ODE.

641

While all around the fragrant wild-flowers blow,

And sweet birds sing her requiem to the wa

THE dreamy rhymer's measured snore
Falls heavy on our ears no more;
And by long strides are left behind
The dear delights of womankind,
Who wage their battles like their loves,
In satin waistcoats and kid gloves,
And have achieved the crowning work
When they have trussed and skewered a Turk.
Another comes with stouter tread,
And stalks among the statelier dead:
He rushes on, and hails by turns
High-crested Scott, broad-breasted Burns;
And shows the British youth, who ne'er
Will lag behind, what Romans were,
When all the Tuscans and their Lars
Shouted, and shook the towers of Mars.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

ODE.

BARDS of Passion and of Mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too,
Double-lived in regions new?
Yes, and those of heaven commune
With the spheres of sun and moon;
With the noise of fountains wondrous,
And the parle of voices thund'rous;
With the whisper of heaven's trees
And one another, in soft ease
Seated on Elysian lawns
Browsed by none but Dian's fawns;
Underneath large blue-bells tented,
Where the daises are rose-scented,
And the rose herself has got
Perfume which on earth is not;
Where the nightingale doth sing
Not a senseless, tranced thing,
But divine, melodious truth-
Philosophic numbers smooth-
Tales and golden histories
Of heaven and its mysteries.

Thus ye live on high, and then On the earth ye live again; And the souls ye left behind you Teach us, here, the way to find you, Where your other souls are joying, Never slumbered, never cloying. Here your earth-born souls still speak To mortals, of their little week; Of their sorrows and delights; Of their passions and their spites; Of their glory and their shame; What doth strengthen and what maim. Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away.

Bards of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth! Ye have souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new!

JOHN KEATS.

THE MINSTREL.

SONNET.

Go, page!—the lay delights our ear;
We'll have it sung before us!"
So speaks the king: the stripling flies—
He soon returns; his master cries-

"Bring in the hoary minstrel!"

"Hail, princes mine! Hail, noble knights! All hail, enchanting dames!

What starry heaven! What blinding lights!

Whose tongue may tell their names?

In this bright hall, amid this blaze,
Close, close, mine eyes! Ye may not gaze
On such stupendous glories!"

The minnesinger closed his eyes;

He struck his mighty lyre:

Then beauteous bosoms heaved with sighs,
And warriors felt on fire;

The king, enraptured by the strain,
Commanded that a golden chain

Be given the bard in guerdon.

"Not so! Reserve thy chain, thy gold,

For those brave knights whose glances, Fierce flashing through the battle bold,

Might shiver sharpest lances! Bestow it on thy treasurer thereThe golden burden let him bear With other glittering burdens.

"I sing as in the greenwood bush

The cageless wild-bird carols-
The tones that from the full heart gush

Themselves are gold and laurels !
Yet might I ask, then thus I ask-
Let one bright cup of wine, in flask
Of glowing gold, be brought me ! "

They set it down; he quaffs it all

"O! draught of richest flavor! O thrice divinely happy hall

Where that is scarce a favor!

If Heaven shall bless ye, think on me;
And thank your God as I thank ye
For this delicious wine-cup!"

JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE (German). Translation of JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.

Spring,