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WEET are the harmonies of Spring;

sweet is the Summer's evening gale,
and sweet the autumnal winds that shake

the many-colour'd grove.
And pleasant to the sober'd soul
the silence of the wintry scene,
when nature shrouds herself, entranced

in deep tranquillity.
Not undelightful now to roam
the wild heath sparkling on the sight;
not undelightful now to pace

the forest's ample rounds;
and see the spangled branches shine,
and mark the moss of many a hue
that varies the old tree's brown bark,

or o'er the grey stone spreads;
and mark the clustered berries bright
amid the holly's gay green leaves;
the ivy round the leafless oak
that clasps its foliage close.




O up and watch the new-born rill


streaking the heath-clad hill

with a bright emerald thread.
Canst thou her bold career foretel,
what rocks she shall o’erleap or rend,
how far in Ocean's swell

her freshening billows send?
Perchance that little brook shall flow
the bulwark of some mighty realm,
bear navies to and fro

with monarchs at their helm. Or canst thou guess, how far away some sister nymph, beside her urn reclining night and day,

'mid reeds and mountain fern,

nurses her store, with thine to blend
when many a moor and glen are past,
then in the wide sea end
their spotless lives at last?

J. KEBLE 299

H! sacred Memory, tablet of the heart,

thou breathing shadow of departed days,
still ever prompt to wake the slumb’ring smart,

and backward lure the visionary gaze; thou tellest but of scenes that melted by

are vanished now, like wreaths of winter snow; the tear of sorrow gems thy lucid eye, and yet, so beauteous is thy garb of

we love thee still and clasp thy fond regret,
too tender to renounce, too pleasing to forget!
why should Mem'ry weep, that frowning truth

so early chased the mockeries of delight,
the idle dreams that flushed the cheek of youth,

and glittered baneful on the dazzled sight?
She hath not murdered Hope, though distant far,

and trembling at her voice, with drooping plume, gay Fancy flies; nor quenched that better star,

whose radiant orb can cheer the wintry gloom, where sacred Virtue rears her hallowed nest, there Peace shall linger still, companion of the breast.


WEET Iser! were thy sunny realm,

thy waters I would shade with elm

to prop the tender vine;
my golden flagons I would fill
with rosy draughts from every hill ;

and, under every myrtle bower,
my gay companions should prolong
the laugh, the revel and the song,

to many an idle hour.
Like rivers crimsoned with the beam

of yonder planets bright,
our balmy cups should ever stream

profusion of delight;

no care should touch the mellow heart,
and sad or sober none depart;

for wine can triumph over woe;
and Love and Bacchus, brother powers,
could build in Iser's sunny bowers
a paradise below.




ET us quit the leafy harbour,

by ;

for the sun is in his harbour,
weary of the open sky.
Summer ebbs ;-each day that follows
is a reflux from on high,
tending to the darksome hollows
where the frosts of winter lie.
He who governs the creation,
in his providence, assigned
such a gradual declination
to the life of human kind.
Yet we mark it not ;-fruits redden,
fresh flowers blow, as flowers have blown,
and the heart is loth to deaden
hopes that she so long hath known.
Be thou wiser, youthful Maiden !
and when thy decline shall come,
let not flowers, or boughs fruit-laden,
hide the knowledge of thy doom.


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O Queen of numbers, once again

animate some chosen swain,
who, filled with unexhausted fire,
may boldly smite the sounding lyre ;
who with some new unequalled song
may rise above the rhyming throng ;
o'er all our listening passions' reign,
o’erwhelm our souls with joy and pain,
with terror shake, and pity move,
rouse with revenge, or melt with love;

O deign to attend his evening walk,
with him in groves and grottoes talk ;
teach him to scorn with frigid art
feebly to touch the unraptured heart ;
like lightning, let his mighty verse
the bosom's inmost foldings pierce ;
with native beauties win applause
beyond cold critics' studied laws;
Olet each Muse's fame increase,
O bid Britannia rival Greece!




OR Thou wert born of woman! Thou didst come,

not in Thy dread omnipotent array;

and not by thunders strewed

was Thy tempestuous road;
nor indignation burnt before Thee on Thy way.

But Thee, a soft and naked child,

thy mother undefiled,
in the rude manger laid to rest

from off her virgin breast.

The heavens were not commanded to prepare
a gorgeous canopy of golden air ;
nor stooped their lamps th' enthroned fires on high :

a single silent star

came wandering from afar, gliding unchecked and calm along the liquid sky;

the Eastern Sages leading on

as at a kingly throne
to lay their gold and odours sweet

before Thy infant feet.

304 The Earth and Ocean were not hushed to hear

bright harmony from every starry sphere;
nor at Thy presence brake the voice of song

from all the cherub choirs,

and seraphs' burning lyres, pour'd thro’ the host of heaven the charmed clouds

along. F. S. II.


One angel troop the strain began,

of all the race of man
by single shepherds heard alone

that soft Hosanna's tone.

And when Thou didst depart, no car of flame
to bear Thee hence in lambent radiance came;
nor visible Angels mourned with drooping plumes :

nor didst Thou mount on high

from fatal Calvary with all Thine own redeemed outbursting from their tombs :

for Thou didst bear away from earth

but one of human birth,
the dying felon by Thy side, to be
in Paradise with Thee.


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'HE time admits not flowers or leaves

to deck the banquet. Fiercely flies the blast of North and East, and ice makes daggers at the sharpen'd eaves,

and bristles all the brakes and thorns

to yon hard crescent, as she hangs

above the wood which grides and clangs its leafless ribs and iron horns

together, in the drifts that pass

to darken on the rolling brine

that breaks the coast. But fetch the wine,
arrange the board and brim the glass;
bring in great logs and let them lie,

to make a solid core of heat;

be cheerful-minded, talk and treat of all things, ev'n as he were by ;

we keep the day. With festal cheer,

with books and music surely we

will drink to him whate'er he be, and sing the songs he loved to hear.


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