Of their glory and their shame; Bards of Passion and of Mirth, A PROPHECY TO HIS BROTHER GEORGE IN AMERICA. "If I had a prayer to make for any great good, next to Tom' recovery, it should be that one of your children should be the first American poet. I have a great mind to make a prophecy; and they say that prophecies work out their own fulfilment.' Oct. 29, 1818. 康 IS the witching hour of night, For a song and for a charm, See they glisten in alarm, And the moon is waxing warm To hear what I shall say. Moon! keep wide thy golden ears— Hearken, stars! and hearken, spheres !-- I sing an Infant's lullaby, Listen, listen, listen, listen, Glisten, glisten, glisten, glisten, Though the rushes that will make Its cradle still are in the lake Though the linen that will be Child, I see thee! Child, I've found thee See, see, the lyre, the lyre, Upon the little cradle's top It stares, it.stares, it stares, It dares what no one dares ! It lifts its little hand into the flame O' th' western wild, Bard art thou completely! Sweetly with dumb endeavour, A Poet now or never, Little child O' th' western wild, A Poet now or never! ODES. FRAGMENT. TO REYNOLDS, MAY, 1818. "It is impossible to know how far knowledge will console us for the death of a friend, and the 'ill that flesh is heir to.' With respect to the affections and poetry, you must know by a sympathy my thoughts that way, and I dare say these few lines will be but a ratification. I wrote them on May-day, and intend to finish the ode all in good time." OTHER of Hermes! and still youthful May I sing to thee As thou wast hymned on the shores of Baix? Or may I woo thee In earlier Sicilian? or thy smiles Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles, Rounded by thee, my song should die away Rich in the simple worship of a day.1 It is much to be regretted he did not finish this Ode; this com mencement is in his best manner: the sentiment and expression perfect, as every traveller in modern Greece will recognise.-ED. TO PSYCHE. TO HIS BROTHER AND SISTER "The following poem, the last I have written, is the first and only one with which I have taken even moderate pains; I have, for the most part, dashed off my lines in a hurry; this one I have done leisurely; I think it reads the more richly for it, and it will I hope encourage me to write other things in even a more peaceable and healthy spirit. You must recollect that Psyche was not embodied as a goddess before the time of Apuleius the Platonist, who lived after the Augustan age, and consequently the goddess was never worshipped or sacrificed to with any of the ancient fervour, and per haps never thought of in the old religion: I am more orthodox than to let a heathen goddess be so neglected." Feb. 1819. GODDESS! hear these tuneless num. bers, wrung By sweet enforcement and remem- And pardon that thy secrets should be sung, The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes? And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise, Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side In deepest grass, beneath the whispering roof Of 'eaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran A brooklet, scarce espied: Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers fragrant-eyed, Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian, They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass; Their arms embraced, and their pinions too; Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber, And ready still past kisses to outnumber At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love: But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove? O latest-born and loveliest vision tar Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy ! Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region'd star, Nor Virgin-choir to make delicious moan No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet O brightest! though too late for antique vows, Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane pleasant pain, Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind: |