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TO THE SETTING SUN.

Thou central Eye of God, whose lidless ball

Is vision all around, dispensing heat,

And light and life, and regulating all

With its pervading glance,-how calm and sweet

Is thine unclouded setting! Thou dost greet,

With parting smiles, the earth; night's shadows fall,

But long where thou hast sunk shall splendours meet,

And, lingering there, thy glories past recall.

Oh! may my heart, like thee, unspotted, clear,

Be as a sun to all within its sphere;

And when beneath the earth I seek my doom,

May I with smiling calmness disappear,

And friendship's twilight, hovering o'er my tomb,

Still bid my memory survive and bloom.

ON THE STATUE OF A PIPING FAUN.

HARK! hear'st thou not the pipe of Faunus, sweeping,

In dulcet glee, through Thessaly's domain?

Dost thou not see embower'd wood-nymphs peeping

To watch the graces that around him reign; While distant vintagers, and peasants reaping,

Stand in mute transport, listening to the strain;

And Pan himself, beneath a pine-tree sleeping,

Looks round, and smiles, and drops to sleep again?

O happy Greece! while thy blest sons were rovers
Through all the loveliness this earth discovers,

They in their minds a brighter region founded, Haunted by gods and sylvans, nymphs and lovers,

Where forms of grace through sunny landscapes bounded,

By music and enchantment all surrounded.

ON A GREEN-HOUSE.

HERE, from earth's dædal heights and dingles lowly,

The representatives of Nature meet;

Not like a Congress, or Alliance Holy

Of Kings, to rivet chains, but with their sweet

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On tears and blood; but if some flower, new found,

In its embalming cup might shroud my name,

Mine were a tomb more worthily renown’d

Than Cheops' pile, or Artemisia's mound.

ON A STUPENDOUS LEG OF GRANITE,

Discovered standing by itself in the Deserts of Egypt, with the

Inscription inserted below.

In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,

Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws

The only shadow that the Desert knows. “I am great Ozymandias," saith the stone,

“ The King of Kings; this mighty city shows

“ The wonders of my hand." The city's gone!

Nought but the leg remaining to disclose

The site of that forgotten Babylon.

We wonder, and some hunter may express

Wonder like ours, when through the wilderness

Where London stood, holding the wolf in chase,

He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess

What wonderful, but unrecorded, race

Once dwelt in that annihilated place.

WRITTEN IN THE PORCH OF BINSTEAD

CHURCH, ISLE OF WIGHT.

FAREWELL, sweet Binstead! take a fond farewell

From one unused to sight of woods and seas,

Amid the strife of cities doom'd to dwell,

Yet roused to ecstacy by scenes like these,

Who could for ever sit beneath thy trees, Inhaling fragrance from the flowery dell;

Or, listening to the murmur of the breeze,

Gaze with delight on Ocean's awful swell.

Again farewell! nor deem that I profane

Thy sacred porch; for while the Sabbath strain

May fail to turn the sinner from his ways,

These are impressions none can feel in vain,

These are the wonders that perforce must raise

The soul to God, in reverential praise.

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