38

A low dead Thunder mutter'd thro' the night, As 'twere a giant angry in his sleep-- Nature! sweet nurse, O take me in thy lap And tell me of my Father yet unseen, Sweet tales, and true, that lull me into sleep And leave me dreaming.

1811. First published from an MS. in 1893.

39

His own fair countenance, his kingly forehead, His tender smiles, Love's day-dawn on his lips, Put on such heavenly, spiritual light, At the same moment in his steadfast eye Were Virtue's native crest, th' innocent soul's Unconscious meek self-heraldry,--to man Genial, and pleasant to his guardian angel.

He suffer'd nor complain'd;--though oft with tears He mourn'd th' oppression of his helpless brethren,-- And sometimes with a deeper holier grief Mourn'd for the oppressor--but this in sabbath hours-- A solemn grief, that like a cloud at sunset, Was but the veil of inward meditation Pierced thro' and saturate with the intellectual rays It soften'd.

1812. First published (with many alterations of the MS.) in _Lit. Rem._, i. 277. First collected _P. and D. W._, 1887, ii. 364. Compare Teresa's speech to Valdez, _Remorse_, Act IV, Scene II, lines 52-63 (_ante_, p.

866).

40

[ARS POETICA]

In the two following lines, for instance, there is nothing objectionable, nothing which would preclude them from forming, in their proper place, part of a descriptive poem:--

'Behold yon row of pines, that shorn and bow'd Bend from the sea-blast, seen at twilight eve.'

But with a small alteration of rhythm, the same words would be equally in their place in a book of topography, or in a descriptive tour. The same image will rise into a semblance of poetry if thus conveyed:--

'Yon row of bleak and visionary pines, By twilight-glimpse discerned, mark! how they flee From the fierce sea-blast, all their tresses wild Streaming before them.'

1815. First published in _Biog. Lit._, 1817, ii. 18; 1847, ii. 20. First collected 1893.

41

TRANSLATION OF THE FIRST STROPHE OF PINDAR'S SECOND OLYMPIC

'_As nearly as possible word for word._'

Ye harp-controlling hymns!

(or)

Ye hymns the sovereigns of harps!

What G.o.d? what Hero?

What Man shall we celebrate?

Truly Pisa indeed is of Jove, But the Olympiad (or, the Olympic games) did Hercules establish, The first-fruits of the spoils of war.

But Theron for the four-horsed car That bore victory to him, It behoves us now to voice aloud: The Just, the Hospitable, The Bulwark of Agrigentum, Of renowned fathers The Flower, even him Who preserves his native city erect and safe.

1815. First published in _Biog. Lit._, 1817, ii. 90; 1847, ii. 93. First collected 1893.

42

O! Superst.i.tion is the giant shadow Which the solicitude of weak mortality, Its back toward Religion's rising sun, Casts on the thin mist of th' uncertain future.

1816. First published from an MS. in 1893.

43

TRANSLATION OF A FRAGMENT OF HERAc.l.i.tUS[1007:1]

Not hers To win the sense by words of rhetoric, Lip-blossoms breathing perishable sweets; But by the power of the informing Word Roll sounding onward through a thousand years Her deep prophetic bodements.

1816. First published in _Lit. Rem._, iii. 418, 419. First collected _P.

and D. W._, 1877, ii. 367.

44

Truth I pursued, as Fancy sketch'd the way, And wiser men than I went worse astray.

First published as Motto to Essay II, _The Friend_, 1818, ii. 37; 1850, ii. 27. First collected 1893.

45

IMITATED FROM ARISTOPHANES

(_Nubes_ 315, 317.)

e???a? ?ea? ??d??s?? ??????, a?pe? ????? ?a? d???e??? ?a? ???? ??? pa?????s?

?a? te?ate?a? ?a? pe???e??? ?a? ????s?? ?a? ?ata?????.

For the ancients . . . had their glittering VAPORS, which (as the comic poet tells us) fed a host of sophists.

Great G.o.ddesses are they to lazy folks, Who pour down on us gifts of fluent speech, Sense most sententious, wonderful fine _effect_, And how to talk about it and about it, Thoughts brisk as bees, and pathos soft and thawy.

1817. First published in _The Friend_, 1818, iii. 179; 1850, iii. 138.

First collected 1893.

46

Let clumps of earth, however glorified, Roll round and round and still renew their cycle-- Man rushes like a winged Cherub through The infinite s.p.a.ce, and that which has been Can therefore never be again----

1820. First published from an MS. in 1893.