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1375.-HYMN TO INTELLECTUAL
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit
fierce, My spirit! be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth; And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ?
Shelley.-Bom 1792, Died 1822.
The awful shadow of some unseen power
Floats, though unseen, among us—visiting
This various world with as inconstant wing As summer winds that creep from flower to
flower; Like moonbeams, that behind some piny
Each human heart and countenance,
Like clouds in starlight widely spread,
Like aught that for its grace may be
upon Of human thought or form, where art thou
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is
wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying ;
And the year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead
Of the dead cold year,
crawling, The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling
For the year ; The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
To his dwelling.
Of the dead cold year,
Shelley.-Born 1792, Died 1822.
Why dost thou pass away and leave our
state, This dim, vast vale of tears, vacant and
desolate ? Ask why the sunlight not for ever Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain
river; Why aught should fail and fade that once is
Such gloom ; why man has such a scope For love and hate, despondency and hope ?
No voice from somo sublimer world hath
ever To sage or poet these responses given ; Therefore the names of demon, ghost, and
heaven, Remain the records of their vain endeavourFrail spells, whose utter'd charm might not
avail to sever
Doubt, chance, and mutability.
driven, Or music by the night wind sent Through strings of some still instrument,
Or moonlight on a midnight stream, Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream. Love, hope, and self-esteem, like clouds
depart, And come, for some uncertain moments
That wax and wane in lover's eyes !
1374.—THE WIDOW BIRD.
A widow bird sate mourning for her love
Upon a wintry bough;
The freezing stream below.
There was no leaf upon the forest bare,
No flower upon the ground, And little motion in the air Except the mill-wheel's sound.
Shelley.—Born 1792, Died 1822.
Like darkness to a dying flame!
Depart not, lest the grave should be,
sped Through many a listening chamber, cave,
and ruin, And starlight wood, with fearful steps
pursuing Hopes of high talk with the departed dead. I callid on poisonous names with which our
youth is fed ;
When musing deeply on the lot
Sudden thy shadow fell on me
vow ? With beating heart and streaming eyes,
Virtue, how frail it is !
Friendship too rare !
For proud despair !
Whilst flowers are gay,
Make glad the day,
Shelley.-Born 1792, Died 1822.
I call the phantoms of a thousand hours
Outwatch'd with me the envious night : They know that never joy illumed my brow Unlink'd with hope that thou wouldst
That thou, ( awful loveliness,
express. The day becomes more solemn and serene
When noon is past; there is a harmony
In Autumn, and a lustre in its sky, Which through the summer is not heard nor
seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been !
Thus let thy power, which like the truth
Of nature on my passive youth
Its calm-to one who worships thee,
Whom, Spirit fair, thy spells did bind
Shelley.-Born 1792, Died 1822.
1377.--PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA. For many a coal-black tribe and cany spear, The hireling guards of Misraim's throne, were
there. From distant Cush they troop'd, a warrior
train, Siwah’s green isle and Senaar's marly plain : On either wing their fiery coursers check The parch'd and sinewy sons of Amalek ; While close behind, inured to feast on blood, Deck'd in Behemoth's spoils, the tall Shan
galla strode. 'Mid blazing helms and bucklers rough with
gold, Saw ye how swift the scythed chariots roll'd ? Lo, these are they whom, lords of Afric's
fates, Old Thebes hath pour'd through all her
hundred gates, Mother of armies ! How the emeralds
glow'd, Where, flush'd with power and vengeance,
Pharaoh rode! And stoled in white, those brazen wheels
before, Osiris' ark his swarthy wizards bore; And still responsive to the trumpet's cry, The priestly sistrum murmur'd-Victory! Why swell these shouts that rend the desert's
gloom ? Whom come ye forth to combat :-warriors,
whom? These flocks and herds--this faint and weary
trainRed from the scourge, and recent from the
chain ? God of the poor, the poor and friendless
save! Giver and Lord of freedom, help the slave! North, south, and west, the sandy whirlwinds
fly, The circling horns of Egypt's chivalry. On earth's last margin throng the weeping
train ; Their cloudy guide moves on :-" And must
we swim the main ?
1376.-MUTABILITY. The flower that smiles to-day
Tempts, and then flies ;
And strange and sad the whispering breezes
bore The groans of Egypt to Arabia's shore. Oh! welcome came the morn, where Israel
stood In trustless wonder by the avenging flood ! Oh! welcome came the cheerful morn, to
show The drifted wreck of Zoan's pride below! The mangled limbs of men-the broken carA few sad relics of a nation's war; Alas, how few! Then, soft as Elim's well, The precious tears of new-born freedom fell. And he, whose harden'd heart alike had
borne The house of bondage and the oppressor's
scorn, The stubborn slave, by hope's new beams
subdued, In faltering accents sobb’d his gratitude, Till kindling into warmer zeal, around The virgin timbrel waked its silver sound; And in fierce joy, no more by doubt supprest, The struggling spirit throbb'd in Miriam's
breast. She, with bare arms, and fixing on the sky The dark transparence of her lucid eye, Pour'd on the winds of heaven her wild sweet
harmony. “Where now," she sang, “ the tall Egyptian
spear? On's sunlike shield, and Zoan's chariot,
where? Above their ranks the whelming waters
spread. Shout, Israel, for the Lord hath triumphèd!” And every pause between, as Miriam sang, From tribe to tribe the martial thunder rang, And loud and far their stormy chorus
spread“ Shout, Israel, for the Lord hath
Bishop Heber:-Born 1783, Died 1826.
Down, safely down the uarrow pass they
tread; The beetling waters storm above their head; While far behind retires the sinking day, And fades on Edom's hills its latest ray.
Yet not from Israel fled the friendly light, Or dark to them or cheerless came the night. Still in their van, along that dreadful road, Blazed broad and fierce the brandish'd torch
of God. Its meteor glare a tenfold lustre gave On the long mirror of the rosy wave; While its blest beams a sunlike heat supply, Warm every cheek, and dance in every
eyeTo them alone-for Misraim's wizard train Invoke for light their monster-gods in vain; Clouds heap'd on clouds their struggling sight
confine, And tenfold darkness broods above their line. Yet on they fare by reckless vengeance led, And range unconscious through the ocean's
bed ; Till midway now,
—that strange and fiery form Show'd his dread visage lightning through
the storm ; With withering splendour blasted all their
might, And brake their chariot wheels, and marr'd
their coursers' flight. “Fly, Misraim, fly!” The ravenous foods
they see, And, fiercer than the floods, the Deity. “Fly, Misraim, fly!” From Edom's coral
strand Again the prophet stretch'd his dreadful
wand. With one wild crash tho thundering waters
sweep, And all is waves—a dark and lonely deep ; Yet o'er those lonely waves such murmurs
past, As mortal wailing swell’d the nightly blast.
1378.–FROM BISHOP HEBER'S
If thou wert by my side, my love,
How fast would evening fail In green Bengala's palmy grove,
Listening the nightingale !
If thou, my love, wert by my side,
My babies at my knce, How gaily would our pinnace glide
O'er Gunga's mimic sea !
I miss thee at the dawning gray,
When on our deck reclined, In careless ease my limbs I lay,
And woo the cooler wind.
I miss thee when by Gunga's stream
My twilight steps I guide,
I miss thee from my side.
The lingering noon to cheer,
Thy meek attentive ear.
Beholds me on my knee,
Thy prayers ascend for me.
My course be onward still ;
O'er bleak Almorah's hill.
Nor wild Malwah detain ;
By yonder western main.
Across the dark-blue sea ;
Bishop Heber.-Born 1783, Died 1826.
And winds our path through many a bower
Bishop Heber.—Born 1783, Died 1826.
1379.-AN EVENING WALK IN
BENGAL. Our task is done !-on Gunga's breast The sun is sinking down to rest ; And, moor'd beneath the tamarind bough, Our bark has found its harbour now. With furled sail and painted side, Behold the tiny frigate ride : Upon her deck, 'mid charcoal gleams, The Moslem's savoury supper steams ; While all apart, beneath the wood, The Hindoo cooks his simpler food.
Come, walk with me the jungle through If yonder hunter told us true, Far off, in desert dank and rude, The tiger holds its solitude ; Now (taught by recent harm to shun The thunders of the English gun) A dreadful guest but rarely seen, Returns to scare the village green. Come boldly on; no venom'd snake Can shelter in so cool a brake Child of the sun, he loves to lie 'Midst nature's embers, parch'd and dry, Where o'er some tower in ruin laid, The peepul spreads its haunted shade ; Or round a tomb his scales to wreathe, Fit warder in the gate of Death. Come on; yet pause! Behold us now Beneath the bamboo's arched bough, Where, gemming oft that sacred gloom, Glows the geranium's scarlet bloom;
1380.-EFIPHANY. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine
aid ! Star of the East, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our infant Redeemer is liil
1382.-SPRING. When spring unlocks the flowers to paint the
laughing soil; When summer's balmy showers refresh the
mower's toil ; When winter binds in frosty chains the fallow
and the flood, In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his
Maker good. The birds that wake the morning, and those
that love the shade, The winds that sweep the mountain or lull the
drowsy glade, The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth
on his way, The moon and stars their Master's name in
silent pomp display. Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of
the skyShall man, alone unthankful, his little praise
seasons cease to be, Thee, Master, must we always love, and,
Saviour, honour thee. The flowers of spring may wither, the hope
of summer fade, The autumn droop in winter, the bird forsake
the shade, The winds be lull'd, the sun and moon forget
their old decree, But we, in nature's latest hour, O Lord, will
cling to thee !
Bishop Heber:-Born 1783, Died 1826.
1381.—THOU ART GONE TO THE
GRAVE. Thou art gone to the grave—we no longer
deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass
the tomb; The Saviour has passed through its portals
before thee, And the lamp of His love is thy guide
through the gloom. Thou art gone to the grave-we no longer
behold thee, Nor tread the rough path of the world by
thy side : But the wide arms of mercy are spread to
enfold thee, And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has
Thou art gone to tie grave-and, its mansion
forsaking, Perhaps thy tried spirit in doubt linger'd
long, But the sunshine of heaven beam'd bright on
thy waking, And the song which thou heard'st was the
seraphim's song. Thou art gone to the grave—but 'twere wrong
to deplore thee, When God was thy ransom, thy guardian,
thy guide; He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will
restore thee, Where death hath no sting, since the
Saviour hath died.
1383.—LINES WRITTEN IN THE
Nor Elias nor Moses appear;
gloom The abode of the dead and the place of the
tomb. Shall we build to Ambition ? Ah no! Affrighted, he shrinketh away;
For see, they would pin him below In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold
clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey.
To Beauty ? Ah no! she forgets The charms which she wielded before ;
Nor knows the foul worm that he frets The skin which but yesterday fools could
adore, For the smoothness it held or the tin twhich it wore.