"MORE POETS YET!" (TO J. L. W.) "MORE Poets yet! "I hear him say, Arming his heavy hand to slay ;"Despite my skill and 'swashing blow,' They seem to sprout where'er I go ;I killed a host but yesterday!" Slash on, O Hercules! You may. Your task 's, at best, a Hydra-fray; And though you cut, not less will grow Too arrogant! For who shall stay The first blind motions of the May? Who shall out-blot the morning glow ?— Or stem the full heart's overflow? Who? There will rise, till Time decay, More Poets yet! “WITH PIPE AND FLUTE" (TO E. G.) ITH pipe and flute the rustic Pan WITH Of old made music sweet for man; And wonder hushed the warbling bird, And closer drew the calm-eyed herd,-The rolling river slowlier ran. Ah! would, ah! would, a little span, This age of ours, too seldom stirred But now for gold we plot and plan; Or find the night-jar's note preferred;Not so it fared, when time began, With pipe and flute ! TO A JUNE ROSE (TO A. P.) ROYAL Rose! the Roman dress'd His feast with thee; thy petals press'd Augustan brows; thine odour fine, Mix'd with the three-times-mingled wine, Lent the long Thracian draught its zest. What marvel then, if host and guest, And yet and yet I love thee best Whether about my thatch thou twine, O royal Rose ! TO DAFFODILS (TO A. J. M.) YELLOW flowers that HERRICK sung! O yellow flowers that danced and swung In WORDSWORTH's verse, and now to me, Unworthy, from this "pleasant lea," Laugh back, unchanged and ever young; Ah, what a text to us o'erstrung, We, by the Age's oestrus stung, ✓ ON THE HURRY OF THIS TIME (TO F. G.) WITH slower pen men used to write, Of old, when "letters" were "polite; " In ANNA's, or in GEORGE's days, They could afford to turn a phrase, Or trim a straggling theme aright. They knew not steam; electric light Too swiftly now the Hours take flight! Scant space have we for Art's delays, Whose breathless thought so briefly stays, We may not work-ah! would we might !— With slower pen |