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Starr'd from Jehovah's gorgeous armories,
Rings to the roar of an angel onset -
And bloom profuse and cedar arches
Charm, as a wanderer out in ocean,
And crimson-hued the stately palmwoods
O YOU chorus of indolent reviewers,
They should speak to me not without a welcome,
Hard, hard, hard is it, only not to tumble,
So fantastical is the dainty metre.
Wherefore slight me not wholly, nor believe me
O blatant Magazines, regard me rather
SPECIMEN OF A TRANSLATION OF THE ILIAE IN BLANK VERSE.
So Hector said, and sea-like roar'd his host;
And oxen from the city, and goodly sheep
Iliad 8. 542-561.
A LEGEND OF THE NAVY.
He that only rules by terror
Let him hear my song.
Brave the Captain was: the seamen
Made a gallant crew,
Gallant sons of English freemen,
But they hated his oppression,
So for every light transgression
† Or more literally
And eating hoary grain and pulse the steeds
Secret wrath like smother'd fuel
So they passed by capes and islands,
Sailing under palmy highlands
On a day when they were going
In the north. her canvas flowing,
Then the Captain's color heighten'd,
But a cloudy gladness lighten'd
In the eyes of each.
"Chase," he said: the ship flew forward,
Stately, lightly, went she Norward,
Then they look'd at him they hated,
Mute with folded arms they waited
Not a gun was fired.
But they heard the foeman's thunder
Roaring out their doom;
All the air was torn in sunder,
Crashing went the boom,
Spars were splinter'd, decks were shatter❜d, Bullets fell like rain;
Over mast and deck were scatter'd
Blood and brains of men.
Spars were splinter'd; decks were broken:
Each beside his gun.
On the decks as they were lying,
In their blood, as they lay dying,
Did they smile on him.
With one smile of still defiance
Shame and wrath his heart confounded,
Till himself was deadly wounded,
Falling on the dead.
COME not, when I am dead,
To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head,
And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by.
Child, if it were thine error or thy crime
Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time,
Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie:
My life is full of weary days,
But good things have not kept aloof, Nor wandered into other
I have not lack'd thy mild reproof, Nor golden largess of thy praise.
And now shake hands across the brink
Of that deep grave to which I go: Shake hands once more: I cannot sink So far far down, but I shall know Thy voice, and answer from below.
THREE SONNETS TO A COQUETTE.
CARESS'D or chidden by the dainty hand,
Light Hope at Beauty's call would perch and stand,
And chased away the still-recurring gnat,
Nor cares to lisp in love's delicious creeds; And Fancy watches in the wilderness,
Poor Fancy sadder than a single star,
That sets at twilight in a land of reeds.
The form, the form alone is eloquent!
My fancy made me for a moment blest
To find my heart so near the beauteous breast
The phantom of a wish that once could move, A ghost of passion that no smiles restore For ah! the slight coquette, she cannot love, And if you kiss'd her feet a thousand years,
She still would take the praise, and care no more.
Wan Sculptor, weepest thou to take the cast
Of those dead lineaments that near thee lie? O sorrowest thou, pale Painter, for the past,
In painting some dead friend from memory Weep on beyond his object Love can last:
His object lives: more cause to weep have I: My tears, no tears of love, are flowing fast,
No tears of love, but tears that Love can die.