SLEEP AND POETRY. WHAT is more gentle than a wind in summer? What is more soothing than the pretty hummer 5 IO Light hoverer around our happy pillows! Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows! Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses! 15 Most happy listener! when the morning blesses That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise. But what is higher beyond thought than thee? 20 Fresher than berries of a mountain tree? Hunt (see Appendix) pronounces this the best poem in the book, with his usual excellent critical perception. More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more regal, It has a glory, and nought else can share it : 25 Of all the secrets of some wond'rous thing 30 That breathes about us in the vacant air; So that we look around with prying stare, Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial lymning, And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning; 35 That is to crown our name when life is ended. Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice, And from the heart up-springs, rejoice! rejoice! 40 No one who once the glorious sun has seen, For his great Maker's presence, but must know O Poesy! for thee I hold my pen 45 Of thy wide heaven-Should I rather kneel Upon some mountain-top until I feel 50 A glowing splendour round about me hung, And echo back the voice of thine own tongue? O Poesy! for thee I grasp my pen That am not yet a glorious denizen Of thy wide heaven; yet, to my ardent prayer, The o'erwhelming sweets, 'twill bring to me the fair Will be elysium-an eternal book Whence I may copy many a lovely saying About the leaves, and flowers-about the playing Of nymphs in woods, and fountains; and the shade 55 60 65 70 Through its lone vales; and where I found a spot 75 Or a green hill o'erspread with chequer'd dress 80 Of flowers, and fearful from its loveliness, (74) In the original, meander with a small m. 85 Stop and consider! life is but a day; A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way O for ten years, that I may overwhelm In long perspective, and continually Taste their pure fountains. First the realm I'll pass Of Flora, and old Pan: sleep in the grass, 90 95 100 Feed upon apples red, and strawberries, And choose each pleasure that my fancy sees; Catch the white-handed nymphs in shady places, 105 To woo sweet kisses from averted faces,— Play with their fingers, touch their shoulders white As hard as lips can make it: till agreed, A lovely tale of human life we'll read. And one will teach a tame dove how it best ΠΙΟ 115 Through almond blossoms and rich cinnamon; Till in the bosom of a leafy world We rest in silence, like two gems upcurl'd In the recesses of a pearly shell. 120 And can I ever bid these joys farewell? Where I may find the agonies, the strife O'ersailing the blue cragginess, a car And steeds with streamy manes—the charioteer And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly 125 Along a huge cloud's ridge; and now with sprightly 130 Tipt round with silver from the sun's bright eyes. In breezy rest among the nodding stalks. The charioteer with wond'rous gesture talks To the trees and mountains; and there soon appear 135 Passing along before a dusky space Made by some mighty oaks: as they would chase 140 Some ever-fleeting music on they sweep. Lo! how they murmur, laugh, and smile, and weep: Some with their faces muffled to the ear Between their arms; some, clear in youthful bloom, 145 Some looking back, and some with upward gaze; Flit onward-now a lovely wreath of girls 150 |