TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE. MILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire! And cradled in the winds. Thee when young spring first questioned winter's sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, Thee on this bank he threw To mark his victory. In this low vale, the promise of the year, Thy tender elegance. So virtue blooms; brought forth amid the storms Of life she rears her head, Obscure and unobserved; While every bleaching breeze that on her blows And hardens her to bear Serene the ills of life. THE POEMS OF ODE ADDRESSED TO H. FUSELI, Esq. R. A. ON SEEING ENGRAVINGS FROM HIS DESIGNS. MIGHTY magician! who on Torneo's brow, When sullen tempests wrap the throne of night, Art wont to sit and catch the gleam of light That shoots athwart the gloom opaque below; And listen to the distant death-shriek long From lonely mariner foundering in the deep, Which rises slowly up the rocky steep, While the weird sisters weave the horrid song Or, when along the liquid sky Serenely chant the orbs on high, And mark the northern meteor's dance (While far below the fitful oar Flings its faint pauses on the steepy shore), That sweeps by fits the bending seas; And often bears with sudden swell The shipwrecked sailor's funeral knell, By the spirits sung, who keep Their night-watch on the treacherous deep, And guide the wakeful helmsman's eye And there upon the rock reclined With mighty visions fill'st the mind, Such as bound in magic spell * Him who grasp'd the gates of Hell, And, bursting Pluto's dark domain, Held to the day the terrors of his reign. Genius of Horror and romantic awe! Whose eye explores the secrets of the deep, Mighty magician! long thy wand has lain He throws thy dark-wrought tunic on, Fuesslin waves thy wand, again they risc, Again thy wildering forms salute our ravish'd Him didst thou cradle on the dizzy steep [eyes. Where round his head the vollied lightnings flung, And the loud winds that round his pillow rung Woo'd the stern infant to the arms of sleep; † Dante. * Dante. THE POEMS OF Or on the highest top of Teneriffe She bore the boy to Odin's Hall, While fierce Hresvelger flapped his wing; He thinks some troubled spirit sighs, Where sleeps the silent beam of night, Taste lastly comes and smooths the whole, And breathes her polish o'er his soul; Glowing with wild, yet chastened heat, The wondrous work is now complete. The Poet dreams : the shadow flies, Arrests the phantom's fleeting course; It lives - it lives the canvas glows, And tenfold vigour o'er it flows. The Bard beholds the work achieved, And as he sees the shadow rise Sublime before his wondering eyes, Starts at the image his own mind conceived. TO THE EARL OF CARLISLE, K. G. RETIRED, remote from human noise, An humble Poet dwelt serene; His lot was lowly, yet his joys Were manifold, I ween. |