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INTELLECTUAL.

THOUGHT.

or I?

Are the clouds that wander by
But the offspring of mine eye,
Born with every glance I cast,
Perishing when that is past ?
And those thousand, thousand eyes,
Scattered through the twinkling

skies, Do they draw their life from mine, Or, of their own beauty shine ?

O MESSENGER, art thou the king, Thou dalliest outside the palace gate Till on thine idle armior lie the late And heavy dews: the morn's bright,

scornful eye Reminds thee; then, in subtle

mockery, Thou smilest at the window where I

wait, Who bade thee ride for life. In

empty state My days go on, while false hours

prophesy Thy quick return; at last, in sad

despair, I cease to bid thee, leave thee free

as air; When lo, thou stand'st before me

glad and fleet, And lay'st undreamed of treasures

at my feet. Ah! messenger, thy royal blood to

buy, I am too poor.

Thou art the king, not I.

H. H.

Now I close my eyes, my ears,
And creation disappears;
Yet if I but speak the word,
All creation is restored.
Or — more wonderful — within,
New creations do begin;
Hues more bright and forms more

rare,
Than reality doth wear,
Flash across my inward sense,
Born of the mind's omnipotence.

Soul! that all informest, say!
Shall these glories pass away?
Will those planets cease to blaze
When these eyes no longer gaze?
And the life of things be o'er,
When these pulses beat no more?
Thought! that in me works and

lives, -
Life to all things living gives, -
Art thou not thyself, perchance,
But the universe in trance ?
A reflection inly flung
By that world thou fanciedst sprung
From thyself, — thyself a dream,
Of the world's thinking thou the

theme?

QUESTIONINGS.

HATH this world, without me

wrought, Other substance than my thought? Lives it by my sense alone, Or by essence of its own, Will its life, with mine begun, Cease to be when that is done, Or another consciousness With the selfsame forms impress ?

Be it thus, or be thy birth
From a source above the earth, -
Be thou matter, be thou mind,
In thee alone myself I find,
And through thee alone, for me,

Doth yon fire-ball, poised in air, Hang by my permission there?

Hath this world reality.
Therefore, in thee will I live,
To thee all myself will give,
Losing still, that I may find
This bounded self in boundless mind.

F. H. HEDGE.

And odors in the landscape sail, And charm the sense with sudden

bliss.

But Fate, who metes a different way

To me, since I was falsely sold, Hath gray-haired turned the sunny

day, Bent its high form, and made it old.

MEMORY.

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IN sweet dreams softer than un

broken rest Thou leddest by the hand thine

infant Hope. The eddying of her garments caught

from thee The light of thy great presence; and

Of the half-attained futurity, Though deep not fathomless, Was cloven with the million stars

which tremble O'er the deep mind of dauntless

infancy. Sure she was nigher to heaven's

spheres, Listening the lordly music flowing

from
The illimitable years.

TENNYSON.

O moaning wind along the shore, How faint thy sobbing accents

come! Strike on my heart with maddest roar, Thou meet'st no discord in this

home.

Sear, blistering sun, these temple

veins; Blind, icy moon, these coldest eyes; And drench me through, ye winter

rains, Swell, if ye can, my miseries.

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ODE TO HIMSELF.

WHERE dost thou careless lie

Buried in ease and sloth ? Knowledge that sleeps, doth die: And this security,

It is the common moth That eats on wits and arts, and so

destroys them both. Are all the Aonian springs

Dried up? lies Thespia waste? Doth Clarius' harp want strings ? That not a nymph now sings?

Or droop they as disgraced To see their seats and bowers by

chattering pies defaced ? If hence thy silence be,

As 'tis too just a cause,
Let this thought quicken thee;
Minds that are great and free

Should not on fortune pause; 'Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.

BEN Jonson.

Of fitting objects be not so in

flamed. How much, then, were this king

dom's main soul maimed To want this great inflamer of all

powers That move in human souls! All

realms but yours Are honored with them, and hold

blest that State That have his works to read and

conteinplate, In which humanity to her height is

raised; Which all the world, yet none enough

hath praised. Seas, earth, and heaven, he did in

verse comprise, Outsung the Muses, and did equal

ize Their King Apollo; being so far

from cause Of princes' light thoughts, that their

gravest laws May find stuff to be fashioned by his

lines. Through all the pomp of kingdoms

still he shines, And graceth all his gracers. Then

let lie Your lutes and viols, and more

loftily Make the heroics of your Homer

slig: To drums and trumpets set his angel

tongue; And, with the princely sport of

hawks you use, Behold the kingly flight of his high

muse, And see how, like the Phænix, she

NOT EVERY DAY FIT FOR

VERSE.

'Tis not every day that I
Fitted am to prophesy;
No, but when the spirit fills
The fantastic pannicles,
Full of fire, then I write
As the Godhead doth indite.
Thus inraged, my lines are hurled,
Like the Sibyl's through the world:
Look how next the holy fire
Either slakes, or doth retire;
So the fancy cools, till when
That brave spirit comes agen.

HERRICK.

renews

one

THE PRAISE OF HOMER.

Her age and starry feathers in your

sun, Thousands of years attending; every Blowing the holy fire, throwing in Their seasons, kingdoms, nations,

that have been Subverted in them; laws, religions,

all Offered to change, and greedy

funeral, Yet still your Homer lasting, living,

reiguing, And proves how firm Truth builds in poets feigning.

GEORGE CHAPMAN.

0! 'Tis wondrous much Though nothing prosed, that the right

virtuous touch Of a well written soul to virtue

moves. Nor have we souls t purpose, if

their loves

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• Rigid in thought and motionless he

stands, Nor quits his theme or posture, till

the sun Disturbs his nobler intellectual

beam, And gives him to the tumult of the world.

YOUNG.

MORNING.

Much have I travelled in the realms

of gold, And many goodly states and king

doms seen; Round many western islands have I

been, Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been

told That deep-browed Homer ruled as

his demesne: Yet did I never breatheits 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 Looked at each other with a wild

surmise Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

KEATS.

SLEEP is like death, and after sleep,
The world seems new begun,
Its earnestness all clear and deep,
Its true solution won:
White thoughts stand luminous and

firm,
Like statues in the sun.
Refreshed from

supersensuous founts, The soul to purer vision mounts.

ALLINGHAM.

INSPIRATION.

IF with light head erect I sing, Though all the Muses lend their force, From my poor love of any thing, The verse is weak and shallow as its

source.

SOCRATES.

But if with bended neck I grope,
Listening behind me for my wit,
With faith superior to hope,
More anxious to keep back than

forward it;
Making my soul accomplice there
Unto the flame my heart hath lit,
Then will the verse forever wear, -
Time cannot bend the line which

God has writ.

Night is fair Virtue's immemorial

friend. The conscious moon through every

distant age Has held a lamp to Wisdom, and let

fall On Contemplation's eye her purging

rav. The famed Athenian, he who wooed

from heaven Philosophy the fair, to dwell with

men, And form their manners, not inflame

their pride; While o'er his head, as fearful to

molest His laboring mind, the stars in si

lence slide, And seem all gazing on their future

Quest, See him soliciting his ardent suit, la private audience; all the livelong

nig!!!

I hearing get, who had but ears,
And sight, who had but eyes before;
I moments live, who lived but years,
And truth discern, who knew but

learning's lore.

Now chiefly is my natal hour,
And only now my prime of life,
Of manhood's strength it is the

flower, 'Tis peace's end, and war's begin.

ning strife,

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