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Perverse, self-willed to own and to dis

own,

- Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed,

Still last to come where thou art wanted most!

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses, seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying sull!

THE WORLD.

THE world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:

Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be

A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn,

Have sight of Proteus coming from the

sea,

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

PELION AND OSSA.

PELION and Ossa flourish side by side, Together in immortal books enrolled; His ancient dower Olympus hath not sold;

And that inspiring hill, which “did divide

Into two ample horns his forehead wide,” Shines with poetic radiance as of old; While not an English mountain we be hold

By the celestial muses glorified.

Yet round our sea-girt shore they rise in crowds:

What was the great Parnassus' self to thee,

Mount Skiddaw? In his natural sovereignty

Our British hill is fairer far; he shrouds His double-fronted head in higher clouds,

And pours forth streams more sweet than Castalay.

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THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

*ATUR, LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATION&

Channels for tears; no Naiad shouldst

thou be,

And temper with the sternness of the brain

Have neither limbs, feet, feathers, joints, | Thoughts motherly and meek as woman

nor hairs;

It seems the eternal soul is clothed in thee

With purer robes than those of flesh and blood,

And hath bestowed on thee a better good

Unwearied joy, and life without its cares.

EVENING.

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free;

The holy time is quiet as a nun
Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
The gentleness of heaven is on the sea:
Listen! the mighty being is awake,
And doth with his eternal motion make
A sound like thunder everlastingly,
Dear child! dear girl! that walkest
with me here,

If thou appear'st untouched by solemn thought,

Thy nature therefore is not less divine: Thou liest "in Abraham's bosom" all the year;

And worshipp'st at the temple's inner

shrine,

God being with thee when we know it

not.

BUONAPARTE.

I GRIEVED for Buonaparte, with a vain And an unthinking grief! for, who aspires

To genuine greatness but from just desires,

And knowledge such as he could never gain?

Tis not in battles that from youth we train

The governor who must be wise and good,

hood.

Wisdom doth live with children round her knees,

Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk

Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk

Of the mind's business: these are the degrees

By which true sway doth mount; this is the stalk

True power doth grow on; and her rights are these.

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE

VENETIAN REPUBLIC.

ONCE did she hold the gorgeous East in fee;

And was the safeguard of the West: the worth

Of Venice did not fall below her birth-
Venice, the eldest child of Liberty!
She was a maiden city, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate;
And, when she took unto herself a mate,
She must espouse the everlasting sea.
And what if she had seen those glories
fade,

Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;

Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid When her long life hath reached its

final day:

Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade

Of that which once was great is passed

away.

TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy man of

men!

Whether the all-cheering sun be free to shed

His beams around thee, or thou rest thy head

Pillowed in some dark dungeon's

noisome den—

O miserable chieftain! where and when Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do thou

Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow:

Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,

Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind

Powers that will work for thee: air, earth, and skies;

There's not a breathing of the common wind

That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;

Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.

FRANCE AND ENGLAND.
September, 1802.

INLAND, within a hollow vale, I stood;
And saw, while sea was calm and air

was clear,

The coast of France-the coast of France how near!

Drawn almost into frightful neighborhood.

I shrunk, for verily the barrier flood Was like a lake, or river bright and fair, A span of waters; yet what power is there!

What mightiness for evil and for good!

Even so doth God protect us if we be Virtuous and wise. Winds blow, and waters roll,

Strength to the brave, and power, and deity,

Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree

Spake laws to them, and said that by the soul

Only the nations shall be great and free.

ON THE SUBJUGATION OF

SWITZERLAND.

Two voices are there - one is of the sea, One of the mountains-each a mighty voice:

In both from age to age, thou didst rejoice,

They were thy chosen music, Liberty! There came a tyrant, and with holy glee Thou fough'st against him; but hast vainly striven;

Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven,

Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.

Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft :

Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left;

For, high-souled maid, what sorrow would it be

That mountain floods should thunder as before,

And ocean bellow from his rocky shore, And neither awful voice be heard by thee!

MILTON. 1802.

MILTON! thou shouldst be living at this hour:

England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,

Have forfeited their ancient English dower

Of inward happiness. We are selfisi

men:

Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom

power.

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart:

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea;

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free;

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