And honoured by the immortals be,
But chief, by Love and Poesy!
Phœbus, whose liquid light divine
Has laved the yellow eglantine*;
Bids in one splendid group combin'd,
Thy varying offspring be entwined;
O Rose! in all thy divers hues,
Exhaustless subject of the Muse;
Nor less shall Painting, sister-art,
Delight thy semblance to impart;
While union's magic power bestows
New charms to grace each rival rose!
AH! will those hours again return,
My joy, my bliss to prove;
Or must this heart for ever mourn
The object of its love?
Far o'er yon hills, in distant lands,
My thoughts with fondness rove;
Far o'er those hills I send my sighs,
To one I dearly love.
At evening's close, at parting day,
I watch the sun-bcam move,
That seeks the land so far away,
Where dwells my dearest love.
Not the Eglantine, commonly so called, but the Rosa eglanteriø
On the early Death of a young Lady's Linnet, which she had taken from the Nest.
THROUGH lowering clouds, with pallid beam,
The moon shot temporary light,
Now glittering on the rippled stream,
Now slowly fading from the sight;
The clock struck twelve-when twittering shrill,
Linnetta to the window flew ;
There thrice she pecked, with tiny bill,
Thrice, fluttering, brushed the evening dew.
Fair Sally waked, her favourite spyed,
And, throbbing, with impatient haste,
Forth from her downy couch she hied,
To lure the songster to her breast.
"Livest thou again ?" exclaimed the maid,
"Or does fond fancy paint thy form;
Or art thou but a fleeting shade,
That, reckless, views life's pelting storm ?"
"On airy wing," the bird replied,
"Swift as the lightening's flash I fly,
Henceforth to mortal touch denied,
I share the pure empyreal sky.
"Forth from that happy land I come,
Where shadows skim the fairy grove,
Those blissful scenes beyond the tomb,
Where all our life is joy and love.
"There happy pairs, in union sweet,
Enraptured, hail eternal day;
There in each bush a friend we meet,
A kindred soul on every spray.
"Fair maid! in those sequestered shades,
Where calm security presides,
No net the cruel sportsman spreads,
No deadly thundering tube he guides.
"And, mark me well, no thoughtless hand
Rashly invades the downy nest,
Rudely divides the kindred band,
And wrings with woe a parent's breast.
"My errand's done-the pearly tear
That trembling, glistens in thine eye,
Forbids my longer lingering here,
And speeds me to the Elysian sky."
INSCRIPTION,
FROM THE GREEK OF SIMONIDES.
O'ER the sad tomb where Sophocles is laid,
Spread, gentle ivy, spread thy pious shade:
Mid clustering vines, that solemu branches wave,
Ye roses! deck with hallow'd flowers his grave':
For when your bard, with sacred rapture fir'd,
To all the magic powers of song aspir'd,
Around him oft the listening Muses smil'd,
And the glad Graces hail'd their darling child.
RECOMMENDATION OF THE STUDY
OF THE REMAINS OF
ANCIENT GREĆIAN AND ROMAN
Architecture, Sculpture, and Painting; A Prize Poem,
RECITED IN THE THEATRE, OXFORD,
IN THE YEAR MDCCCVI.
[This composition was originally restricted to fifty lines;-a few relative to painting have been since added.]
THOUGH oft in Britain's isle the breathing bust
To fame consign the patriot-hero's dust,
And conquerors waked to mimic life again
In imaged triumph thunder o'er the main;
Though speaks each mould by Flaxman's genius wrought,
The glow of fancy, or the stretch of thought;
And grace obeys fair Damer's soft controul
Through many a varied lineament of soul;
Yet, oh! unlike each nobler Grecian form,
With strength majestic or with beauty warm,
Where all her mingling charms Expression poured,
Admired by Valour, or by Love adored!
Lo! where retiring Venus shuns the eye,
And beauty vies with bashful majesty !
There mortal charms in loveliest union shine,
And all the Goddess crowns the bright design.
Thou, too, half-hid beneath thy dripping veil
Of many a moistened tress, Urania, hail!
To thee that dubious mien the sculptor gave,
Fearing the shore, though shrinking from the wave.
Or see, where, graceful bending o'er his bow,
The quivered God's exulting features glow,
As, trusting to his arm's unerring might,
His look pursues the distant arrow's flight.
But shut, oh! shut the eye, where mid yon fold
Of crested snakes Laocoon writhes enrolled,
And drinks with tortured ear his childrens' cries,
Embittering death's convulsive agonies!
Rise, slumbering Genius, and with throbbing heart Adore these trophies of unrivalled art;
Till each fine grace that gifted Masters knew
In fairy vision floating o'er thy view,
Perfection crown once more the living stone,
And Britain claim a Phidias of her own.
Not such the hopes that bless th' enthusiast's dream,
While sad it wanders o'er each faded gleam,
That dimly shews to Painting's Muse was given
The sevenfold radiance of refulgent heaven,
When Genius stole the colours of the sun,
And poured them o'er the wreath that Valour won!
Then turn the eye, where, spurning Time's controul,
Art stamps on stone the triumphs of the soul:
With trembling awe survey each hallowed fane
Ennobling Greece mid Desolation's reign;
Each pillared portico and swelling dome,
Proud o'er the prostrate majesty of Rome!
While o'er the scene each mouldering temple throws,
Sacred to genius, undisturbed repose;
Thro' twilight's doubtful gloom his eye shall trace
The column's height enwreathed with clustering grace;
The light-arched roof, the portal stretching wide,
Triumphal monuments in armed pride;
Tili bold conceptions bursting on his heart,
His skill shall grasp the inmost soul of art;
And Fame's green isle her cloud-capt towers display,
Where grace and grandeur rule with equal sway.
JOHN WILSON, MAGDALEN COLLEGE.
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