PROEM DEDICATORY. AN EPISTLE FROM MOUNT TMOLUS. TO RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 1. O FRIEND, were you but couched on Tmolus' side, In the warm myrtles, in the golden air Of the declining day, which half lays bare, Half drapes, the silent mountains and the wide Embosomed vale, that wanders to the sea; And the far sea, with doubtful specks of sail, And farthest isles, that slumber tranquilly Beneath the Ionian autumn's violet veil; (7) Were you but with me, little were the need Of this imperfect artifice of rhyme, Where the strong Fancy peals a broken chime Or blessing, which has clung to me from birth Comes up to me from the illustrious earth II. Unto mine eye, less plain the shepherds be, Down from their summer pastures - than the twain Immortals, who on Tmolus' thymy top Sang, emulous, the rival strain ! Down the charmed air did light Apollo drop; |