Imágenes de páginas



Give me a golden pen, and let me lean

On heap'd-up flowers, in regions clear, and far

Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,
Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen
The silver strings of heavenly harp atween:

And let there glide by many a pearly car,

Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar, And half-discover'd wings, and glances keen. And while let music wander round my ears,

And as it reaches each delicious ending,

Let me write down a line of glorious tone, And full of many wonders of the spheres :

For what a height my spirit is contending ! 'Tis not content so soon to be alone.

[ocr errors][merged small]

KEEN fitful gusts are whispering here and there

Among the bushes, half leafless and dry,

The stars look very cold about the sky, And I have many miles on foot to fare ; Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,

Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,

Or of those silver lamps that burn on high, Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair : For I am brimful of the friendliness

That in a little cottage I have found ; Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,

And all his love for gentle Lycid' drown'd; Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,

And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.


To one who has been long in city pent,

'Tis very sweet to look into the fair

And open face of heaven,-to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Who is more happy, when, with heart's content.

Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair

Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair And gentle tale of love and languishment ? Returning home at evening, with an ear Catching the notes of Philomel,

an eye Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,

He mourns that day so soon has glided by: E'en like the passage of an angel's tear

That falls through the clear ether silently.



HIGH-MINDEDNESS, a jealousy for good,

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 steadfast genius, toiling gallantly !
What when a stout unbending champion awes

Envy, and malice to their native sty? Unnuinber'd souls breathe out a still applause,

Proud to behold him in his country's eye.



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 steadfastness 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.

« AnteriorContinuar »