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TO MY BROTHER.
MALL, busy flames play through the fresh-laid
coals, And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep Like whispers of the household gods that keep A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls. And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles,
Your eyes are fix'd, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly:
May we together pass, and calmly try
ADDRESSED TO HAYDON.
IGH-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
of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!
Envy, and malice to their native sty? Unnumber'd souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.
ADDRESSED TO THE SAME.
REAT spirits now on earth are sojourning :
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
ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER.
UCH have I travelld in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ;
Round many western islands have I been
That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne •
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
When a new planet swims into his ken;
He stared at the Pacific - and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS AT AN EARLY
IVE me a golden pen, and let me lean
Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,
And let there glide by many a pearly car,
Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar, And half-discoveril wings, and glances keen. The 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.