IV.

SOLITUDE' if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb with me the
steep,

Nature's observatory- whence the dell, In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap

Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with
thee,

Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

H

V.

-

OW many bards gild the lapses of time! A few of them have ever been the food Of my delighted fancy, — I could brood Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime : And often, when I sit me down to rhyme, These will in throngs before my mind intrude: But no confusion, no disturbance rude Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.

So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store; The songs of birds — the whispering of the leaves The voice of waters the great bell that heaves With solemn sound, and thousand others

more,

That distance of recognizance bereaves,

Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar.

VI.

TO G. A. W.

N

TYMPH of the downward smile and sidelong
glance!

In what diviner moments of the day
Art thou most lovely? when gone far astray
Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance?
Or when serenely wandering in a trance

Of sober thought? Or when starting away,
With careless robe to meet the morning ray,
Thou sparest the flowers in thy mazy dance?
Haply 'tis when thy ruby lips part sweetly,

And so remain, because thou listenest:
But thou to please wert nurtured so completely
That I can never tell what mood is best,

I shall as soon pronounce which Grace more neatly
Trips it before Apollo than the rest.

VII.

WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON.

HAT though, for showing truth to flatter'd state,

WHAT

Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has he,
In his immortal spirit, been as free

As the sky-searching lark, and as elate.
Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait?
Think you he nought but prison-walls did see,
Till, so unwilling, thou unturn'dst the key?
Ah, no! far happier, nobler was his fate!
In Spenser's halls he stray'd, and bowers fair,
Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew
With daring Milton through the fields of air:
To regions of his own his genius true

Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair
When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew?

VIII.

TO MY BROTHER.

MALL, busy flames play through the fresh-laid coals,

SMAL

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 aye at fall of night our care condoles.
This is your birth-day, Tom, and I rejoice
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly:
Many such eves of gently whispering noise
May we together pass, and calmly try
What are this world's true joys,ere the great
Voice

From its fair face shall bid our spirits fly.

H

IX.

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
Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy, and malice to their native sty?
Unnumber'd souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.

G

X.

ADDRESSED TO THE SAME.

REAT spirits now on earth are sojourning:
He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,

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 Of mighty workings?

Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb.

XI.

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER

M

UCH have I travell❜d in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes / He stared at the Pacific-and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise · Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

XII.

ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS AT AN EARLY

HOUR.

YIVE me a golden pen, and let me lean

G

On heap'd-up flowers, in regions clear, and far;
Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,
Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen
The silver strings of heavenly harp atween:
And let there glide by many a pearly car,
Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar,
And half-discover'd 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.

K

XIII.

EEN fitful gusts are whispering here and there
Among the bushes, half leafless and dry;
The stars look very cold about the sky,

And I have many miles on foot to fare;
Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,

Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,
Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,
Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair.
For I am brimful of the friendliness

That in a little cottage I have found;
Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,
And all his love for gentle Lycid' drown'd;
Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,
And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.