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TO MY BROTHER GEORGE. Many the wonders I this day have seen :
The sun, when first he kist away the tears
That fill'd the eyes of Morn;—the laureld peers Who from the feathery gold of evening lean ;The Ocean with its vastness, its blue green,
Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,
Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears Must think on what will be, and what has been. E’en now, dear George, while this for you I write,
Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping So scantly, that it seeins her bridal night,
And she her half-discover'd revels keeping. But what, without the social thought of thee, Would be the wonders of the sky and sea ?
Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell
Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well
No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;
I am no happy shepherd of the dell
Yet must I doat upon thee,-call thee sweet,
Sweeter by far than Hybla's honey'd roses
When steep'd in dew rich to intoxication.
And when the moon her pallid face discloses,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings: climb witli me the steep,
'Mongst bouglis 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.
How 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
The songs of birds--the whispering of the leavesThe 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.
TO A FRIEND WHO SEXT ME SOME ROSES. As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the skylark shakes the tremulousdew
From his lush clover covert ;- when anew Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields ; I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,
A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw
Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew
I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd;
My sense with their deliciousness was spell’d: Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness
TO G. A. w. Nymph of the downward smile and sidelong glance !
In what diviner moments of the day
Art thou most lovely? when gone far astray
Of sober thought? Or when starting away,
And so remain, because thou listenest:
That I can never tell what mood is best.
Trips it before Apollo than the rest.
WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGHI HUNT LEFT
Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet las lie,
In his immortal spirit, been as free
Think you he nought but prison-walls did see,
Till, so unwilling, thou unturn’dst the key?
Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew
To regions of his own his genius true
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
Your eyes are fix'd, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly :
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, November 18, 1816.
ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne:
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
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 iu Darien.
ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS AT AN EARLY HOUR. Give me a golden pen, and let me lean
On heap'd-up flowers, in regious clear, and far;
Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,
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 contending ! "Tis not content so soon to be alone.