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TO THE MUSES
Whether on Ida's shady brow,
Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the sun,
that now From ancient melody have ceased ; Whether in Heaven ye wander fair,
Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air,
Where the melodious winds have birth ; Whether on crystal rocks ye rove
Beneath the bosom of the sea, Wandering in many a coral grove,
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry ; How have you left the ancient love
That bards of old enjoy'd in you ! The languid strings do scarcely move, The sound is forced, the notes are few.
ODE ON THE POETS
Bards of Passion and of Mirth
-Yes, and those of heaven commune
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 slumber'd, 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!
ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fcalty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne : Vet did I never breathe its 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.
And feed his sacred flame.
Beside the ruin's tower.
My own dear Genevieve!
She lean'd against the arméd man,
Amid the lingering light.
The songs that make her grieve.
That ruin wild and hoary.
But gaze upon her face.
The Lady of the Land.
Interpreted my own.
Too fondly on her face ! But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, And that he cross'd the mountain-woods,
Nor rested day nor night ; That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny glade,
There came and look'd him in the face
This miserable Knight !
The Lady of the Land ;And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees; And how she tended him in vainAnd ever strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain ;-
A dying man he lay ;-
Disturb’d her soul with pity!
The rich and balmy eve;
Subdued and cherish'd long !
I heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved-she stepp'd aside, As conscious of my look she steptThen suddenly, with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.