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HARVARL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

46*227

CHARLES WHITTINGHAM,

LONDON.

I.

WHO

HO would the gentleness of Nature blame, Who to her favourite child,* as from a mart Exhaustless, gave of her poëtic art Dominion unconfined :-no second name Was his, to whom divine communions came Dwelling amidst his darkness-and apart His song, as from the altar of the heart, Like to a pure and sacramental flame Uprose to Heaven :—and if an heritage Remain still unappropriate, then shall he Claim it by right, upon whose princely page Are written deeds of love and chivalry; And Spenser's name, on fame's enduring stage Emblazon'd stand, amid the Immortal Three.

II.

AS

S erst on Mulla's banks a minstrel strung His harp to harmonies of high consent; Listening the strain, methought a stranger bent;† Across his brow the warrior's plume was flung, And as the bard of high achievements sung, And knightly deeds, a favouring smile he lent Upon that poet's gentle instrument, And on its faëry melodies still hung Detain'd; "With thy sweet harp and Rosalind Live thou content;" but lo! before the wind A pinnace with full sails and streamers gay Sweeps onward, bound to th' golden shores of Ind; He rose-and pointing to the western bay, "My path is with the sun-away (he cried), away."

* "In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid." GRAY. "The visits of Sir Walter Raleigh to Spenser at Kilcolman increase the interest attached to the place." C. Croker's South of Ireland, p. 110.

III.

and I will sing

END me
Thou gentlest spirit that didst ever dwell,
Where the sweet sisters by the Aonian well
Have built their silver bowers :-albeit thy lays
Were sung to deafen'd ears; thy cherish'd days
Wasted in courtly blandishments to swell
Inglorious pride, and cold neglect, that fell
Like cruel winter, withering half thy bays.
Oh! thou bright soul of peerless courtesy !
Yet the rich dowry of thy gentle mind,
And beauteous thoughts of genius unconfined,
With praise of noble deeds, shall never die;
Yea, rather to the hearts of all shall fly,
Who live, to works of highest fame, not blind.

IV.

O him descending down the vale of years,
With many friends he cherish'd, faithless found;
And cares of this hard world that cumber round
Our toilsome life, still blinded with the tears
Of opening youth, or manhood's cruel fears,
Which, like the vulture's angry talons, wound
The afflicted heart. How sweet on other ground
To tread, that in enchanted light appears
From fancy's golden wings! and now in sooth,
Led by the Muses' hand, 'tis his to see
Sweet forms of virtuous love, and tender ruth,
That never may on earth divided be;
And many a high heroic thought of truth,
Sung in immortal strains of poesy.

Benhall, July, 1839.

J. M.

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