VII.

As Conscience, to the centre

Of Being, smites with irresistible pain,
So shall a solemn cadence, if it enter

The mouldy vaults of the dull Idiot's brain,
Transmute him to a wretch from quiet hurled -
Convulsed as by a jarring din;

And then aghast, as at the world
Of reason partially let in

By concords winding with a sway
Terrible for sense and soul!

Or, awed he weeps, struggling to quell dismay.
Point not these mysteries to an Art

Lodged above the starry pole;

Pure modulations flowing from the heart

Of divine Love, where Wisdom, Beauty, Truth, With Order dwell, in endless youth?

Oblivion may not cover

VIII.

All treasures hoarded by the Miser, Time.
Orphean Insight! Truth's undaunted Lover,
To the first leagues of tutored passion climb,
When Music deigned within this grosser sphere
Her subtle essence to enfold,

And Voice and Shell drew forth a tear
Softer than Nature's self could mould.
Yet strenuous was the infant Age;
Art, daring because souls could feel,
Stirred nowhere but an urgent equipage
Of rapt imagination sped her march
Through the realms of woe and weal:
Hell to the lyre bowed low; the upper arch
Rejoiced that clamorous spell and magic verse
Her wan disasters could disperse.

IX.

The GIFT to King Amphion

That walled a city with its melody

Was for belief no dream: thy skill, Arion!
Could humanize the creatures of the sea,

Where men were monsters. A last grace he craves,
Leave for one chant;-the dulcet sound
Steals from the deck o'er willing waves,
And listening Dolphins gather round.
Self-cast, as with a desperate course,
'Mid that strange audience, he bestrides
A proud One docile as a managed horse;
And singing, while the accordant hand
Sweeps his harp, the Master rides;

So shall he touch at length a friendly strand,
And he, with his Preserver, shine star-bright
In memory, through silent night.

X.

The pipe of Pan, to Shepherds

Couched in the shadow of Menalian Pines,

Was passing sweet; the eyeballs of the Leopards,
That in high triumph drew the Lord of vines,
How did they sparkle to the cymbal's clang!
While Fauns and Satyrs beat the ground

In cadence, and Silenus swang

This way and that, with wild-flowers crowned.
To life, to life give back thine Ear:

Ye who are longing to be rid

Of Fable, though to truth subservient, hear
The little sprinkling of cold earth that fell
Echoed from the coffin lid;

The Convict's summons in the steeple knell.
"The vain distress-gun," from a leward shore,
Repeated heard, and heard no more!

XI.

For terror, joy, or pity,

Vast is the compass, and the swell of notes;
From the Babe's first cry to voice of regal City,
Rolling a solemn sea-like bass, that floats

Far as the woodlands - with the trill to blend

Of that shy Songstress, whose love-tale

Might tempt an Angel to descend,

While hovering o'er the moonlight vale.
O for some soul-affecting scheme

Of moral music, to unite

Wanderers whose portion is the faintest dream

Of memory! O that they might stoop to bear
Chains, such precious chains of sight

As labored minstrelsies through ages wear!

O for a balance fit the truth to tell

Of the Unsubstantial, pondered well!

By one pervading Spirit

XII.

Of Tones and numbers all things are controlled,
As Sages taught, where faith was found to merit

Initiation in that mystery old.

The Heavens, whose aspect makes our minds as still As they themselves appear to be,

Innumerable voices fill

With everlasting harmony;

The towering Headlands, crowned with mist,

Their feet among the billows, know

That Ocean is a mighty harmonist;

Thy pinions, universal Air,

Ever waving to and fro,

Are delegates of harmony, and bear

Strains that support the Seasons in their round:

Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.

XIII.

Bread forth into thanksgiving,

Ye banded Instruments of wind and chords;

Unite, to magnify the Ever-living,

Your inarticulate notes with the voice of words!

Nor hashed be service from the loving mead,

Nor mute the forest hum of noon;

Thou too be heard, lone Eagle! freed
From snowy peak and cloud, attune
Thy hungry barkings to the hyınn
Of joy, that from her utmost walls
The six-days' Work, by flaming Seraphim,
Transmits to Heaven! As Deep to Deep
Shouting through one valley calls,

All worlds, all natures, mood and measure keep
For praise and ceaseless gratulation, poured
Into the ear of God, their Lord!

XIV.

A Voice to Light gave Being;

To Time, and Man his earth-born Chronicler;
A Voice shall finish doubt and dim foreseeing,

And sweep away life's visionary stir;

The Trumpet (we, intoxicate with pride,
Arm at its blast for deadly wars)

To archangelic lips applied,

The grave shall open, quench the stars.

O Silence! are Man's noisy years

No more than moments of thy life?

Is Harmony, blest Queen of smiles and tears,
With her smooth tones and discords just,

Tempered into rapturous strife,

Thy destined Bond-slave? No! though Earth be dust
And vanish, though the Heavens dissolve, her stay
Is in the WORD, that shall not pass away.

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.

SHE was a Phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;

Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature, not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

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