II. TO SILVIO PELLICO, ON READING HIS "PRIGIONE."
THERE are who climb the mountain's heathery side,
Or, in life's vernal strength triumphant, urge
The bark's fleet rushing through the crested surge,
Or spur the courser's fiery race of pride
Over the green savannas, gleaming wide
By some vast lake; yet thus, on foaming sea,
Or chainless wild, reign far less nobly free,
Than thou, in that lone dungeon, glorified
By thy brave suffering.-Thou from its dark cell
Fierce thought and baleful passion didst exclude,
Filling the dedicated solitude
With God; and where His Spirit deigns to dwell,
Though the worn frame in fetters withering lie,
There throned in peace divine is liberty!
III. TO THE SAME, RELEASED.
How flows thy being now?-like some glad hymn,
One strain of solemn rapture?-doth thine eye
Wander through tears of voiceless feeling dim,
O'er the crown'd Alps, that, 'midst the upper sky
Sleep in the sunlight of thine Italy?
Or is thy gaze of reverent love profound,
Unto those dear parental faces bound,
Which, with their silvery hair, so oft glanced by,
VOL. VII.
Haunting thy prison-dreams?-Where'er thou art,
Blessing be shed upon thine inmost heart,
Joy, from kind looks, blue skies, and flowery sod,
For that pure voice of thoughtful wisdom sent
Forth from thy cell, in sweetness eloquent,
Of love to man, and quenchless trust in God!
IV. ON A SCENE IN THE DARGLE.'
'TWAS a bright moment of my life when first,
O thou pure stream through rocky portals flowing!
That temple-chamber of thy glory burst
On my glad sight! - thy pebbly couch lay glowing
With deep mosaic hues; and, richly throwing
O'er thy cliff-walls a tinge of autumn's vest,
High bloom'd the heath-flowers, and the wild wood's
Was touch'd with gold.-Flow ever thus, bestowing
Gifts of delight, sweet stream! on all who move
Gently along thy shores; and oh! if love,
-True love, in secret nursed, with sorrow fraught-
Should sometimes bear his treasured griefs to thee,
Then full of kindness let thy music be,
Singing repose to every troubled thought!
1A beautiful valley in the county of Wicklow.
V.-ON READING COLERIDGE'S EPITAPH
"Stop, Christian passer-by! stop, child of God!
And read with gentle breast; - Beneath this sod
A Poet lies, or that which once seem'd he;
Oh! lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.!
That He, who once in vain, with toil of breath,
Found death in life, may here find life in death!
Mercy, for praise; to be forgiven, for Fame,
He ask'd and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same!"
SPIRIT! So oft in radiant freedom soaring,
High through seraphic mysteries unconfined,
And oft, a diver through the deep of mind,
Its caverns, far below its waves, exploring;
And oft such strains of breezy music pouring,
As, with the floating sweetness of their sighs,
Could still all fevers of the heart, restoring
Awhile that freshness left in Paradise;
Say, of those glorious wanderings what the goal?
What the rich fruitage to man's kindred soul
From wealth of thine bequeathed? O strong and
high,
And sceptred intellect! thy goal confess'd
Was the Redeemer's Cross-thy last bequest
One lesson breathing thence profound humility!
VL-ON THE DATURA ARBOREA.
MAJESTIC plant! such fairy dreams as lie
Nursed, where the bee sucks in the cowslip's bell,
Are not thy train:-those flowers of vase-like swell,
Clear, large, with dewy moonlight fill'd from high,
And in their monumental purity
Serenely drooping, round thee seem to draw
Visions link'd strangely with that silent awe
Which broods o'er Sculpture's works. —A meet ally
For those heroic forms, the simply grand
Art thou and worthy, carved by plastic hand,
Above some kingly poet's tomb to shine
In spotless marble; honouring one, whose strain
Soar'd upon wings of thought that knew no stain
Free through the starry heavens of truth divine.
VII.-DESIGN AND PERFORMANCE.
THEY float before my soul, the fair designs
Which I would body forth to Life and Power,
Like clouds, that with their wavering hues and lines
Pourtray majestic buildings:-Dome and tower,
Bright spire, that through the rainbow and the shower
Points to th' unchanging stars; and high arcade
Far-sweeping to some glorious altar, made
For holiest rites:-meanwhile the waning hour
Melts from me, and by fervent dreams o'erwrought,
I sink:-O friend! O link'd with each high thought
Aid me, of those rich visions to detain
All I may grasp; until thou see'st fulfill'd,
While time and strength allow, my hope to build
For lowly hearts devout, but one enduring fane !
VIII.-HOPE OF FUTURE COMMUNION WITH NATURE.
Ir e'er again my spirit be allow'd
Converse with nature in her chambers deep,
Where lone, and mantled with the rolling cloud,
She broods o'er new-born waters, as they leap
In sword-like flashes down the heathery steep
From caves of mystery ;—if I roam once more
Where dark pines quiver to the torrent's roar,
And voiceful oaks respond!-shall I not reap
A more ennobling joy, a loftier power,
Than e'er was shed on life's more vernal hour,
From such communion?-yes! I then shall know,
That not in vain have sorrow, love, and thought,
Their long still work of preparation wrought,
For that more perfect sense of God reveal❜d below.
IX.-DREAMS OF THE DEAD.
OFT in still night-dreams a departed face
Bends o'er me with sweet earnestness of eye
Wearing no more of earthly pains a trace,
But all the tender pity that may lie
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