Shed ever, at the setting sun's behest. Sublime, pathetic, lovely, deep infused With earnest thought, from earth's low bondage loosed, They rise, on wings of fire, to realms of rest. The touching tenderness of David, shown In grateful praise, or sorrow sore exprest For sinful deed; Job's high indignant tone Of injured virtue; Amoz' daring son, And he, who wept their woes at Babylon, I loved them all, all other bards unknown. MILTON. On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues, PARADISE LOST. Trained in the Hebrew schools, and from their well Not less poetic. His the notes that swell Clad in sublimity of daring thought, Yet could he wreath, at will, his harp with flowers, Of primal innocence. Such beauty, fraught HOMER. I. Oft from th' Ionian peasant did HE beg, Ay, beg, and was denied, the food and rest Frail nature craves: yet him, the rhapsodist, My young poetic reading was confined, Long time, to Homer, in the garb arrayed Of Pope's mellifluous English, where displayed, In glowing forms, the Grecian fire, combined, With modern art and manners more refined, Could charm at once and rouse me Greece and Troy In combat mingling on the Dardan plain, Æneas, Hector, the fond father's joy, The fair Andromache's presaging fear, Proud Agamemnon, base Thersites' vein, Wronged Menelaus, lovely Hellen's tear, Soft Paris flying, brave Sarpedon slain, Ulysses, Ajax, Nestor, Priam's age, Petroclus slaughtered, and Achilles' rage. II. Him partially the Muse And early loved, yet gave him good and ill; COWPER'S ODYSSEY. Nor less the Olympian powers my thoughts engage : Jove, Juno, Phoebus, Neptune's wide domain; Swart Vulcan, limping mid the glittering train Of throned divinities; Minerva sage, Alike with valour and deep thought imbued; The rolling Xanthus, with his billowy rage Ingulfing armies, yet by man subdued; The myriad forms, that, peopling earth and air, TASSO. Glory without end Scatters the clouds; and on that name attend The tears and praises of all time. BYRON. Tasso first opened, on my wondering gaze, Of that fierce fire, which burned in elder days, And still, though softened, wide o'er earth hath thrown Haply, for deeds else winning little praise; Of tender love, the bard, whose heart aspired Would that my verse were worthier, while I sing That glanced o'er earth, and all its movements view'd. Till highest truths, in richest fancy drest, Not greatly did he err, the priest, who said Shakspeare! for knowledge: other books he prized, But these were peerless; these he daily read For truths, divine and human; well advised Her pure streams poured, her richest verdure spread. POPE. Late, very late, correctness was our care- With rays refulgent, in the realms of fame, Shines Pope's bright star. Albeit not first in place, Yet high, among the mighty, stands that name, By few surpassed. What though there fail the race No pigmy brood; and Pope o'er these may claim His aim not less was worthy; wisely taught, "He stooped to truth, and moralized his song ;" And hence his muse, in strains that will not die, Breathes love of virtue, manly, generous, strong, With scorn for vice, though throned, or mitred high. 246324 |