"SURSUM CORDA."

SEEK not the Spirit, if it hide,

Inexorable to thy zeal :

Baby, do not whine and chide;

Art thou not also real?

Why should'st thou stoop to poor excuse?

Turn on the Accuser roundly; say,

'Here am I, here will I remain

Forever to myself soothfast,

Go thou, sweet Heaven, or, at thy pleasure stay.'Already Heaven with thee its lot has cast,

For it only can absolutely deal.

ODE TO BEAUTY.

WHO gave thee, O Beauty!

The keys of this breast,

Too credulous lover

Of blest and unblest?

Say when in lapsed ages

Thee knew I of old;

Or what was the service

For which I was sold?

When first my eyes saw thee,

I found me thy thrall,

By magical drawings,
Sweet tyrant of all!

I drank at thy fountain
False waters of thirst;

Thou intimate stranger,

Thou latest and first!

Thy dangerous glances

Make women of men;

New-born we are melting

Into nature again.

Lavish, lavish promiser, Nigh persuading gods to err, Guest of million painted forms Which in turn thy glory warms, The frailest leaf, the mossy bark, The acorn's cup, the raindrop's arc, The swinging spider's silver line, The ruby of the drop of wine, The shining pebble of the pond,

Thou inscribest with a bond

In thy momentary play

Would bankrupt Nature to repay.

Ah! what avails it

To hide or to shun

Whom the Infinite One

Hath granted his throne?

The heaven high over

Is the deep's lover,

The sun and sea

Informed by thee,

Before me run,

And draw me on,

Yet fly me still,

As Fate refuses

To me the heart Fate for me chooses,

Is it that my opulent soul

Was mingled from the generous whole,

Sea valleys and the deep of skies
Furnished several supplies,

And the sands whereof I'm made
Draw me to them self-betrayed?

I turn the proud portfolios
Which hold the grand designs

Of Salvator, of Guercino,

And Piranesi's lines.

I hear the lofty Pæans

Of the masters of the shell,

Who heard the starry music,

And recount the numbers well :

Olympian bards who sung

Divine Ideas below,

Which always find us young,

And always keep us so.

Oft in streets or humblest places
I detect far wandered graces,
Which from Eden wide astray

In lowly homes have lost their

way.

Thee gliding through the sea of form, Like the lightning through the storm, Somewhat not to be possessed,

Somewhat not to be caressed,

No feet so fleet could ever find,

No perfect form could ever bind.
Thou eternal fugitive

Hovering over all that live,

Quick and skilful to inspire

Sweet extravagant desire,

Starry space and lily bell
Filling with thy roseate smell,

Wilt not give the lips to taste

Of the nectar which thou hast.

All that's good and great with thee

Stands in deep conspiracy.

Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely

To report thy features only,

And the cold and purple morning

Itself with thoughts of thee adorning,

The leafy dell, the city mart,

Equal trophies of thine art,

E'en the flowing azure air

Thou hast touched for my despair,

And if I languish into dreams,