That bloom was made to look at, not to touch, To worship, not approach, that radiant white And well might sudden vengeance light on such
As dared, like thee, most impiously to bite. Thou shouldst have gazed at distance and admired Murmured thy adoration and retired.
Thou'rt welcome to the town-but why come here To bleed a brother poet, gaunt like thee? Alas! the little blood I have is dear,
And thin will be the banquet drawn from me. Look round-the pale-eyed sisters in my cell, Thy old acquaintance, Song and Famine, dwell.
Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood Enriched by generous wine and costly meat; On well-filled skins, sleek as thy native mud,
Fix thy light pump and press thy freckled feet: Go to the men for whom, in ocean's halls, The oyster breeds, and the green turtle sprawls.
There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows To fill the swelling veins for thee, and now The ruddy cheek and now the ruddier nose Shall tempt thee, as thou flittest round the brow; And, when the hour of sleep its quiet brings, No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings.
"I BROKE THE SPELL THAT HELD ME LONG."
I BROKE the spell that held me long, The dear, dear witchery of song. I said, the poet's idle lore
Shall waste my prime of years no more, For Poetry, though heavenly born, Consorts with poverty and scorn.
I broke the spell--nor deemed its power Could fetter me another hour. Ah, thoughtless! how could I forget Its causes were around me yet? For wheresoe'er I looked, the while, Was nature's everlasting smile.
Still came and lingered on my sight
of flowers and streams the bloom and light,
And glory of the stars and sun;—
And these and poetry are one.
They, ere the world had held me long,
Recalled me to the love of song.
THE CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS.
I WOULD not always reason.
Wearies us with its never-varying lines,
And we grow melancholy. I would make Reason my guide, but she should sometimes sit Patiently by the way-side, while I traced
The mazes of the pleasant wilderness
Around me. But not my tyrant. For the spirit needs Impulses from a deeper source than hers, And there are motions, in the mind of man, That she must look upon with awe. I bow Reverently to her dictates, but not less Hold to the fair illusions of old time- Illusions that shed brightness over life, And glory over nature. Look, even now, Where two bright planets in the twilight meet, Upon the saffron heaven,--the imperial star Of Jove, and she that from her radiant urn Pours forth the light of love. Let me believe, Awhile, that they are met for ends of good, Amid the evening glory, to confer
She should be my counsellor,
Of men and their affairs, and to shed down
Kind influence. Lo! their orbs burn more bright,
CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS.
And shake out softer fires!
The gladness and the quiet of the time. Meekly the mighty river, that infolds
This mighty city, smooths his front, and far Glitters and burns even to the rocky base
Of the dark heights that bound him to the west; And a deep murmur, from the many streets, Rises like a thanksgiving. Put we hence Dark and sad thoughts awhile-there's time for them Hereafter-on the morrow we will meet,
With melancholy looks, to tell our griefs, And make each other wretched; this calm hour, This balmy, blessed evening, we will give To cheerful hopes and dreams of happy days, Born of the meeting of those glorious stars.
Enough of drought has parched the year, and scared The land with dread of famine. Autumn, yet, Shall make men glad with unexpected fruits. The dog-star shall shine harmless; genial days Shall softly glide away into the keen
And wholesome cold of winter; he that fears The pestilence, shall gaze on those pure beams, And breathe, with confidence, the quiet air.
Emblems of power and beauty! well may they Shine brightest on our borders, and withdraw Towards the great Pacific, marking out The path of empire. Thus, in our own land, Ere long, the better Genius of our race,
CONJUNCTION OF JUPITER AND VENUS.
Having encompassed earth, and tamed its tribes, Shall sit him down beneath the farthest west, By the shore of that calm ocean, and look back On realms made happy.
the glad, yet solemn rite, that knits The youth and maiden. Happy days to them That wed this evening!—a long life of love, And blooming sons and daughters! Happy they Born at this hour,--for they shall see an age Whiter and holier than the past, and go
Late to their graves. Men shall wear softer hearts,
And shudder at the butcheries of war,
As now at other murders.
Enough of blood has wet thy rocks, and stained Thy rivers; deep enough thy chains have worn Their links into thy flesh; the sacrifice
Of thy pure maidens, and thy innocent babes, And reverend priests, has expiated all
Thy crimes of old. In yonder mingling lights There is an omen of good days for thee.
Thou shalt arise from 'midst the dust and sit Again among the nations.
Thine own arm
Not in wars like thine
Be it a strife of kings,
Despot with despot battling for a throne,
And Europe shall be stirred throughout her realms,
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