THE tongue is prone to lose the way,
Not so the pen, for in a letter
We have not better things to say,
But surely say them better.

SHE walked in flowers around my field
As June herself around the sphere.

SUCH another peerless queen
Only could her mirror show.

I BEAR in youth the sad infirmities

That use to undo the limb and sense of age;

It hath pleased Heaven to break the dream of bliss
Which lit my onward way with bright presage,
And my unserviceable limbs forego

The sweet delight I found in fields and farms,
On windy hills, whose tops with morning glow,
And lakes, smooth mirrors of Aurora's charms.
Yet I think on them in the silent night,

Still breaks that morn, though dim, to Memory's

eye,

And the firm soul does the pale train defy

Of grim Disease, that would her peace affright.

Please God, I'll wrap me in mine innocence

And bid each awful Muse drive the damned harpies hence.

Cambridge, 1827.

BE of good cheer, brave spirit; steadfastly

Serve that low whisper thou hast served; for know,
God hath a select family of sons

Now scattered wide thro' earth, and each alone,
Who are thy spiritual kindred, and each one
By constant service to that inward law,

Is weaving the sublime proportions

Of a true monarch's soul. Beauty and strength,
The riches of a spotless memory,

The eloquence of truth, the wisdom got

By searching of a clear and loving eye

That seeth as God seeth. These are their gifts,
And Time, who keeps God's word, brings on the day
To seal the marriage of these minds with thine,
Thine everlasting lovers. Ye shall be

The salt of all the elements, world of the world.

FRIENDS to me are frozen wine;

I wait the sun on them should shine.

DAY by day returns

The everlasting sun,

1831.

Replenishing material urns
With God's unspared donation;
But the day of day,

The orb within the mind,
Creating fair and good alway,
Shines not as once it shined.

Vast the realm of Being is,
In the waste one nook is his;
Whatsoever hap befalls

In his vision's narrow walls
He is here to testify.

LEAVE me, Fear, thy throbs are base,
Trembling for the body's sake:
Come, Love! who dost the spirit raise
Because for others thou dost wake.
O it is beautiful in death

To hide the shame of human nature's end

In sweet and wary serving of a friend.

Love is true glory's field where the last breath

Expires in troops of honorable cares.

The wound of Fate the hero cannot feel

Smit with the heavenlier smart of social zeal.

It draws immortal day

In soot and ashes of our clay,

It is the virtue that enchants it,

It is the face of God that haunts it.

1831.

*

1831.

HAS God on thee conferred

A bodily presence mean as Paul's,
Yet made thee bearer of a word

Which sleepy nations as with trumpet calls?

O noble heart, accept

With equal thanks the talent and disgrace;

The marble town unwept

Nourish thy virtue in a private place.

Think not that unattended

By heavenly powers thou steal'st to Solitude,
Nor yet on earth all unbefriended.

You shall not love me for what daily spends;
You shall not know me in the noisy street,
Where I, as others, follow petty ends;
Nor when in fair saloons we chance to meet;
Nor when I'm jaded, sick, anxious, or mean.
But love me then and only, when you know
Me for the channel of the rivers of God
From deep ideal fontal heavens that flow.

To and fro the Genius flies,

A light which plays and hovers
Over the maiden's head

And dips sometimes as low as to her eyes.

Of her faults I take no note,

Fault and folly are not mine; Comes the Genius, all's forgot,

Replunged again into that upper sphere

He scatters wide and wild its lustres here.

LOVE

Asks nought his brother cannot give;
Asks nothing, but does all receive.
Love calls not to his aid events;
He to his wants can well suffice:
Asks not of others soft consents,
Nor kind occasion without eyes;
Nor plots to ope or bolt a gate,
Nor heeds Condition's iron walls,

Where he goes, goes before him Fate;
Whom he uniteth, God installs;

Instant and perfect his access

To the dear object of his thought,

Though foes and land and seas between
Himself and his love intervene.

Go if thou wilt, ambrosial flower,

Go match thee with thy seeming peers; I will wait Heaven's perfect hour Through the innumerable years.

TELL men what they knew before;
Paint the prospect from their door.