VIII. TO MY BROTHERS. SMALL, 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, Upon the lore so voluble and deep, What are this world's true joys,—ere the great Voice November 18, 1816. U IX. ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. MUCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold, That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne: Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: 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. Χ. ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS AT AN EARLY HOUR. GIVE me a golden pen, and let me lean On heap'd-up flowers, in regions clear, and far; Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar, 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 contening! 'Tis not content so soon to be alone. XL KEEN fitful gusts are whispering here and there Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily, Or of those silver lamps that burn on high, That in a little cottage I have found ; And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd. XII. To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven,-to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Who is more happy, when, with heart's content, That falls through the clear ether silently. |