POETIC INSPIRATION.

I.

The vision and the faculty divine.

WORDSWORTH.

Tis the prerogative of genius still

To waken imitation; to infuse

In others kindred feelings, and produce In all like ardour.

At the muses' rill

Not long I drink, delighted, ere the thrill
Of transport fires me. How can I refuse
When Homer calls, or Maro? Milton's muse
Speaks, monarch-like, with potency of will,

That brooks not question; Shakspeare's magic strain
Of deep enchantment, never heard in vain,
Wakes kindling thoughts; nor soon, nor long forgot,
Is Moore's bright fancy, Byron's stormful power,
Burns, Southey, Campbell, Crabbe, the minstrel Scott,
Nor Wordsworth, thoughtful in his rural bower.

II.

From heaven descends

The flame of genius to the human breast,
And love, and beauty, and poetic joy,
And Inspiration. AKENSIDE.

Hence not with borrowed lustre, but from fire
Self-kindled, in his own pure heart to burn,
The bard must warm his fancies; nor can turn
For aid to others' thoughts, who would aspire

To strike, with fearless hand, the living lyre.

The fountains of deep thought within, unsealed,
Must pour their treasures forth. Bright truths lie hid,
Pure, unadulterate, in depths concealed
Of self-confiding souls; and spring, unbid,
In music forth, to earnest hearts revealed,
That heed their promptings: not the parrot strain
Of mock-bird imitation, weak as vain ;

But truths of thought and feeling, such as rise,
Spontaneous springing in the good and wise.

III.

Yet was poetic impulse given

By the green hill, and clear blue heaven.

What wonder if, so nurtured mid the quire

SCOTT.

Of heaven-throned poets, my young hopes would fain Grasp kindred power, ambitious to attain The rare found honors of the sounding lyre. Not that my muse presumptuous dared aspire, In wildest dream, to swell the epic strain : The love of nature waked a gentler train

Of milder contemplations; while the fire

Of youthful feeling, warm in passion's glow,

Fused my rough verse, and taught its strains to flow. Lone walks in autumn, joyous sports in spring, Soft twilight's balmy breath, old ocean's roar, The wild wood's wilder music, and far more, Thy smile, O Beauty! taught my heart to sing.

IV.

Oft have I bade the Muse farewell;
And sought as oft her haunted cell;
Oft lingered, till her partial smile
Could grief assuage, and care beguile.

True liegeman of the Muse did ne'er proclaim
Her favours few, or worthless. Though on few
Her richest gifts she showers, to such is due
Justly the recompence of lasting fame.
Earth knows no splendour purer than the flame
That radiates from the brow of bard divine,
When, from the fount within, clear, sparkling, strong,
He pours o'er life's dull wastes the tide of song,

Yet not to such the muse's gifts confine,.

Nor deem to these alone her joys belong :

The ocean tides, on each wide shore that beat,
Have yet their smaller waves, and streams that fill
Each creek and inlet: haply some bright rill
May reach, at times, e'en this my far retreat.

FREE INQUIRY.

He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves beside.

COWPER.

Truth dwells with reason, in the pure clear light
Of free inquiry; Error in the den

Of power despotic, where the minds of men,
By force, by fraud, by superstition's might,

Are dwarfed, and dwindle from their native height.
Man's primal attribute, which tongue and pen
Alike should vindicate, is fearless thought.

All else is false, or worthless life is vain,

If custom, creed, opinion's galling chain,
Bow down the soul, with fear of change inwrought.
Force wounds the mind, worse than the body's pain,
With sense of wrong intolerable fraught.

Claim then, O man! as birthright of mankind,
Freedom of thought, and fearlessness of mind.

Doubts spring, full oft, with knowledge; and extend
Furthest in strongest minds; the minds that soar
Highest for truth, and subtlest thoughts explore :
Hence new inquiries, questions without end,
And doubts, still springing, as their issues tend
To adverse answers; marring oft the store
Of past acquirements, valued now no more,
Deemed false, uncertain, or of small avail.

Yet fear not thence the issue, so thy mind,
On truth intent, to virtue be inclined.
The winds of doubtful doctrine may assail
Truth's flexile branches; but the trunk and root
Gain strength by agitation, and the fruit,
Mid storms of error ripened, ne'er can fail.

THE BIRTH OF TRUTH.

I.

I will speak, that I may be relieved.

NOYES' JOB.

Who hath not felt, at times, his mind o'erwrought
With inbred agony of stirring thought;

With consciousness that Truth, pent up within,
Burns in his breast, like burthen of deep sin,
And must be forth? Though oft reproach and pain
Wait on the births of time, yet, in his brain,
The germ of nascent truth is struggling still
For form and utterance-moulding thought and will,
Unseen, deep felt, with nature's plastic power,
In darkness working sure; till lo! the hour
Predestined comes, when fire-eyed Truth to life
Springs, Pallas-like, all armed for instant strife;
For strife with error armed, the Titan brood
Of vice and folly, foiled, but unsubdued.

II.

Truth, like virtue, can be won

But by resolute endeavour :

Error's waves, that round her run,

Foam, and roar, but move her never :

Calm she stands, mid passion's shock,

Firm, unshaken as the rock.

Like giant sentinels, stand Fear and Doubt,

Ever at Truth's strong gates: who enters here Must Doubt subdue, nor shrink, o'ercome, by Fear; Else shall he dwell despairingly without,