VIL WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON WHAT though, for showing truth to flatter'd state, VIII. TO MY BROTHERS. SMALL, busy flames play through the fresh-laid coals, And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles, Upon the lore so voluble and deep, November 18, 1816 IX. ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. MUCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold, That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne 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 Look'd at each other with a wild surmiseSilent, upon a peak in Darien. X ON LEAVING SOME FRIENDS AT AN EARLY HOUR. GIVE me a golden pen, and let me lean On heap'd-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-discover'd 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 contening! 'Tis not content so soon to be alone. ΧΙ. KEEN fitful gusts are whispering here and there Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily, That in a little cottage I have found; Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress, And all his love for gentle Lycid' drown'd; Of lovely Laura in her light green dress, And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd. |