Currents of the restless heart; Household worlds, no more depart. H. W. LONGFELLOW. SONNET. THE world is too much with us; late and soon, We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathéd horn. WORDSWORTH. HOMER. THE poet, child of heavenly birth, The old, blind minstrel on the shore On wing of swan the holy flame Rose to the music of the Sea. From the German of STOLBERG. THE DESCENT OF NEPTUNE. THERE sat he high retired from the seas; There was his palace in the deep sea-water, The sea-beasts from the depths rise under him From HOMER: Iliad vi. THE BIRTH OF VENUS. THE Ocean stood like crystal. The soft air Stirred not the glassy waves, but sweetly there Had rocked itself to slumber. The blue sky Leaned silently above, and all its high And azure-circled roof, beneath the wave Was imaged back, and seemed the deep to pave With its transparent beauty. While between The waves and sky, a few white clouds were seen Floating upon their wings of feathery gold, As if they knew some charm the universe enrolled. A holy stillness came, while in the ray May well revere the hour of that mysterious birth. SONG. LOVE still hath something of the sea They are becalmed in clearest days, They wither under cold delays, One while they seem to touch the port, Then straight into the main Some angry wind in cruel sport The vessel drives again. At first, disdain and pride they fear, |