VIII. TO MY BROTHER. 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, From its fair face shall bid our spirits fly. IX. ADDRESSED TO HAYDON. HIGH-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. X. ADDRESSED TO THE SAME. GREAT spirits now on earth are sojourning: The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake: Of mighty workings? Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb. XI.. ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. MUCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold, Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: He stared at the Pacific-and all his men XII. 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 ; 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. ; |