Poems 1817 | Page 3

the pillowy silkiness that rests?Full in the speculation of the stars.?Ah! surely he had burst our mortal bars;?Into some wond'rous region he had gone,?To search for thee, divine Endymion!
He was a Poet, sure a lover too,?Who stood on Latmus' top, what time there blew?Soft breezes from the myrtle vale below;?And brought in faintness solemn, sweet, and slow?A hymn from Dian's temple; while upswelling,?The incense went to her own starry dwelling.?But though her face was clear as infant's eyes,?Though she stood smiling o'er the sacrifice,?The Poet wept at her so piteous fate,?Wept that such beauty should be desolate:?So in fine wrath some golden sounds he won,?And gave meek Cynthia her Endymion.
Queen of the wide air; thou most lovely queen?Of all the brightness that mine eyes have seen!?As thou exceedest all things in thy shine,?So every tale, does this sweet tale of thine.?O for three words of honey, that I might?Tell but one wonder of thy bridal night!
Where distant ships do seem to show their keels,?Phoebus awhile delayed his mighty wheels,?And turned to smile upon thy bashful eyes,?Ere he his unseen pomp would solemnize.?The evening weather was so bright, and clear,?That men of health were of unusual cheer;?Stepping like Homer at the trumpet's call,?Or young Apollo on the pedestal:?And lovely women were as fair and warm,?As Venus looking sideways in alarm.?The breezes were ethereal, and pure,?And crept through half closed lattices to cure?The languid sick; it cool'd their fever'd sleep,?And soothed them into slumbers full and deep.?Soon they awoke clear eyed: nor burnt with thirsting,?Nor with hot fingers, nor with temples bursting:?And springing up, they met the wond'ring sight?Of their dear friends, nigh foolish with delight;?Who feel their arms, and breasts, and kiss and stare,?And on their placid foreheads part the hair.?Young men, and maidens at each other gaz'd?With hands held back, and motionless, amaz'd?To see the brightness in each others' eyes;?And so they stood, fill'd with a sweet surprise,?Until their tongues were loos'd in poesy.?Therefore no lover did of anguish die:?But the soft numbers, in that moment spoken,?Made silken ties, that never may be broken.?Cynthia! I cannot tell the greater blisses,?That follow'd thine, and thy dear shepherd's kisses:?Was there a Poet born?--but now no more,?My wand'ring spirit must no further soar.--
SPECIMEN OF AN INDUCTION TO A POEM.
Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry;?For large white plumes are dancing in mine eye.?Not like the formal crest of latter days:?But bending in a thousand graceful ways;?So graceful, that it seems no mortal hand,?Or e'en the touch of Archimago's wand,?Could charm them into such an attitude.?We must think rather, that in playful mood,?Some mountain breeze had turned its chief delight,?To show this wonder of its gentle might.?Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry;?For while I muse, the lance points slantingly?Athwart the morning air: some lady sweet,?Who cannot feel for cold her tender feet,?From the worn top of some old battlement?Hails it with tears, her stout defender sent:?And from her own pure self no joy dissembling,?Wraps round her ample robe with happy trembling.?Sometimes, when the good Knight his rest would take,?It is reflected, clearly, in a lake,?With the young ashen boughs, 'gainst which it rests,?And th' half seen mossiness of linnets' nests.?Ah! shall I ever tell its cruelty,?When the fire flashes from a warrior's eye,?And his tremendous hand is grasping it,?And his dark brow for very wrath is knit??Or when his spirit, with more calm intent,?Leaps to the honors of a tournament,?And makes the gazers round about the ring?Stare at the grandeur of the balancing??No, no! this is far off:--then how shall I?Revive the dying tones of minstrelsy,?Which linger yet about lone gothic arches,?In dark green ivy, and among wild larches??How sing the splendour of the revelries,?When buts of wine are drunk off to the lees??And that bright lance, against the fretted wall,?Beneath the shade of stately banneral,?Is slung with shining cuirass, sword, and shield??Where ye may see a spur in bloody field.?Light-footed damsels move with gentle paces?Round the wide hall, and show their happy faces;?Or stand in courtly talk by fives and sevens:?Like those fair stars that twinkle in the heavens.?Yet must I tell a tale of chivalry:?Or wherefore comes that knight so proudly by??Wherefore more proudly does the gentle knight,?Rein in the swelling of his ample might?
Spenser! thy brows are arched, open, kind,?And come like a clear sun-rise to my mind;?And always does my heart with pleasure dance,?When I think on thy noble countenance:?Where never yet was ought more earthly seen?Than the pure freshness of thy laurels green.?Therefore, great bard, I not so fearfully?Call on thy gentle spirit to hover nigh?My daring steps: or if thy tender care,?Thus startled unaware,?Be jealous that the foot of other wight?Should madly follow that bright path of light?Trac'd by thy lov'd Libertas; he will speak,?And tell thee that my prayer is very meek;?That I will