V. And is not War a youthful king, Him Earth's majestic monarchs hail Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye Compels the maiden's love-confessing sigh. VI. "Tell this in some more courtly scene, To maids and youths in robes of state! And therefore is my soul elate. War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled, VII. "A murderous fiend, by fiends adored, He kills the sire and starves the son; The husband kills, and from her board Steals all his widow's toil had won; Plunders God's world of beauty; rends away All safety from the night, all comfort from the day. VIII. "Then wisely is my soul elate, That strife should vanish, battle cease: I'm poor and of a low estate, The Mother of the Prince of Peace. Joy rises in me, like a summer's morn: Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born," IF HUMAN LIFE. ON THE DENIAL OF IMMORTALITY. F dead, we cease to be; if total gloom Which, as she gazed on some nigh-finished vase, She formed with restless hands unconsciously! Blank accident! nothing's anomaly! If rootless thus, thus substanceless thy state, Go, weigh thy dreams, and be thy hopes, thy fears, The counter-weights!-Thy laughter and thy tears Mean but themselves, each fittest to create, And to repay the other! Why rejoices Thy heart with hollow joy for hollow good? That such a thing as thou feel'st warm or cold? MOLES. -THEY shrink in, as Moles (Nature's mute monks, live mandrakes of the ground) Creep back from Light-then listen for its sound; See but to dread, and dread they know not whyThe natural alien of their negative eye. Scarce had I welcomed the sorrow-beguiler, They advance, they float in, the Olympians all! How shall I yield you Due entertainment, Celestial quire ? Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of up buoyance, Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance, That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre! Hah! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my soul! O give me the nectar! O fill me the bowl! Pour out for the poet, Hebe! pour free! Quicken his eyes with celestial dew, That Styx the detested no more he may view, ELEGY, IMITATED FROM ONE OF AKENSIDE'S BLANK-VERSE INSCRIPTIONS. [EAR the lone pile with ivy overspread, NEAR Fast by the rivulet's sleep-persuading sound, Where "sleeps the moonlight" on yon verdant bed: O humbly press that consecrated ground! For there does Edmund rest, the learned swain! And there his spirit most delights to rove: Young Edmund! famed for each harmonious strain, And the sore wounds of ill-requited love. Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide, And loads the west-wind with its soft perfume, His manhood blossomed: till the faithless pride Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb. But soon did righteous Heaven her guilt pursue! With keen regret, and conscious guilt's alarms, Go, Traveller! tell the tale with sorrow fraught: SEPARATION. A SWORDED man whose trade is blood, Through jungle, swamp, and torrent flood, The dazzling charm of outward form, The power of gold, the pride of birth, Is not true Love of higher price O! Asra, Asra! could'st thou see There's such a mine of Love for thee, (This separation is, alas! Too great a punishment to bear; |