ists are whispering here and 29
tushes, hail lesless and in
ook very coid abo
many nules on bot to fare

e of the cool bieak az. Dead leaves rusting cran silver lamps that bun x Lance from home's pleas atul of the friendanes tle cottage I have found; Miton's eloquent dat ve for gentie Lyodel rain her light-green des Petrarch gorously crow

has been long in cate pent sweet to rock into the tar face of heaven,-to brade e of the blue firmament happy, when, with heart The sinks into some grass, and reads a decur The of love and languca me at evening witac the notes of Plaiomel-n e saing cloud et's onestowed as that day so soon has gated e passage of an angei's test through the clear ether sett

ST LOOKING INTO CHAPMANO

I travell'd in the realms of s y goodly states and kingdoms en any western islands have ben in fealty to Apolo bolt wide expanse had I been tal p-brow'd Homer ruled a s never breathe its pore sente Chapman speak out led Like some watcher of the ton new planet swims into his bes t Cortez when with eagle 108 | at the Pacific-and ach other with a wild on a peak in Darnea

ADDRESSED TO HAYDON.

HIGH-MINDEDNESS, a jealousy for food,

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.

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.

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.

NG SOME FRIENDS AT AN ALT
golden pen, and let me leun
d-up flowers, in regons
a tablet whiter than a
Symning angel, when to set
serings of heaven'y hary we
there glide by mary a pear
es, and wavy hair, and canxi
scover'd wings, and gases in
let music wander round my

I reaches each delicious en
write down a ine of riores
'many wonders of the sephens.
ta height my spirit is consendaf
content so soon to be an

602

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 yor

Gently commingling, gives tremendous birth
To a loud hymn, that sounds far, far away
To where the great God lives for evermore.

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 sing
And float with them about the summer waters.

THE HUMAN SEASONS.

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he lov
To ruminate, and by such dreaming nigh
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

ON A PICTURE OF LEANDER.

COME hither, all sweet maidens soberly,
Down-looking aye, and with a chasten'd light
Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white,
And meekly let your fair hands joined be,
As if so gentle that ye could not see,
Untouch'd, a victim of your beauty bright,
Sinking away to his young spirit's night,
Sinking bewilder'd 'mid the dreary sea:
"Tis young Leander toiling to his death;
Nigh swooning, he doth purse his weary lips
For Hero's cheek, and smiles against her smile.
O horrid dream! see how his body dips
Dead-heavy; arms and shoulders gleam awhile
He's gone; up bubbles all his amorous breath!

TO AILSA ROCK.

HEARKEN, thou craggy ocean pyramid!
Give answer from thy voice, the sea-fowl's screa
When were thy shoulders mantled in huge strea
When, from the sun, was thy broad forehead hic

603

Now I direct my eyes into the West,
Which at this moment is in sunbeams drest:
Why westward turn? "T was but to say adieu!
'Twas but to kiss my hand, dear George, to you!
August, 1816.

ing;

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;

Spenserian vowels that elope with ease And float along like birds o'er summer Miltonian storms, and more, Miltonian 1 Michael in arms, and more, meek Eve'

ness.

Who read for me the sonnet swelling lo Up to its climax, and then dying proud Who found for me the grandeur of the Growing, like Atlas, stronger from its lo Who let me taste that more than cordia The sharp, the rapier-pointed epigram? Show'd me that epic was of all the kir Round, vast, and spanning all, like Satı You too upheld the veil from Clio's bes And pointed out the patriot's stern duty The might of Alfred, and the shaft of The hand of Brutus, that so grandly fe Upon a tyrant's head. Ah! had I nev Or known your kindness, what might I What my enjoyments in my youthful y Bereft of all that now my life endears And can I e'er these benefits forget?

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 savor
For one whose palate gladdens in the flavor
Of sparkling Helicon:-small good it were
To take him to a desert rude and bare,
Who had on Baiæ's shore reclined 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 Belphœbe 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 Libertas-who has told you stories
Of laurel chaplets, and Apollo's glories;

No, doubly no;-yet should these rhyn I shall roll on the grass with twofold et For I have long time been my fancy fe With hopes that you would one day thin Of my rough verses not an hour misspe Should it e'er be so, what a rich conter Some weeks have pass'd since last I sa In lucent Thames reflected: -warm de To see the sun o'er-peep the eastern di And morning-shadows streaking into sli Across the lawny fields, and pebbly wa To mark the time as they grow broad To feel the air that plays about the hill And sips its freshness from the little ril To see high, golden corn wave in the l When Cynthia smiles upon a summer's And peers among the cloudlets, jet and As though she were reclining in a bed Of bean-blossoms, in heaven freshly she No sooner had I stept into these pleasu Than I began to think of rhymes and The air that floated by me seem'd to sa "Write! thou wilt never have a better And so I did. When many lines I'd w Though with their grace I was not ove Yet, as my hand was warm, I thought Trust to my feelings, and write you a l Such an attempt required an inspiration Of a peculiar sort, a consummation ;Which, had I felt, these scribblings mig Verses from which the soul would neve

Of troops chivalrous prancing through a city, And tearful ladies, made for love and pity: With many else which I have never known.

But many days have past since last my Was warm'd luxuriously by divine Moz By Arne delighted, or by Handel madd

Or by the song of Erin pierced and sad What time you were before the music =

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:

Since I have walk'd with you through That freshly terminate in open plains, And revell'd in a chat that ceased not, When, at night-fall, among your books No, nor when supper came, nor after th

Nor when reluctantly I took my hat;

606