XII.

To him the Grecian muse, devoutly woo'd,
Unveil'd her beauty, and entranced his ear,
In many a wrapt imaginative mood,
With harmony which only Poets hear
Even in that old enchanted atmosphere:
To him the painter's and the sculptor's art
Disclosed those hidden glories, which appear
To the clear vision of the initiate heart
In contemplation calm, from worldly care apart.

XIII.

Nor lack'd he the profounder, purer sense Of beauty, in the face of Nature seen; But loved the mountain's rude magnificence, The valley's glittering brooks, and pastures green, Moonlight, and morn, and sunset's golden sheen, The stillness and the storm of lake and sea, The hedgerow elms, with grass-grown lanes between, The winding footpath, the broad, bowery tree, The deep, clear river's course, majestically free.

XIV.

Such were his haunts in recreative hours,

To such he fondly turn'd, from time to time,

From Granta's cloister'd courts, and gloomy towers,

And stagnant Camus' circumambient slime;

Well pleas'd o'er Cambria's mountain-peaks to climb,
Or, with a larger, more adventurous range,
Plant his bold steps on Alpine heights sublime,
And gaze on Nature's wonders vast and strange;

Then roam through the rich South with swift and ceaseless change.

XV.

Yet with his settled and habitual mood
Accorded better the green English vale,
The pastoral mead, the cool sequester'd wood,
The spacious park fenc'd in with rustic pale,
The pleasant interchange of hill and dale,

The church-yard darken'd by the yew-tree's shade,
And rich with many a rudely-sculptured tale
Of friends beneath its turf sepulchral laid,

Of human tears that flow, of earthly hopes that fade.

XVI.

Such were the daily scenes with which he fed
The pensive spirit first awoke by Thee;

And blest and blameless was the life he led,
Sooth'd by the gentle spells of poesy.
Nor yet averse to stricter thought was he,
Nor uninstructed in abstruser lore;

But now, with draughts of pure philosophy

Quench'd his soul's thirst,-now ventured to explore The fields by science own'd, and taste the fruits they bore.

XVII.

With many a graceful fold of learned thought

He wrapp'd himself around, well pleased to shroud His spirit, in the web itself had wrought,

From the rude pressure of the boisterous crowd;

Nor loftier purpose cherish'd or avow'd,

Nor claim'd the prophet's or the teacher's praise;
Content in studious ease to be allow'd

With nice artistic craft to weave his lays,

And lose himself at will in song's melodious maze.