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AD I a man's fair form, then might my sighs Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well Would passion arm me for the enterprise: But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies; No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell; I am no happy shepherd of the dell Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes. Yet must I doat upon thee, call thee sweet, Sweeter by far than Hybla's honey'd roses When steep'd in dew rich to intoxication. Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet, And when the moon her pallid face discloses, I'll gather some by spells, and incantation.
SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Nature's observatory whence the dell,
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
OW many bards gild the lapses of time! A few of them have ever been the food Of my delighted fancy, — I could brood Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime : And often, when I sit me down to rhyme, These will in throngs before my mind intrude: But no confusion, no disturbance rude Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.
So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store; The songs of birds the whispering of the leaves The voice of waters the great bell that heaves With solemn sound, and thousand others
That distance of recognizance bereaves,
TO G. A. W.
YMPH of the downward smile and sidelong glance!
In what diviner moments of the day
Art thou most lovely? when gone far astray
And so remain, because thou listenest:
I shall as soon pronounce which Grace more neatly
WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON.
HAT though, for showing truth to flatter'd state,
Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has he,
As the sky-searching lark, and as elate.
Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair