Yet art thou prodigal of smiles— Smiles, sweeter than thy frowns are stern: Earth sends, from all her thousand isles, A shout at thy return. The glory that comes down from thee, The sun, the gorgeous sun is thine, The pomp that brings and shuts the day, The clouds that round him change and shine, The airs that fan his way. Thence look the thoughtful stars, and there The meek moon walks the silent air. The sunny Italy may boast The beauteous tints that flush her skies, And lovely, round the Grecian coast, May thy blue pillars rise. I only know how fair they stand And they are fair-a charm is theirs, That earth, the proud green earth, has not— With all the forms, and hues, and airs, That haunt her sweetest spot. We gaze upon thy calm pure sphere, And read of Heaven's eternal year. Oh, when, amid the throng of men, The heart grows sick of hollow mirth, How willingly we turn us then Away from this cold earth, And look into thy azure breast, For seats of innocence and rest! "I CANNOT FORGET WITH WHAT FERVID DEVOTION." I CANNOT forget with what fervid devotion I worshipped the visions of verse and of fame. Each gaze at the glories of earth, sky, and ocean, To my kindled emotions, was wind over flame. And deep were my musings in life's early blossom, 'Mong the deep-cloven fells that for ages had listened Till I felt the dark power o'er my reveries stealing, N Bright visions! I mixed with the world, and ye faded; In the old mossy groves on the breast of the mountain, Oh, leave not, forlorn and for ever forsaken, The glories ye showed to his earlier years. TO A MUSQUITO. FAIR insect! that, with threadlike legs spread out, And blood-extracting bill and filmy wing, Does murmur, as thou slowly sail'st about, In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, And tell how little our large veins should bleed, Would we but yield them to thy bitter need. Unwillingly, I own, and, what is worse, Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint; Thou gettest many a brush, and many a curse, For saying thou art gaunt, and starved, and faint: Even the old beggar, while he asks for food, 1 call thee stranger, for the town, L.ween, The ocean nymph that nursed thy infancy. |