V.

TO A FRIEND WHO SENT ME SOME ROSES.

As late I rambled in the happy fields,

What time the sky-lark shakes the tremulous dew
From his lush clover covert ;-when anew
Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields:
I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,

A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw
Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew
As is the wand that queen Titania wields.
And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,

I thought the garden-rose it far excell'd;
But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me,

My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd:

Soft voices had they, that with tender plea

Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness unequall'd.

VI.

TO G. A. W.

NYMPH of the downward smile and sidelong glance!
In what diviner moments of the day
Art thou most lovely? when gone far astray
Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance?
Or when serenely wand'ring in a trance

Of sober thought? Or when starting away,
With careless robe to meet the morning ray,
Thou sparest the flowers in thy mazy dance?
Haply 'tis when thy ruby lips part sweetly,

And so remain, because thou listenest:
But thou to please wert nurtured so completely
That I can never tell what mood is best,

I shall as soon pronounce which Grace more neatly
Trips it before Apollo than the rest.

VII.

O SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap

Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,—
Nature's observators—whence the dell,

Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,

May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep

'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.

But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,

Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refined,

Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,

When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

VIII.

TO MY BROTHERS.

SMALL, busy flames play through the fresh-laid coals, And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep Like whispers of the household gods that keep

A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.

And while, for rhymes, I search around the poles,
Your eyes are fix'd, as in poetic sleep,

Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That aye at fall of night our care condoles.
This is your birth-day, Tom, and I rejoice
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly:
Many such eves of gently whispering noise
May we together pass, and calmly try
What are this world's true joys,-ere the great Voice
From its fair face shall bid our spirits fly.

IX.

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER.

MUCH have I travell’d in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told

That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne :
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene

Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : Then felt I like some watcher of the skies

When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific-and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmiseSilent, upon a peak in Darien.