ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER.
UCH have I travelled 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-browed 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 Looked at each other with a wild surmise- Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS AT AN EARLY HOUR.
IVE me a golden pen, and let me lean
On heaped-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 discovered 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 to be so soon alone.
HERE was a Poet whose untimely tomb
No human hand with pious reverence reared, But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramid Of mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness. A lovely youth, no mourning maiden decked With weeping flowers or votive cypress-wreath The lone couch of his everlasting sleep : Gentle and brave and generous, no lorn bard Breathed o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh: He lived, he died, he sang, in solitude.
Strangers have wept to hear his passionate notes; And virgins, as unknown he passed, have pined And wasted for fond love of his wild eyes. The fire of those soft orbs has ceased to burn, And Silence, too enamoured of that voice, Locks its mute music in her rugged cell.
By solemn vision and bright silver dream
His infancy was nurtured. Every sight
And sound from the vast earth and ambient air
Sent to his heart its choicest impulses.
The fountains of divine philosophy
Fled not his thirsting lips and all of great
Or good or lovely which the sacred past In truth or fable consecrates he felt
And knew. When early youth had passed, he left His cold fireside and alienated home,
To seek strange truths in undiscovered lands. Many a wide waste and tangled wilderness
Had lured his fearless steps; and he has brought With his sweet voice and eyes, from savage men, His rest and food. Nature's most secret steps He like her shadow has pursued, where'er The red volcano overcanopies
Its fields of snow, and pinnacles of ice With burning smoke; or where bitumen-lakes On black bare pointed islets ever beat
With sluggish surge; or where the secret caves Rugged and dark, winding among the springs Of fire and poison, inaccessible
To avarice or pride, their starry domes Of diamond and of gold expand above Numberless and immeasurable halls,
Frequent with crystal column, and clear shrines Of pearl, and thrones radiant with chrysolite. Nor had that scene of ampler majesty
Than gems or gold, the varying roof of heaven And the green earth, lost in his heart its claims To love and wonder. He would linger long In lonesome vales, making the wild his home; Until the doves and squirrels would partake From his innocuous hand his bloodless food, Lured by the gentle meaning of his looks,- And the wild antelope, that starts whene'er The dry leaf rustles in the brake, suspend Her timid steps, to gaze upon a form More graceful than her own.
His wandering step Obedient to high thoughts, has visited The awful ruins of the days of old
Athens and Tyre, and Balbec, and the waste Where stood Jerusalem, the fallen towers Of Babylon, the eternal pyramids,
Memphis and Thebes, and whatsoe'er of strange, Sculptured on alabaster obelisk,
Or jasper tomb, or mutilated sphinx, Dark Ethiopia on her desert hills
Conceals. Among the ruined temples there, Stupendous columns, and wild images
Of more than man, where marble demons watch The zodiac's brazen mystery, and dead men
Hang their mute thoughts on the mute walls around,
He lingered, poring on memorials
Of the world's youth; through the long burning day Gazed on those speechless shapes; nor when the moon Filled the mysterious halls with floating shades, Suspended he that task, but ever gazed
And gazed, till meaning on his vacant mind Flashed like strong inspiration, and he saw The thrilling secrets of the birth of time.
From Alastor, or The Spirit of Solitude.
ADONAIS; AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS.
WEEP for Adonais-he is dead!
Oh weep for Adonais! though our tears
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head! And thou, sad Hour selected from all years To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,
And teach them thine own sorrow! Say, 'With me Died Adonais! Till our future dares
Forget the past, his fate and fame shall be
An echo and a light unto eternity.
Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay, When thy son lay, pierced by the shaft which flics In darkness? Where was lorn Urania
When Adonais died? With veiled eyes,
Mid listening Echoes, in her paradise
She sate, while one with soft enamoured breath, Rekindled all the fading melodies
With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath, He had adorned and hid the coming bulk of Death.
Oh weep for Adonais-he is dead!
Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!— Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep, Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep; For he is gone where all things wise and fair Descend. Oh dream not that the amorous deep
Will yet restore him to the vital air;
Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.
He will awake no more, oh never more!
'Wake thou,' cried Misery, 'childless Mother! Rise Out of thy sleep, and slake in thy heart's core
A wound more fierce than his, with tears and sighs.' And all the Dreams that watched Urania's eyes, And all the Echoes whom their Sister's song
Had held in holy silence, cried 'Arise';
Swift as a thought by the snake Memory stung, From her ambrosial rest the fading Splendour sprung.
She rose like an autumnal Night that springs
Out of the east, and follows wild and drear The golden Day, which on eternal wings
Even as a ghost abandoning a bier,
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