« ÎnapoiContinuă »
ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND THE
REEN little vaulter in the sunny grass,
Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy
When ev'n the bees lag at the summoning brass; And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
With those who think the candles come too soon, Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass; Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong,
One to the fields, the other to the hearth, Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong
At your dear hearts; and both were sent on earth To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song,In doors and out, Summer and Winter, Mirth! LEIGH HUNT.
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 A money-mongering, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
ADDRESSED TO THE SAME.
REAT spirits now on earth are
He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,
Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing:
The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake:
Upon the forehead of the age to come; These, these will give the world another heart, And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings ?
Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb.
FTER dark vapours have oppress'd our
For a long dreary season, comes a day
From the sick heavens all unseemly stains.
Takes as a long-lost right the feel of May, The eye-lids with the passing coolness play, Like rose-leaves with the drip of summer rains. And calmest thoughts come round us-as of leaves Budding-fruit ripening in stillness-autumn
Smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves,-
Sweet Sappho's cheek, a sleeping infant'e breath,—
The gradual sand that through an hour-glass
A woodland rivulet,- -a Poet's death.
ON SEEING THE ELGIN MARBLES FOR THE FIRST TIME.
Y spirit is too weak; mortality
Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,
And each imagined pinnacle and steep
Of godlike hardship tells me I must die
That I have not the cloudy winds to keep
Bring round the heart an indescribable feud: So do these wonders a most dizzy pain,
That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude Wasting of old Time—with a billowy main A sun, a shadow of a magnitude.
(WITH THE ABOVE.)
AYDON! forgive me that I cannot speak
Definitively of these mighty things;
That what I want I know not where to seek.
For, when men stared at what was most divine
HEN I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charact'ry, Hold like full garners the full-ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And feel that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
Of unreflecting love !-then on the shore
ON LEIGH HUNT'S POEM, THE
HO loves to peer up at the morning sun, With half-shut eyes and comfortable cheek,
Let him, with this sweet tale, full often
For meadows where the little rivers run;
Will find at once a region of his own,
A bower for his spirit, and will steer To alleys, where the fir-tree drops its cone, Where robins hop, and fallen leaves are sear.