No. VIII.—THE SUNSHINE OF POETRY.Thinknot the poet's songWorthless or idle; do not deem his layFantastic, that he offers by the way,To make it seem less long.His numbers have their use,Though foolish they may sound to worldling's ear;His own lot, if no other's, they may cheer;His own content produce.Does he not add a lightTo earth-born beauty, wanting it unknown?To bloom give balm, to melody a tone,Make brightness seem more bright?Does he not fill the airWith sights, and shapes, and shadows?—make the skyThe dwelling-place of beings, which no eyeBut his can image there?And more than all, his layAwakes new feelings in the human heart,And visions bring that never can depart,When once they feel his sway.To him the power is givenTo soothe the broken heart, the care-worn mind;And the waked soul in dreams ecstatic bind,And bear away to heaven:For to none else does earthLook with so fair a promise; yea, to noneSpeaks she with such an eloquence of tone,Or to such thoughts gives birth,Ah! who may analyseThe cloistered feelings of the poet's soul,When Nature's impulse vibrates through the whole,And Truth, that never dies!Creation's beauties bringRenewed enjoyment, and his genius fire;For every sight, and every sound, inspireHis inmost heart to sing!His birthright is to liveIn citizenship with Nature;—to holdCommunion with her mysteries, his oldAnd high prerogative!Seeks he for wealth, deniedBy worldlings, lucre-led, of sordid mind;His heritage,—free, fertile, unconfined,—Is Nature's pastures wide.Pants he for peace, to throwA solace on his soul? The voice that breathesIts music, 'mong the wild flowers' clustering wreaths,Does to his heart bestowA bliss that none can share,Save him whom Nature to some far-sought wildHas led, anointed as her chosen child,And made her sacred care.Where'er the breezes roam,The mountains soar, or ocean's wave is thrown,The poet's spirit, free as Nature's own,Finds for itself a home!
Thinknot the poet's songWorthless or idle; do not deem his layFantastic, that he offers by the way,To make it seem less long.His numbers have their use,Though foolish they may sound to worldling's ear;His own lot, if no other's, they may cheer;His own content produce.Does he not add a lightTo earth-born beauty, wanting it unknown?To bloom give balm, to melody a tone,Make brightness seem more bright?Does he not fill the airWith sights, and shapes, and shadows?—make the skyThe dwelling-place of beings, which no eyeBut his can image there?And more than all, his layAwakes new feelings in the human heart,And visions bring that never can depart,When once they feel his sway.To him the power is givenTo soothe the broken heart, the care-worn mind;And the waked soul in dreams ecstatic bind,And bear away to heaven:For to none else does earthLook with so fair a promise; yea, to noneSpeaks she with such an eloquence of tone,Or to such thoughts gives birth,Ah! who may analyseThe cloistered feelings of the poet's soul,When Nature's impulse vibrates through the whole,And Truth, that never dies!Creation's beauties bringRenewed enjoyment, and his genius fire;For every sight, and every sound, inspireHis inmost heart to sing!His birthright is to liveIn citizenship with Nature;—to holdCommunion with her mysteries, his oldAnd high prerogative!Seeks he for wealth, deniedBy worldlings, lucre-led, of sordid mind;His heritage,—free, fertile, unconfined,—Is Nature's pastures wide.Pants he for peace, to throwA solace on his soul? The voice that breathesIts music, 'mong the wild flowers' clustering wreaths,Does to his heart bestowA bliss that none can share,Save him whom Nature to some far-sought wildHas led, anointed as her chosen child,And made her sacred care.Where'er the breezes roam,The mountains soar, or ocean's wave is thrown,The poet's spirit, free as Nature's own,Finds for itself a home!
Thinknot the poet's songWorthless or idle; do not deem his layFantastic, that he offers by the way,To make it seem less long.His numbers have their use,Though foolish they may sound to worldling's ear;His own lot, if no other's, they may cheer;His own content produce.Does he not add a lightTo earth-born beauty, wanting it unknown?To bloom give balm, to melody a tone,Make brightness seem more bright?Does he not fill the airWith sights, and shapes, and shadows?—make the skyThe dwelling-place of beings, which no eyeBut his can image there?And more than all, his layAwakes new feelings in the human heart,And visions bring that never can depart,When once they feel his sway.To him the power is givenTo soothe the broken heart, the care-worn mind;And the waked soul in dreams ecstatic bind,And bear away to heaven:For to none else does earthLook with so fair a promise; yea, to noneSpeaks she with such an eloquence of tone,Or to such thoughts gives birth,Ah! who may analyseThe cloistered feelings of the poet's soul,When Nature's impulse vibrates through the whole,And Truth, that never dies!Creation's beauties bringRenewed enjoyment, and his genius fire;For every sight, and every sound, inspireHis inmost heart to sing!His birthright is to liveIn citizenship with Nature;—to holdCommunion with her mysteries, his oldAnd high prerogative!Seeks he for wealth, deniedBy worldlings, lucre-led, of sordid mind;His heritage,—free, fertile, unconfined,—Is Nature's pastures wide.Pants he for peace, to throwA solace on his soul? The voice that breathesIts music, 'mong the wild flowers' clustering wreaths,Does to his heart bestowA bliss that none can share,Save him whom Nature to some far-sought wildHas led, anointed as her chosen child,And made her sacred care.Where'er the breezes roam,The mountains soar, or ocean's wave is thrown,The poet's spirit, free as Nature's own,Finds for itself a home!
Thinknot the poet's songWorthless or idle; do not deem his layFantastic, that he offers by the way,To make it seem less long.
Thinknot the poet's song
Worthless or idle; do not deem his lay
Fantastic, that he offers by the way,
To make it seem less long.
His numbers have their use,Though foolish they may sound to worldling's ear;His own lot, if no other's, they may cheer;His own content produce.
His numbers have their use,
Though foolish they may sound to worldling's ear;
His own lot, if no other's, they may cheer;
His own content produce.
Does he not add a lightTo earth-born beauty, wanting it unknown?To bloom give balm, to melody a tone,Make brightness seem more bright?
Does he not add a light
To earth-born beauty, wanting it unknown?
To bloom give balm, to melody a tone,
Make brightness seem more bright?
Does he not fill the airWith sights, and shapes, and shadows?—make the skyThe dwelling-place of beings, which no eyeBut his can image there?
Does he not fill the air
With sights, and shapes, and shadows?—make the sky
The dwelling-place of beings, which no eye
But his can image there?
And more than all, his layAwakes new feelings in the human heart,And visions bring that never can depart,When once they feel his sway.
And more than all, his lay
Awakes new feelings in the human heart,
And visions bring that never can depart,
When once they feel his sway.
To him the power is givenTo soothe the broken heart, the care-worn mind;And the waked soul in dreams ecstatic bind,And bear away to heaven:
To him the power is given
To soothe the broken heart, the care-worn mind;
And the waked soul in dreams ecstatic bind,
And bear away to heaven:
For to none else does earthLook with so fair a promise; yea, to noneSpeaks she with such an eloquence of tone,Or to such thoughts gives birth,
For to none else does earth
Look with so fair a promise; yea, to none
Speaks she with such an eloquence of tone,
Or to such thoughts gives birth,
Ah! who may analyseThe cloistered feelings of the poet's soul,When Nature's impulse vibrates through the whole,And Truth, that never dies!
Ah! who may analyse
The cloistered feelings of the poet's soul,
When Nature's impulse vibrates through the whole,
And Truth, that never dies!
Creation's beauties bringRenewed enjoyment, and his genius fire;For every sight, and every sound, inspireHis inmost heart to sing!
Creation's beauties bring
Renewed enjoyment, and his genius fire;
For every sight, and every sound, inspire
His inmost heart to sing!
His birthright is to liveIn citizenship with Nature;—to holdCommunion with her mysteries, his oldAnd high prerogative!
His birthright is to live
In citizenship with Nature;—to hold
Communion with her mysteries, his old
And high prerogative!
Seeks he for wealth, deniedBy worldlings, lucre-led, of sordid mind;His heritage,—free, fertile, unconfined,—Is Nature's pastures wide.
Seeks he for wealth, denied
By worldlings, lucre-led, of sordid mind;
His heritage,—free, fertile, unconfined,—
Is Nature's pastures wide.
Pants he for peace, to throwA solace on his soul? The voice that breathesIts music, 'mong the wild flowers' clustering wreaths,Does to his heart bestow
Pants he for peace, to throw
A solace on his soul? The voice that breathes
Its music, 'mong the wild flowers' clustering wreaths,
Does to his heart bestow
A bliss that none can share,Save him whom Nature to some far-sought wildHas led, anointed as her chosen child,And made her sacred care.
A bliss that none can share,
Save him whom Nature to some far-sought wild
Has led, anointed as her chosen child,
And made her sacred care.
Where'er the breezes roam,The mountains soar, or ocean's wave is thrown,The poet's spirit, free as Nature's own,Finds for itself a home!
Where'er the breezes roam,
The mountains soar, or ocean's wave is thrown,
The poet's spirit, free as Nature's own,
Finds for itself a home!