Gazed by an idle eye with silent might
The picture stole upon my inward sight.
A tremulous warmth crept gradual o'er my chest,
As though an infant's finger touched my breast.
And one by one (I know not whence) were brought
All spirits of power that once had stirred my thought
In selfless boyhood, on a new world tost
Of wonder, and in its own fancies lost;
Or charmed my youth, that, kindled from above,
Loved ere it loved, and sought a form for love;
Or lent a lustre to the earnest scan
Of manhood, musing what and whence is man!
Wild strain of Scalds, that in the sea-worn caves
Rehearsed their war-spell to the winds and waves ;
Or fateful hymn of those prophetic maids,
That callid on Hertha in deep forest glades ;
Or minstrel lay, that cheered the baron's feast;
Or rhyme of city pomp, of monk and priest,
Judge, mayor, and many a guild in long array,
To high church pacing on the great saint's day.
And many a verse which to myself I sang,
That woke the tear yet stole



pang, Of hopes which in lamenting I renewed. And last, a matron now, of sober mien, Yet radiant still and with no earthly sheen, Whom as a faery child my childhood wooed Even in my dawn of thought-Philosophy ; Though then unconscious of herself, pardie, She bore no other name than Poesy ; And, like a gift from heaven, in lifeful glee, That had but newly left a mother's knee, Prattled and played with bird, and flower, and stone, As if with elfin playfellows well kn wn, And life revealed to innocence alone.


BENEATH the blaze of a tropical sun, the moun

tain peaks are the thrones of frost, through the absence of objects to reflect the rays.

What no one with us shares, seems scarce our own.” The presence of a one,

The best belov'd, who loveth me the best, is for the heart, what the supporting air from within is for the hollow globe with its suspended car. Deprive it of this, and all without, that would have buoyed it aloft, even to the seat of the gods, becomes a burthen, and crushes it into flatness.


The finer the sense for the beautiful and the lovely, and the fairer and lovelier the object presented to the sense ; the more exquisite the individual's capacity of joy, and the more ample his means and opportunities of enjoyment, the more heavily will he feel the ache of solitariness, the more unsubstantial becomes the feast spread around him. What matters it, whether in fact the viands and the ministering graces are shadowy or real, to him who has not hand to grasp nor arms to embrace ?


Imagination : honorable aims;
Free commune with the choir that cannot die ;
Science and song; delight in little things,
The buoyant child surviving in the man :
Fields, forests, ancient mountains, ocean, sky,
With all their voices-0 dare I accuse
My earthly lot as guilty of my spleen,
Or call my destiny niggard ! O no! no


With its own rill, on its own spangled bed,
And wreaths the marble urn, or leans its head,
A mimic mourner, that with veil withdrawn
Weeps liquid gems, the presents of the dawn ;-
Thine all delights, and every muse is thine ;
And more than all, the embrace and intertwine
Of all with all in gay and twinkling dance !
Mid gods of Greece and warriors of romance,
See ! Boccace sits, unfolding on his knees
The new-found roll of old Mæonides, *
But from his mantle's fold, and near the heart,
Peers Ovid's holy book of Love's sweet smart.t

O all-enjoying and all-blending sage,
Long be it mine to con thy mazy page,
Where, half concealed, the eye of Fancy views
Fauns, nymphs, and winged saints, all gracious to

thy muse.

Still in thy garden let me watch their pranks,
And see in Dian's vest between the ranks

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Boccaccio claimed for himself the glory of having first introduced the works of Homer to his countrymen.

T I know few more striking or more interesting proofs of the overwhelming influence which the study of the Greek and Roman classics exercised on the judgments, feelings, and imaginations of the literati of Europe at the commenceinent of the restoration of literature, than the passage in the Filocopo of Boccaccio : where the sage instructor, Racheo, as soon as the young prince and the beautiful girl Biancofiore had learned their letters, sets them to study the Holy Book, Ovid's Art of Love. “ Incominició Racheo a mettere il suo officio in esecuzione con intera sollecitudine. E loro, in breve tempo, insegnato a conoscer le lettere, fece leggere il santo libro d'Ovvidio, nel quale il sommo poeta mostra, come i santi fuochi di Venere si debbano ne' freddi cuori accendere."

Of the trim vines, some maid that half believes
The vestal fires, of which her lover grieves,
With that sly satyr peeping through the leaves !






Thou leapest from forth The cell of thy hidden nativity; Never mortal saw The cradle of the strong one. Never mortal heard The gathering of his voices; The deep-murmured charm of the son of the rock, That is lisped evermore at his slumberless fountain. There's a cloud at the portal, a spray-woven veil At the shrine of his ceaseless renewing ; It embosoms the roses of dawn It entangles the shafts of the noon, And into the bed of its stillness The moonshine sinks down as in slumber, That the son of the rock, that the nursling of heaven May be born in a holy twilight!

The wild goat in awe


and beholds Above thee the cliff inaccessible ;

See Note at the end of the volume.

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'TWAS my last waking thought, how it could be

That thou, sweet friend, such anguish shouldst

endure; When straight from Dreamland came a Dwarf,

and he Could tell the cause, forsooth, and knew the cure.

Methought he fronted me with peering look
Fixed on my heart; and read aloud in game
The loves and griefs therein, as from a book ;
And uttered praise like one who wished to blame.

In every heart (quoth he) since Adam's sin
Two Founts there are, of suffering and of cheer !
That to let forth, and this to keep within !
But she, whose aspect I find imaged here,

Of Pleasure only will to all dispense,
That Fount alone unlock, by no distress
Choked or turned inward, but still issue thence
Unconquered cheer, persistent loveliness.

As on the driving cloud the shiny bow,
That gracious thing made up of tears and light,
Mid the wild rack and rain that slants below
Stands smiling forth, unmoved and freshly bright ;-

As though the spirits of all lovely flowers,
Inweaving each its wreath and dewy crown,

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