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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,
In darkness, and with danger compassed round,
And solitude.

PARADISE LOST.

Trained in the Hebrew schools, and from their well
Drawing deep draughts, came Milton; prophet, fired
With kindred ardour, and, if less inspired,

Not less poetic. His the notes that swell
Angelic anthems: powers, in heaven that dwell,
Breathe life around him high his genius towers
With Satan, warring now 'gainst heavenly powers,
And now triumphant on the throne of hell.

Clad in sublimity of daring thought,

Yet could he wreath, at will, his harp with flowers,
Lovely as Eve in Eden, mid the bowers

Of primal innocence. Such beauty, fraught
With sweet attractive grace and softness, ne'er
Tempered before such majesty austere.

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,
Chance-fed, and hovel-sheltered, Time hath crowned
Immortal among men.

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;
She quenched his sight, but gave strains divine.

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;
Chaste Dian, huntress of the sylvan plain,
Mars, Venus, Saturn, Pluto's gloomy reign;

The myriad forms, that, peopling earth and air,
Unseen yet present, rule o'er earth and main,
Whose adverse aid contending armies share;
These fired my fancy, wrapt in visions high
Of warring Gods, and councils of the sky.

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,
Thy world, O Chivalry! till then unknown;
Romance and knightly faith, the valour shown
On mortal and immortal foes; the blaze

Of that fierce fire, which burned in elder days,

And still, though softened, wide o'er earth hath thrown
Bright sparkles of high honour, that atone,

Haply, for deeds else winning little praise;
Wild deeds of frantic passion, war, and strife,
By reckless valour waged, in scorn of life.
Nor less 'twas his on gentler themes to dwell

Of tender love, the bard, whose heart aspired
To match with prince's blood, till passion fired
His soul to madness in his narrow cell.

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Would that my verse were worthier, while I sing
Thy praise, O Shakspeare! so thine ear might lend
No unpleased audience, while my numbers blend
Thy wood notes wild, with sounds that faintly ring
From feebler harps. Thou, e'en in wildest mood,
Art still to nature true, thy mind imbued
With inbred wisdom: not earth's sagest pen
More true to life, than thy pervading ken,

That glanced o'er earth, and all its movements view'd.
The many-branching maze of human thought
To thee lay open; thy keen eye had caught
Each subtle turn, and all its paths pursued ;

Till highest truths, in richest fancy drest,
Lived in each thought, and all thy soul possest.

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Not greatly did he err, the priest, who said
His Bible, and thy page to him sufficed,

Shakspeare! for knowledge: other books he prized, But these were peerless; these he daily read

For truths, divine and human; well advised
That wisdom here, as at the fountain head,

Her pure streams poured, her richest verdure spread.
Bright child of fancy! sporting on the verge
Of utmost sense, 'tis thine, at will, to stray,
Familiar through all bounds, nor lose thy way;
Or, haply lost, yet quickly to emerge
From seeming darkness to unclouded day;
Broad as man's nature, thy capacious soul
Surveyed all worlds, and harmonized the whole.

POPE.

Late, very late, correctness was our care-
E'en copious Dryden knew not, or forgot,
The last and greatest art, the art to blot.
IMITATIONS OF HORACE.

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
Of giant genius, in their stead we trace

No pigmy brood; and Pope o'er these may claim
Justly preeminence. With judgment clear,
Bright wit, and satire keen, if daring thought
And lofty fancy less in him appear,

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.

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