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where slept thinc ire,
When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,
Thy laurel, thy glory,
The light of thy story,
Or was I a worm-too low creeping for death F O Delphic Apollo!
The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,
For wrath became stiffen'd-the sound
Went drowsily under,
Muttering to be unbound.
O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm ? Why touch thy soft lute
Till the thunder was mute,
Why was I not crush'd-such a pitiful germ? O Delphic Apollo !
The Pleiades were up,
Watching the silent air;
The seeds and roots in Earth
Were swelling for summer fare;
The Ocean, its neighbour,
Was at his old labour,
When, who-who did dare
To tie for a moment thy plant round his brow,
And blaspheme so loudly,
And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now? O Delphic Apollo !
CHEN by my solitary hearth I sit,
When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit,
And the bure heath of life presents no bloom; Sweet Hope! ethereal balm upon me shed, And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head.
Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away, Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof, And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof.
Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
Let me not see our country's honour fade O let me see our land retain her soul!
Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade.
From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed--
Let me not see the patriot's high bequest,
And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud; Brightening the half-veil'd face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud, Sweet Hope! celestial influence round me shed, Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head. February, 1815.
ADST thou lived in days of old,
And thy humid eyes, that dance
In the midst of their own brightness,
Over which thine eyebrows, leaning,
As the leaves of hellebore
Turn to whence they sprung before;
Peeps the richness of a pearl.
With a glossy waviness,
Full, and round like globes that rise
Through sunny air. Add too, the sweetness
With those beauties scarce discern'd,
Round about with eager pry.
Saving when with freshening lave,
In the coolness of the morn.
O, if thou hadst breathed then,
At least for ever, evermore
Hadst thou lived when chivalry
Lifted up her lance on high,
Tell me what thou wouldst have been?
SPECIMEN OF AN INDUCTION TO A POEM. 13
Ah! I see the silver sheen
Has placed a golden cuirass there,
Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested,
O'er his loins, his trappings glow
Silencer of dragon's yell.
Alas! thou this wilt never do
Thou art an enchantress too,
And wilt never surely spill
Blood of those whose eyes can kill.
SPECIMEN OF AN INDUCTION TO
O! I must tell a tale of chivalry;
Not like the formal crest of latter days Not bending in a thousand graceful ways; So graceful, that it seems no mortal hand, Or e'en the touch of Archimago's wand,