Dancing music, music sad, Both together, sane and mad; Interwreath'd with myrtles new ; SONNET. 20 25 339 WHEN HEN I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high piled books, in charactry, Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; Of unreflecting love ;-then on the shore A A SONNET. TO HOMER. STANDING aloof in giant ignorance, Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades, So thou wast blind;-but then the veil was rent, For Jove uncurtain'd Heaven to let thee live, A DRAUGHT OF SUNSHINE. HENCE Burgundy, Claret, and Port, Away with old Hock and Madeira, Too earthly ye are for my sport; There's a beverage brighter and clearer. Instead of a pitiful rummer, My wine overbrims a whole summer; My bowl is the sky, And I drink at my eye, 5 Till I feel in the brain A Delphian pain Then follow, my Caius! then follow: On the green of the hill ΙΟ We will drink our fill Of golden sunshine, Till our brains intertwine With the glory and grace of Apollo ! God of the Meridian, And of the East and West, To thee my soul is flown, And my body is earthward press'd.It is an awful mission, A terrible division; And leaves a gulph austere To high above our head, When her young infant child And is not this the cause Of madness?-God of Song, Thou bearest me along Through sights I scarce can bear: 35 O let me, let me share With the hot lyre and thee, The staid Philosophy. Temper my lonely hours, And let me see thy bowers 40 FAERY SONGS. I. SHED no tear-O shed no tear! For I was taught in Paradise Overhead-look overhead 'Mong the blossoms white and red— The flower will bloom another year. Adieu-Adieu-I fly, adieu, I vanish in the heaven's blue Adieu, Adieu! II. Ah! woe is me! poor silver-wing! Of melody, and streams of flowery verge,Poor silver-wing! ah! woe is me! That I must see These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall! Whisper that the hour is near! Such calm favonian burial! Go, pretty page! and soothly tell, The blossoms hang by a melting spell, That now in vain are weeping their last tears, At sweet life leaving, and these arbours green,— Rich dowry from the Spirit of the Spheres,- SONG. Written on a blank page in Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, between "Cupid's Revenge" and "The Two Noble Kinsmen." I. SPIRIT here that reignest! Spirit here that painest! Spirit here that burnest! Spirit here that mournest! My forehead low, Enshaded with thy pinions. All passion-struck |