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10.

The pipe of Pan, to shepherds

Couched in the shadow of Monalian pines,
Was passing sweet; the eyeballs of the leopards,
That in high triumph drew the Lord of vines,
How did they sparkle to the cymbal's clang!
While Fauns and Satyrs beat the ground
In cadence, and Silenus swang

This way and that, with wild-flowers crowned.
To life, to life give back thine ear:
Ye who are longing to be rid

Of Fable, though to truth subservient, hear
The little sprinkling of cold earth that fell
Echoed from the coffin lid;

The convict's summons in the steeple's knell.
"The vain distress-gun," from a leeward shore,
Repeated-heard, and heard no more!

For terror, joy, or pity,

11.

Vast is the compass and the swell of notes:
From the babe's first cry to voice of regal city,
Rolling a solemn sea-like bass, that floats
Far as the woodlands-with the trill to blend
Of that shy songstress, whose love-tale
Might tempt an angel to descend,
While hovering o'er the moonlight vale.

Ye wandering Utterances, has earth no scheme,
No scale of moral music-to unite

Powers that survive but in the faintest dream
Of memory?-O that ye might stoop to bear
Chains, such precious chains of sight

As laboured minstrelsies through ages wear!
O for a balance fit the truth to tell

Of the Unsubstantial, pondered well!

By one pervading spirit

12.

Of tones and numbers all things are controlled, As sages taught, where faith was found to merit Initiation in that mystery old.

The heavens, whose aspect makes our minds as still

As they themselves appear to be,
Innumerable voices fill

With everlasting harmony;

The towering headlands, crowned with mist,

Their feet among the billows, know

That Ocean is a mighty harmonist;

Thy pinions, universal Air,

Ever waving to and fro,

Are delegates of harmony, and bear

Strains that support the Seasons in their round;

Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound.

13.

Break forth into thanksgiving,

Ye banded instruments of wind and chords;
Unite, to magnify the Ever-living,

Your inarticulate notes with the voice of words!
Nor hushed be service from the lowing mead,

Nor mute the forest hum of noon;

Thou too be heard, lone eagle! freed
From snowy peak and cloud, attune
Thy hungry barkings to the hymn
Of joy, that from her utmost walls
The six-days' Work, by flaming Seraphim,
Transmits to Heaven! As Deep to Deep
Shouting through one valley calls,

All worlds, all natures, mood and measure keep
For praise and ceaseless gratulation, poured
Into the ear of God, their Lord!

14.

A Voice to Light gave Being;

To Time, and Man his earth-born Chronicler;
A Voice shall finish doubt and dim foreseeing,
And sweep away life's visionary stir ;

The trumpet (we, intoxicate with pride,
Arm at its blast for deadly wars)
To archangelic lips applied,

The grave shall open, quench the stars.

O Silence! are Man's noisy years
No more than moments of thy life?

Is Harmony, blest queen of smiles and tears,
With her smooth tones and discords just,
Tempered into rapturous strife,

Thy destined bond-slave? No! though earth be dust

And vanish, though the heavens dissolve, her

stay

Is in the WORD, that shall not pass away.

1823.

TO THE SONS OF BURNS,

AFTER VISITING THE GRAVE OF THEIR FATHER

"The Poet's grave is in a corner of the churchyard. We looked at it with melancholy and painful reflections, repeating to each other his own verses

"Is there a man whose judgment clear,' &c." Extract from the Journal of my Fellow-traveller.

'MID crowded obelisks and urns

I sought the untimely grave of Burns;
Sons of the Bard, my heart still mourns
With sorrow true;

And more would grieve, but that it turns
Trembling to you!

Through twilight shades of good and ill
Ye now are panting up life's hill,

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