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he Progress of Poesy

e live on high, and then
earth ye live again;

e souls ye left behind you

us, here, the way to find you,
your other souls are joying,
slumbered, never cloying.
your earth-born souls still speak
rtals, of their little week;
ir sorrows and delights;
ir passions and their spites;
ir glory and their shame;
doth strengthen and what maim.
ye teach us, every day,
m, though fled far away.

of Passion and of Mirth,
ve left your souls on earth!
ve souls in heaven too,

le-lived in regions new!

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John Keats [1795-1821]

HE PROGRESS OF POESY

A PINDARIC ODE

olian lyre, awake,

rapture all thy trembling strings.

con's harmonious springs

rills their mazy progress take:

ng flowers, that round them blow, and fragrance as they flow.

ch stream of music winds along

estic, smooth and strong,

erdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign:

g down the steep amain,

impetuous, see it pour;

and nodding groves rebellow to the roar.

eign of the willing soul,

weet and solemn-breathing airs,

g shell! the sullen Cares

tic Passions hear thy soft control.

On Thracia's hills the Lord of War

Has curbed the fury of his car,

And dropped his thirsty lance at thy command.
Perching on the sceptered hand

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king
With ruffled plumes and flagging wing:
Quenched in dark clouds of slumber lie
The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye.

Thee the voice, the dance, obey,

Tempered to thy warbled lay.

O'er Idalia's velvet-green

The rosy-crowned Loves are seen

On Cytherea's day,

With antic Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures,

Frisking light in frolic measures;

Now pursuing, now retreating,

Now in circling troops they meet:

To brisk notes in cadence beating,

Glance their many-twinkling feet.

Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare:
Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay.
With arms sublime, that float upon the air,
In gliding state she wins her easy way:

O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move

The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love.

Man's feeble race what ills await!

Labor, and Penury, the racks of Pain,

Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train,

And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate!

The fond complaint, my song, disprove,

And justify the laws of Jove.

Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse?

Night, and all her sickly dews,

Her specters wan, and birds of boding cry,
He gives to range the dreary sky:

Till down the eastern cliffs afar

Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of

war.

he Progress of Poesy

yond the solar road,

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gy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam,
as broke the twilight gloom

the shivering native's dull abode.
heath the odorous shade

oundless forests laid,

to hear the savage youth repeat
mbers wildly sweet

er-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves.
where'er the Goddess roves,

e and generous Shame,

querable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame.

t wave o'er Delphi's steep,

crown the Ægean deep,

hat cool Ilissus laves,

Mæander's amber waves g labyrinths creep,

your tuneful echoes languish, ut to the voice of anguish? h old poetic mountain on breathed around: de and hallowed fountain ed deep a solemn sound: d Nine, in Greece's evil hour, ir Parnassus for the Latian plains. scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, vard Vice, that revels in her chains. ium had her lofty spirit lost,

ht, O Albion! next thy sea-encircled coast.

n the sun and summer gale,

en lap was Nature's darling laid,

e, where lucid Avon strayed, the mighty mother did unveil

face: the dauntless child

forth his little arms, and smiled.

il take (she said), whose colors clear

int the vernal year:

these golden keys, immortal boy! inlock the gates of joy;

Of horror that, and thrilling fears,

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.

Nor second he, that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, The secrets of the abyss to spy.

He passed the flaming bounds of place and time: The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze,

Where Angels tremble while they gaze,

He saw; but, blasted with excess of light,

Closed his eyes in endless night.

Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car,

Wide o'er the fields of glory bear

Two coursers of ethereal race,

With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er,
Scatters from her pictured urn

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

But ah, 'tis heard no more!

O Lyre divine! what daring Spirit

Wakes thee now? Though he inherit

Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban Eagle bear,
Sailing with supreme dominion
Through the azure deep of air:

Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray,

With orient hues, unborrowed of the Sun:

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,

Beneath the Good how far-but far above the Great.

Thomas Gray [171 6—1771]

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Seaweed

ward in his wrath he scourges
The toiling surges,

n with seaweed from the rocks:

Bermuda's reefs; from edges
Of sunken ledges,

me far-off, bright Azore;

Bahama, and the dashing,
Silver-flashing

es of San Salvador;、

n the tumbling surf, that buries.
The Orkneyan skerries,
wering the hoarse Hebrides;

from wrecks of ships, and drifting
Spars, uplifting

[blocks in formation]

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