Be gracious as the music and the bloom
And all the mighty ravishment of Spring.

1807.

XI.

UPON THE SIGHT OF A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE.

(Painted by Sir G. H. Beaumont, Bart.)

PRAISED be the Art whose subtle power could stay

Yon cloud, and fix it in that glorious shape; Nor would permit the thin smoke to escape, Nor those bright sunbeams to forsake the day; Which stopped that band of travellers on their

way,

Ere they were lost within the shady wood;
And showed the Bark upon the glassy flood
For ever anchored in her sheltering bay.
Soul-soothing Art! which Morning, Noontide,
Even,

Do serve with all their changeful pageantry;
Thou, with ambition modest yet sublime,
Here, for the sight of mortal man, hast given
To one brief moment caught from fleeting time
The appropriate calm of blest eternity.

1811.

XII.

TO B. R. HAYDON, ESQ.

HIGH is our calling, Friend!—Creative Art (Whether the instrument of words she use,

Or pencil pregnant with ethereal hues,)
Demands the service of a mind and heart,
Though sensitive, yet, in their weakest part,
Heroically fashioned-to infuse

Faith in the whispers of the lonely Muse,
While the whole world seems adverse to desert.
And oh when Nature sinks, as oft she may,
Through long-lived pressure of obscure distress,
Still to be strenuous for the bright reward,
And in the soul admit of no decay,

Brook no continuance of weak-mindedness-
Great is the glory, for the strife is hard!

1815.

XIII.

NOVEMBER I.

How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright
The effluence from yon distant mountain's head,
Which, strewn with snow smooth as the sky
can shed,

Shines like another sun-on mortal sight
Uprisen, as if to check approaching Night,
And all her twinkling stars.

tread,

Who now would

If so he might, yon mountain's glittering

head

Terrestrial-but a surface, by the flight

Of sad mortality's earth-sullying wing,
Unswept, unstained?

Powers

Nor shall the aërial

Dissolve that beauty-destined to endure, White, radiant, spotless, exquisitely pure, Through all vicissitudes-till genial Spring Has filled the laughing vales with welcome flowers.

1815.

XIV.

66 WEAK IS THE WILL OF MAN, HIS
JUDGMENT BLIND."

"WEAK is the will of Man, his judgment blind;

Remembrance persecutes, and Hope betrays;
Heavy is woe ;-and joy, for human-kind,
A mournful thing, so transient is the blaze!"
Thus might he paint our lot of mortal days
Who wants the glorious faculty assigned
To elevate the more-than-reasoning Mind,
And colour life's dark cloud with orient rays.
Imagination is that sacred power,

Imagination lofty and refined;

'Tis hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of Faith, and round the Sufferer's temples

bind

Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower,

And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest

wind.

XV.

"HAIL, TWILIGHT, SOVEREIGN OF ONE

PEACEFUL HOUR."

HAIL, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful

hour!

Not dull art Thou as undiscerning Night;
But studious only to remove from sight
Day's mutable distinctions. Ancient Power!
Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains
lower,

To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest
Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest
On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower
Looked ere his eyes were closed.

seen

By him was

The self-same Vision which we now behold,
At thy meek bidding, shadowy Power! brought

forth;

These mighty barriers, and the gulf between ;
The flood,—the stars,— —a spectacle as old
As the beginning of the heavens and earth!

1815.

XVI.

"BROOK! WHOSE SOCIETY THE POET SEEKS."

BROOK! whose society the Poet seeks
Intent his wasted spirits to renew ;

And whom the curious Painter doth pursue Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks, And tracks thee dancing down thy waterbreaks;

If wish were mine some type of thee to view, Thee, and not thee thyself, I would not do Like Grecian artists, give thee human cheeks, Channels for tears; no Naiad shouldst thou be,Have neither limbs, feet, feathers, joints nor hairs;

It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee With purer robes than those of flesh and blood, And hath bestowed on thee a safer good; Unwearied joy, and life without its cares.

1815.

XVII.

66 SURPRISED BY JOY-IMPATIENT AS THE

WIND."

SURPRISED by joy-impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport-Oh! with
whom

But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee?-Through what

power,

Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind