From scenes that Contemplation loved,―awoke

His genius into glorious play; he struck

The lyre,—a World admired, and wreathed his brow

With a fresh laurel of immortal fame ;

A thousand tongues grew eloquent for him ;

A thousand eyes would sparkle forth his praise;

And when amid the gazing throng he sat—
A happy hypocrite to charm the hour,

And not obstruct the flow of joy,—the dreams
Of young ambition brighten'd at his praise;
Alas! how often the o'erladen mind

Reliev'd its anguish in a glowing smile!-
Within that soul a secret blank remain’d,
Which admiration could not fill! alone,

No trusting heart, no gentle voice of love,

No happy faces round his evening hearth,

Were his to share; and what was brief renown?

A shade; and he?- -a Soul in solitude.

Epsom, October 18, 1828.

ON SEEING A CELEBRATED POET.

THE glorious creature !-by an idle lip

His name

was breathed, and, swift as sudden thought,

I turn'd to see the venerable bard;

Ladies and lords, and all the giddy throng
That glitter'd near, departed like a sound
By fleet wind ravish'd,―till he stood alone,
A sun in single glory! There he stood,

The lord of verse, and monarch of the lyre;
Whose thoughts had been a language to my soul,

Whose spirit had beatified my own!

166.

ON SEEING A CELEBRATED POET.

To Fashion's unreflecting eye, he look'd

Of second order, in the rank of men

Whose dress or outward dignity adorn ;

But, unto me,-immortal!—for his mind

Was that of angels, glowing with his God!
A poet, by that majesty of soul

Which princes might be proud to share,—a man
So mighty in himself, that Fortune seem'd
Too low to raise him: genius was his dower,
And oh! how grandly had he soar'd, and shone
High o'er the world,-till far beneath, he saw
Adoring Wonder lift her grateful eye!

The spirit beautified the form; and when

With awe delightful on the bard I gazed,

The soul within that breathing shrine incased,

Shed something godlike round his head, and brow

Uplifted, like a throne of thought.-The free

And simple joy, from fresh-wing'd mountain airs,

Romantic vales, and breezy woodlands caught,

Play'd o'er his features,-which were stamp'd with

mind:

A stranger would have said,—there stands a man
Familiar with the sounds of heaven, and scenes
Of earth! But in his eyes, so deeply dark,-
What spirit-meaning there! serenely bright
It beam'd, all radiant with divinest thought;
It was a poet's eye! before whose gaze

Of passion, Nature like a banquet spreads

Her beauties, clad with light, or cool'd by shade:

How burn'd that eye, when rock or mountain

claim'd

Its wonder,-when it scann'd the brow of heaven,

Magnificently hung with midnight worlds,

Or black with breeding tempest!-how it glow'd,
As oft he watch'd the thund'ring deep awake,

168

ON SEEING A CELEBRATED POET.

And heard the billows o'er his spirit roll,

Like echoes from eternity declared!—

And yet, his face no proud assumption clothed
With daunting thought; benignity and love
Were there; an infant would have joy'd to see
The smile of Childhood on the cheek of Age!

And this was he whom Glory crown'd her own! Soon might the shades of death eclipse those eyes, And silence lock those lips; but, in his page The mind would bloom for ever! Ages might Extinguish empires, warriors be forgot,

And temples moulder to primeval dust,

Still, he would live immortally sublime,

A heart whose feelings would o'erflow the world!

Such did the minstrel seem; and oh! forgive The weakness, if an emulative hope