EVE's lingering clouds extend in solid bars
Through the grey west; and lo! these waters, steeled By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield A vivid repetition of the stars;
Jove - Venus - and the ruddy crest of Mars, Amid his fellows, beauteously revealed
At happy distance from earth's groaning field, Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars. Is it a mirror?
or the nether sphere
Opening its vast abyss, while fancy feeds
On the rich show! But list! a voice is near;
Great Pan himself low-whispering through the reeds, "Be thankful thou; for, if unholy deeds Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!"
YE sacred Nurseries of blooming Youth! In whose collegiate shelter England's Flowers Expand enjoying through their vernal hours The air of liberty, the light of truth;
Much have ye suffered from Time's gnawing tooth, Yct, O ye Spires of Oxford! Domes and Towers! Gardens and Groves! your presence overpowers The soberness of Reason; 'till, in sooth, Transformed, and rushing on a bold exchange, I slight my own beloved Cam, to range Where silver Isis leads my stripling feet; Pace the long avenue, or glide adown
The stream-like windings of that glorious street, -An eager Novice robed in fluttering gown!
SHAME on this faithless heart! that could allow
Such transport- though but for a moment's space; Not while – to aid the spirit of the place The crescent moon cleaves with its glittering prow The clouds, or night-bird sings from shady bough; But in plain day-light: She, too, at my side, Who, with her heart's experience satisfied, Maintains inviolate its slightest vow.
Sweet Fancy! other gifts must I receive; Proofs of a higher sovereignty I claim;
Take from her brow the withering flowers of Eve, And to that brow Life's morning wreath restore; Let her be comprehended in the frame
Of these illusions, or they please no more.
ON THE DEATH OF HIS LATE MAJESTY
WARD of the LAW! dread Shadow of a King!
Whose Realm had dwindled to one stately room; Whose universe was gloom immersed in gloom, Darkness as thick as Life o'er Life could fling, Yet haply cheered with some faint glimmering Of Faith and Hope; if thou, by nature's doom, Gently hast sunk into the quiet tomb, Why should we bend in grief, to sorrow cling, When thankfulness were best?-Fresh-flowing tears, Or, where tears flow not, sigh succeeding sigh,
Yield to such after-thought the sole reply
Which justly it can claim. The Nation hears
In this deep knell silent for threescore years,
An unexampled voice of awful memory!
FAME tells of Groves - from England far away * Groves that inspire the Nightingale to trill And modulate, with subtle reach of skill Elsewhere unmatched, her ever-varying lay; Such bold report I venture to gainsay : For I have heard the choir of Richmond hill Chaunting with indefatigable bill;
While I bethought me of a distant day; When, haply under shade of that same wood, And scarcely conscious of the dashing oars Plied steadily between those willowy shores, The sweet-souled Poet of the Seasons stood Listening, and listening long, in rapturous mood, Ye heavenly Birds! to your Progenitors.
* Wallachia is the country alluded to.
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