribblings might have been +Verses from which the soul would never wean: +But many days have past since last my heart +Was warm'd luxuriously by divine Mozart; +By Arne delighted, or by Handel madden'd; +Or by the song of Erin pierc'd and sadden'd: +What time you were before the music sitting, +And the rich notes to each sensation fitting. +Since I have walk'd with you through shady lanes +That freshly terminate in open plains, +And revel'd in a chat that ceased not +When at night-fall among your books we got: +No, nor when supper came, nor after that,-- +Nor when reluctantly I took my hat; +No, nor till cordially you shook my hand +Mid-way between our homes:--your accents bland +Still sounded in my ears, when I no more +Could hear your footsteps touch the grav'ly floor. +Sometimes I lost them, and then found again; +You chang'd the footpath for the grassy plain. +In those still moments I have wish'd you joys +That well you know to honour:--"Life's very toys +With him," said I, "will take a pleasant charm; +It cannot be that ought will work him harm." +These thoughts now come o'er me with all their might:-- +Again I shake your hand,--friend Charles, good night. + +_September, 1816_. + + + + + +SONNETS + + + + +I. TO MY BROTHER GEORGE. + + +Many the wonders I this day have seen: + The sun, when first he kist away the tears + That fill'd the eyes of morn;--the laurel'd peers +Who from the feathery gold of evening lean:-- +The ocean with its vastness, its blue green, + Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,-- + Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears +Must think on what will be, and what has been. +E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write, + Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping +So scantly, that it seems her bridal night, + And she her half-discover'd revels keeping. +But what, without the social thought of thee, +Would be the wonders of the sky and sea? + + + + +II. TO * * * * * * + + +Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs + Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell, + Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well +Would passion arm me for the enterprize: +But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies; + No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell; + I am no happy shepherd of the dell +Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes; +Yet must I dote upon thee,--call thee sweet. + Sweeter by far than Hybla's honied roses + When steep'd in dew rich to intoxication. +Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet, + And when the moon her pallid face discloses, + I'll gather some by spells, and incantation. + + + + +III. _Written on the day that Mr. Leigh Hunt left Prison._ + + +What though, for showing truth to flatter'd state + Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has he, + In his immortal spirit, been as free +As the sky-searching lark, and as elate. +Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait? + Think you he nought but prison walls did see, + Till, so unwilling, thou unturn'dst the key? +Ah, no! far happier, nobler was his fate! +In Spenser's halls he strayed, and bowers fair, + Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew +With daring Milton through the fields of air: + To regions of his own his genius true +Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair + When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew? + + + + +IV. + + +How many bards gild the lapses of time! + A few of them have ever been the food + Of my delighted fancy,--I could brood +Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime: +And often, when I sit me down to rhyme, + These will in throngs before my mind intrude: + But no confusion, no disturbance rude +Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime. +So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store; + The songs of birds--the whisp'ring of the leaves-- +The voice of waters--the great bell that heaves + With solemn sound,--and thousand others more, +That distance of recognizance bereaves, + Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar. + + + + +V. _To a Friend who sent me some Roses._ + + +As late I rambled in the happy fields, + What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew + From his lush clover covert;--when anew +Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields: +I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields, + A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw + Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew +As is the wand that queen Titania wields. +And, as I feasted on its fragrancy, + I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd: +But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me + My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd: +Soft voices had they, that with tender plea + Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquell'd. + + + + +VI. To G. A. W. + + +Nymph of the downward smile, and sidelong glance, + In what diviner moments of the day + Art thou most lovely? When gone far astray +Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance? +Or when serenely wand'ring in a trance + Of sober thought? Or when starting away, + With careless robe, to meet the morning ray, +Thou spar'st the flowers in thy mazy dance? +Haply 'tis when thy ruby lips part sweetly, + And so remain, because thou listenest: +But thou to please wert nurtured so completely + That I can never tell what mood is best. +I shall as soon pronounce which grace more neatly + Trips it before Apollo than the rest. + + + + +VII. + + +O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell, + Let it not be among the jumbled heap + Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,-- +Nature's observatory--whence the dell, +Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, + May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep + 'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift leap +Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell. +But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee, + Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind, +Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd, + Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be +Almost the highest bliss of human-kind, + When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee. + + + + +VIII. TO MY BROTHERS. + + +Small, busy flames play through the fresh laid coals, + And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep + Like whispers of the household gods that keep +A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls. +And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles, + Your eyes are fix'd, as in poetic sleep, + Upon the lore so voluble and deep, +That aye at fall of night our care condoles. +This is your birth-day Tom, and I rejoice + That thus it passes smoothly, quietly. +Many such eves of gently whisp'ring noise + May we together pass, and calmly try +What are this world's true joys,--ere the great voice, + From its fair face, shall bid our spirits fly. + +_November 18, 1816._ + + + + +IX. + + +Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there + Among the bushes half leafless, and dry; + The stars look very cold about the sky, +And I have many miles on foot to fare. +Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air, + Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily, + Or of those silver lamps that burn on high, +Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair: +For I am brimfull of the friendliness + That in a little cottage I have found; +Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress, + And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd; +Of lovely Laura in her light green dress, + And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd. + + + + +X. + + +To one who has been long in city pent, + 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair + And open face of heaven,--to breathe a prayer +Full in the smile of the blue firmament. +Who is more happy, when, with hearts content, + Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair + Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair +And gentle tale of love and languishment? +Returning home at evening, with an ear + Catching the notes of Philomel,--an eye +Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, + He mourns that day so soon has glided by: +E'en like the passage of an angel's tear + That falls through the clear ether silently. + + + + +XI. _On first looking into Chapman's Homer._ + + +Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, + And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; + Round many western islands have I been +Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. +Oft of one wide expanse had I been told + That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne; + Yet did I never breathe its pure serene +Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: +Then felt I like some watcher of the skies + When a new planet swims into his ken; +Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes + He star'd at the Pacific--and all his men +Look'd at each other with a wild surmise-- + Silent, upon a peak in Darien. + + + + +XII. _On leaving some Friends at an early Hour._ + + +Give me a golden pen, and let me lean + On heap'd up flowers, in regions clear, and far; + Bring me a tablet whiter than a star, +Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen +The silver strings of heavenly harp atween: + And let there glide by many a pearly car, + Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar, +And half discovered wings, and glances keen. +The while let music wander round my ears. + And as it reaches each delicious ending, + Let me write down a line of glorious tone, +And full of many wonders of the spheres: + For what a height my spirit is contending! + 'Tis not content so soon to be alone. + + + + +XIII. ADDRESSED TO HAYDON. + + +Highmindedness, a jealousy for good, + A loving-kindness for the great man's fame, + Dwells here and there with people of no name, +In noisome alley, and in pathless wood: +And where we think the truth least understood, + Oft may be found a "singleness of aim," + That ought to frighten into hooded shame +A money mong'ring, pitiable brood. +How glorious this affection for the cause + Of stedfast genius, toiling gallantly! +What when a stout unbending champion awes + Envy, and Malice to their native sty? +Unnumber'd souls breathe out a still applause, + Proud to behold him in his country's eye. + + + + +XIV. ADDRESSED TO THE SAME. + + +Great spirits now on earth are sojourning; + He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake, + Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake, +Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing: +He of the rose, the violet, the spring. + The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake: + And lo!--whose stedfastness would never take +A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering. +And other spirits there are standing apart + Upon the forehead of the age to come; +These, these will give the world another heart, + And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum +Of mighty workings?------------ + Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb. + + + + +XV. _On the Grasshopper and Cricket._ + + +The poetry of earth is never dead: + When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, + And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run +From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; +That is the Grasshopper's--he takes the lead + In summer luxury,--he has never done + With his delights; for when tired out with fun +He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. +The poetry of earth is ceasing never: + On a lone winter evening, when the frost + Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills +The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, + And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, + The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills. + +_December 30, 1816._ + + + + +XVI. TO KOSCIUSKO. + + +Good Kosciusko, thy great name alone + Is a full harvest whence to reap high feeling; + It comes upon us like the glorious pealing +Of the wide spheres--an everlasting tone. +And now it tells me, that in worlds unknown, + The names of heroes, burst from clouds concealing, + And changed to harmonies, for ever stealing +Through cloudless blue, and round each silver throne. +It tells me too, that on a happy day, + When some good spirit walks upon the earth, + Thy name with Alfred's, and the great of yore +Gently commingling, gives tremendous birth +To a loud hymn, that sounds far, far away + To where the great God lives for evermore. + + + + +XVII. + + +Happy is England! I could be content + To see no other verdure than its own; + To feel no other breezes than are blown +Through its tall woods with high romances blent: +Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment + For skies Italian, and an inward groan + To sit upon an Alp as on a throne, +And half forget what world or worldling meant. +Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters; + Enough their simple loveliness for me, + Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging: + Yet do I often warmly burn to see + Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing, +And float with them about the summer waters. + + + + +SLEEP AND POETRY + + +"As I lay in my bed slepe full unmete +Was unto me, but why that I ne might +Rest I ne wist, for there n'as erthly wight +[As I suppose] had more of hertis ese +Than I, for I n'ad sicknesse nor disese." + +CHAUCER. + + +What is more gentle than a wind in summer? +What is more soothing than the pretty hummer +That stays one moment in an open flower, +And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower? +What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing +In a green island, far from all men's knowing? +More healthful than the leafiness of dales? +More secret than a nest of nightingales? +More serene than Cordelia's countenance? +More full of visions than a high romance? +What, but thee Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes! +Low murmurer of tender lullabies! +Light hoverer around our happy pillows! +Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows! +Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses! +Most happy listener! when the morning blesses +Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes +That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise. + +But what is higher beyond thought than thee? +Fresher than berries of a mountain tree? +More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more regal, +Than wings of swans, than doves, than dim-seen eagle? +What is it? And to what shall I compare it? +It has a glory, and nought else can share it: +The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy, +Chacing away all worldliness and folly; +Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder, +Or the low rumblings earth's regions under; +And sometimes like a gentle whispering +Of all the secrets of some wond'rous thing +That breathes about us in the vacant air; +So that we look around with prying stare, +Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial lymning, +And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning; +To see the laurel wreath, on high suspended, +That is to crown our name when life is ended. +Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice, +And from the heart up-springs, rejoice! rejoice! +Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things, +And die away in ardent mutterings. + +No one who once the glorious sun has seen, +And all the clouds, and felt his bosom clean +For his great Maker's presence, but must know +What 'tis I mean, and feel his being glow: +Therefore no insult will I give his spirit, +By telling what he sees from native merit. + +O Poesy! for thee I hold my pen +That am not yet a glorious denizen +Of thy wide heaven--Should I rather kneel +Upon some mountain-top until I feel +A glowing splendour round about me hung, +And echo back the voice of thine own tongue? +O Poesy! for thee I grasp my pen +That am not yet a glorious denizen +Of thy wide heaven; yet, to my ardent prayer, +Yield from thy sanctuary some clear air, +Smoothed for intoxication by the breath +Of flowering bays, that I may die a death +Of luxury, and my young spirit follow +The morning sun-beams to the great Apollo +Like a fresh sacrifice; or, if I can bear +The o'erwhelming sweets, 'twill bring to me the fair +Visions of all places: a bowery nook +Will be elysium--an eternal book +Whence I may copy many a lovely saying +About the leaves, and flowers--about the playing +Of nymphs in woods, and fountains; and the shade +Keeping a silence round a sleeping maid; +And many a verse from so strange influence +That we must ever wonder how, and whence +It came. Also imaginings will hover +Round my fire-side, and haply there discover +Vistas of solemn beauty, where I'd wander +In happy silence, like the clear meander +Through its lone vales; and where I found a spot +Of awfuller shade, or an enchanted grot, +Or a green hill o'erspread with chequered dress +Of flowers, and fearful from its loveliness, +Write on my tablets all that was permitted, +All that was for our human senses fitted. +Then the events of this wide world I'd seize +Like a strong giant, and my spirit teaze +Till at its shoulders it should proudly see +Wings to find out an immortality. + +Stop and consider! life is but a day; +A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way +From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep +While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep +Of Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan? +Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown; +The reading of an ever-changing tale; +The light uplifting of a maiden's veil; +A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air; +A laughing school-boy, without grief or care, +Riding the springy branches of an elm. + +O for ten years, that I may overwhelm +Myself in poesy; so I may do the deed +That my own soul has to itself decreed. +Then will I pass the countries that I see +In long perspective, and continually +Taste their pure fountains. First the realm I'll pass +Of Flora, and old Pan: sleep in the grass, +Feed upon apples red, and strawberries, +And choose each pleasure that my fancy sees; +Catch the white-handed nymphs in shady places, +To woo sweet kisses from averted faces,-- +Play with their fingers, touch their shoulders white +Into a pretty shrinking with a bite +As hard as lips can make it: till agreed, +A lovely tale of human life we'll read. +And one will teach a tame dove how it best +May fan the cool air gently o'er my rest; +Another, bending o'er her nimble tread, +Will set a green robe floating round her head, +And still will dance with ever varied case, +Smiling upon the flowers and the trees: +Another will entice me on, and on +Through almond blossoms and rich cinnamon; +Till in the bosom of a leafy world +We rest in silence, like two gems upcurl'd +In the recesses of a pearly shell. + +And can I ever bid these joys farewell? +Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life, +Where I may find the agonies, the strife +Of human hearts: for lo! I see afar, +O'er sailing the blue cragginess, a car +And steeds with streamy manes--the charioteer +Looks out upon the winds with glorious fear: +And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly +Along a huge cloud's ridge; and now with sprightly +Wheel downward come they into fresher skies, +Tipt round with silver from the sun's bright eyes. +Still downward with capacious whirl they glide, +And now I see them on a green-hill's side +In breezy rest among the nodding stalks. +The charioteer with wond'rous gesture talks +To the trees and mountains; and there soon appear +Shapes of delight, of mystery, and fear, +Passing along before a dusky space +Made by some mighty oaks: as they would chase +Some ever-fleeting music on they sweep. +Lo! how they murmur, laugh, and smile, and weep: +Some with upholden hand and mouth severe; +Some with their faces muffled to the ear +Between their arms; some, clear in youthful bloom, +Go glad and smilingly, athwart the gloom; +Some looking back, and some with upward gaze; +Yes, thousands in a thousand different ways +Flit onward--now a lovely wreath of girls +Dancing their sleek hair into tangled curls; +And now broad wings. Most awfully intent +The driver, of those steeds is forward bent, +And seems to listen: O that I might know +All that he writes with such a hurrying glow. + +The visions all are fled--the car is fled +Into the light of heaven, and in their stead +A sense of real things comes doubly strong, +And, like a muddy stream, would bear along +My soul to nothingness: but I will strive +Against all doublings, and will keep alive +The thought of that same chariot, and the strange +Journey it went. + + Is there so small a range +In the present strength of manhood, that the high +Imagination cannot freely fly +As she was wont of old? prepare her steeds, +Paw up against the light, and do strange deeds +Upon the clouds? Has she not shewn us all? +From the clear space of ether, to the small +Breath of new buds unfolding? From the meaning +Of Jove's large eye-brow, to the tender greening +Of April meadows? Here her altar shone, +E'en in this isle; and who could paragon +The fervid choir that lifted up a noise +Of harmony, to where it aye will poise +Its mighty self of convoluting sound, +Huge as a planet, and like that roll round, +Eternally around a dizzy void? +Ay, in those days the Muses were nigh cloy'd +With honors; nor had any other care +Than to sing out and sooth their wavy hair. + +Could all this be forgotten? Yes, a schism +Nurtured by foppery and barbarism, +Made great Apollo blush for this his land. +Men were thought wise who could not understand +His glories: with a puling infant's force +They sway'd about upon a rocking horse, +And thought it Pegasus. Ah dismal soul'd! +The winds of heaven blew, the ocean roll'd +Its gathering waves--ye felt it not. The blue +Bared its eternal bosom, and the dew +Of summer nights collected still to make +The morning precious: beauty was awake! +Why were ye not awake? But ye were dead +To things ye knew not of,--were closely wed +To musty laws lined out with wretched rule +And compass vile: so that ye taught a school +Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit, +Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit, +Their verses tallied. Easy was the task: +A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask +Of Poesy. Ill-fated, impious race! +That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his face, +And did not know it,--no, they went about, +Holding a poor, decrepid standard out +Mark'd with most flimsy mottos, and in large +The name of one Boileau! + + O ye whose charge +It is to hover round our pleasant hills! +Whose congregated majesty so fills +My boundly reverence, that I cannot trace +Your hallowed names, in this unholy place, +So near those common folk; did not their shames +Affright you? Did our old lamenting Thames +Delight you? Did ye never cluster round +Delicious Avon, with a mournful sound, +And weep? Or did ye wholly bid adieu +To regions where no more the laurel grew? +Or did ye stay to give a welcoming +To some lone spirits who could proudly sing +Their youth away, and die? 'Twas even so: +But let me think away those times of woe: +Now 'tis a fairer season; ye have breathed +Rich benedictions o'er us; ye have wreathed +Fresh garlands: for sweet music has been heard +In many places;--some has been upstirr'd +From out its crystal dwelling in a lake, +By a swan's ebon bill; from a thick brake, +Nested and quiet in a valley mild, +Bubbles a pipe; fine sounds are floating wild +About the earth: happy are ye and glad. + +These things are doubtless: yet in truth we've had +Strange thunders from the potency of song; +Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong, +From majesty: but in clear truth the themes +Are ugly clubs, the Poets Polyphemes +Disturbing the grand sea. A drainless shower +Of light is poesy; 'tis the supreme of power; +'Tis might half slumb'ring on its own right arm. +The very archings of her eye-lids charm +A thousand willing agents to obey, +And still she governs with the mildest sway: +But strength alone though of the Muses born +Is like a fallen angel: trees uptorn, +Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres +Delight it; for it feeds upon the burrs, +And thorns of life; forgetting the great end +Of poesy, that it should be a friend +To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man. + + Yet I rejoice: a myrtle fairer than +E'er grew in Paphos, from the bitter weeds +Lifts its sweet head into the air, and feeds +A silent space with ever sprouting green. +All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen, +Creep through the shade with jaunty fluttering, +Nibble the little cupped flowers and sing. +Then let us clear away the choaking thorns +From round its gentle stem; let the young fawns, +Yeaned in after times, when we are flown, +Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrown +With simple flowers: let there nothing be +More boisterous than a lover's bended knee; +Nought more ungentle than the placid look +Of one who leans upon a closed book; +Nought more untranquil than the grassy slopes +Between two hills. All hail delightful hopes! +As she was wont, th' imagination +Into most lovely labyrinths will be gone, +And they shall be accounted poet kings +Who simply tell the most heart-easing things. +O may these joys be ripe before I die. + +Will not some say that I presumptuously +Have spoken? that from hastening disgrace +'Twere better far to hide my foolish face? +That whining boyhood should with reverence bow +Ere the dread thunderbolt could reach? How! +If I do hide myself, it sure shall be +In the very fane, the light of Poesy: +If I do fall, at least I will be laid +Beneath the silence of a poplar shade; +And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven; +And there shall be a kind memorial graven. +But oft' Despondence! miserable bane! +They should not know thee, who athirst to gain +A noble end, are thirsty every hour. +What though I am not wealthy in the dower +Of spanning wisdom; though I do not know +The shiftings of the mighty winds, that blow +Hither and thither all the changing thoughts +Of man: though no great minist'ring reason sorts +Out the dark mysteries of human souls +To clear conceiving: yet there ever rolls +A vast idea before me, and I glean +Therefrom my liberty; thence too I've seen +The end and aim of Poesy. 'Tis clear +As any thing most true; as that the year +Is made of the four seasons--manifest +As a large cross, some old cathedral's crest, +Lifted to the white clouds. Therefore should I +Be but the essence of deformity, +A coward, did my very eye-lids wink +At speaking out what I have dared to think. +Ah! rather let me like a madman run +Over some precipice; let the hot sun +Melt my Dedalian wings, and drive me down +Convuls'd and headlong! Stay! an inward frown +Of conscience bids me be more calm awhile. +An ocean dim, sprinkled with many an isle, +Spreads awfully before me. How much toil! +How many days! what desperate turmoil! +Ere I can have explored its widenesses. +Ah, what a task! upon my bended knees, +I could unsay those--no, impossible! +Impossible! + + For sweet relief I'll dwell +On humbler thoughts, and let this strange assay +Begun in gentleness die so away. +E'en now all tumult from my bosom fades: +I turn full hearted to the friendly aids +That smooth the path of honour; brotherhood, +And friendliness the nurse of mutual good. +The hearty grasp that sends a pleasant sonnet +Into the brain ere one can think upon it; +The silence when some rhymes are coming out; +And when they're come, the very pleasant rout: +The message certain to be done to-morrow. +'Tis perhaps as well that it should be to borrow +Some precious book from out its snug retreat, +To cluster round it when we next shall meet. +Scarce can I scribble on; for lovely airs +Are fluttering round the room like doves in pairs; +Many delights of that glad day recalling, +When first my senses caught their tender falling. +And with these airs come forms of elegance +Stooping their shoulders o'er a horse's prance, +Careless, and grand--fingers soft and round +Parting luxuriant curls;--and the swift bound +Of Bacchus from his chariot, when his eye +Made Ariadne's cheek look blushingly. +Thus I remember all the pleasant flow +Of words at opening a portfolio. + +Things such as these are ever harbingers +To trains of peaceful images: the stirs +Of a swan's neck unseen among the rushes: +A linnet starting all about the bushes: +A butterfly, with golden wings broad parted, +Nestling a rose, convuls'd as though it smarted +With over pleasure--many, many more, +Might I indulge at large in all my store +Of luxuries: yet I must not forget +Sleep, quiet with his poppy coronet: +For what there may be worthy in these rhymes +I partly owe to him: and thus, the chimes +Of friendly voices had just given place +To as sweet a silence, when I 'gan retrace +The pleasant day, upon a couch at ease. +It was a poet's house who keeps the keys +Of pleasure's temple. Round about were hung +The glorious features of the bards who sung +In other ages--cold and sacred busts +Smiled at each other. Happy he who trusts +To clear Futurity his darling fame! +Then there were fauns and satyrs taking aim +At swelling apples with a frisky leap +And reaching fingers, 'mid a luscious heap +Of vine leaves. Then there rose to view a fane +Of liny marble, and thereto a train +Of nymphs approaching fairly o'er the sward: +One, loveliest, holding her white band toward +The dazzling sun-rise: two sisters sweet +Bending their graceful figures till they meet +Over the trippings of a little child: +And some are hearing, eagerly, the wild +Thrilling liquidity of dewy piping. +See, in another picture, nymphs are wiping +Cherishingly Diana's timorous limbs;-- +A fold of lawny mantle dabbling swims +At the bath's edge, and keeps a gentle motion +With the subsiding crystal: as when ocean +Heaves calmly its broad swelling smoothiness o'er +Its rocky marge, and balances once more +The patient weeds; that now unshent by foam +Feel all about their undulating home. + +Sappho's meek head was there half smiling down +At nothing; just as though the earnest frown +Of over thinking had that moment gone +From off her brow, and left her all alone. + +Great Alfred's too, with anxious, pitying eyes, +As if he always listened to the sighs +Of the goaded world; and Kosciusko's worn +By horrid suffrance--mightily forlorn. + +Petrarch, outstepping from the shady green, +Starts at the sight of Laura; nor can wean +His eyes from her sweet face. Most happy they! +For over them was seen a free display +Of out-spread wings, and from between them shone +The face of Poesy: from off her throne +She overlook'd things that I scarce could tell. +The very sense of where I was might well +Keep Sleep aloof: but more than that there came +Thought after thought to nourish up the flame +Within my breast; so that the morning light +Surprised me even from a sleepless night; +And up I rose refresh'd, and glad, and gay, +Resolving to begin that very day +These lines; and howsoever they be done, +I leave them as a father does his son. + + +_Finis_. + + + + + +Corrections + +Three spelling errors were corrected for the Project Gutenberg edition. +The original lines appeared in the 1817 edition as follows: + + +To * * * * +Line 10: Like to streaks across the sky, + + +To Charles Cowden Clarke +Line 82: Of my rough verses not an hour mispent; + + +Sleep and Poetry +Line 181: Could all this be forgotten? 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