English

EFFUSION V.

THE Blackbird whistles from the pendant groves
That fringe thy varied banks, meandering Taff,
And every spray is vocal. Thro' thy vale
Smiles green Fertility; and, on thy heights,
Of hoar sublimity, in varied form,
Romantic Grandeur fits. Each object blends
(Wild wood, and cultur'd farm, and rocky bank
That mocks the hand of Labour) to adorn
The vary'd scene, cheering the lonely way —
If ought could now be cheerful. But in vain!
Mountain nor vale delight, nor cultur'd scene,

EFFUSION IV.

S TRETCH'D on the bed of pain, restless I lie,
Nor taste the vernal day-spring. Heavily
Pass the lone hours; and thro' my wasting nerves
The feverish langour steals. Yet not for this
Heave I the frequent groan — nor not for this
Course down my wasted cheeks the channell'd tears,
Dewing the uneasy pillow. Corporal pain,
The woe of vulgar minds, with stoic pride,
I well can combat: and there was a time,
When never lonesome seem'd the pensive hour
Of silent solitude. For then the Muse,

EFFUSION III.

A LONG thy varying banks, sequester'd Wye,
At eve, I wander mournfully — full oft
Thridding the tangled maze, or under shade
Of hoary oaks, that over-hang thy stream,
Courting congenial gloom: but not, as erst,
Or with the Painter's, or the Poet's glance,
Noting thy wild varieties. No more
Thy haunts romantic charm. No more mine eyes
(Dim with their griefs) from tint or varied line
Receive accustom'd joyance. Rocks, and falls,
And deep-worn pools reflective, and ye woods

EFFUSION II.

M ARIA ! Oh, Maria! my sweet babe! — —
But ah! she hears not. Vainly that lov'd name
These lips reverberate — vainly these fond eyes
Roll round, in asking gaze, and, missing thee,
Find nought but vacancy. The budding Spring
That, in profuse luxuriancy, adorns
Mountain and vale — the ever-murmuring brook,
And choir of Nature's songsters charm no more,
Nor soothe my bosom's sadness. Thou art gone,
Who wert my spring of comfort — On thy cheek
Bloom'd fairer hopes than ever vernal gale

EFFUSION I.

To J — — G — — —

A H ! generous friend! who, with a patriot's zeal,
Stood'st forth, undaunted, in oppression's hour,
To shield this head devoted; and who still,
With unrepenting kindness (most unlike
The changeling multitude) essay'st to prop
The reed thou sav'd'st unbroken — vain the hope! —
Tho now no more, with her insensate howl,
The demon Persecution, tir'd, intrudes
On my sequester'd privacy — tho late

Even as the cattle in the winter woods,
Hearing their master's old familiar shout,
Come shouldering down to the remembered pastures
Deep in the valley, answering faithful lowing,
Each stepping in her order,
Till through the twilight of the naked branches
Glints the last straggler's horn:
So came the legions from the uttermost isles
Of Britain, where they held the Scots in leash,
And those that were a wall against the Ruhr,
And cowed the churls of Hesse and Thüringen,
They've turned the splendid menace of their line

When the intrepid Argo, passing between the clashing rocks that guarded its entrance, burst through the portals of the unfurrowed sea making for Colchis where Aeites ruled, it is said that, when all were panic-stricken by the nearing danger, Tiphys alone — with heaven's help — kept safe the almost uninjured bark. 'Twas thanks to him that the Argo escaped the cliffs threatening ruin and came out victorious into the open sea, cunningly eluding the meeting shock of the floating rocks.

After years of sloth my Muse, as if startled from long slumber, rejoices to sing a Roman song to Roman ears. Once more the same halls bring the gathering I longed for, and Apollo's temple echoes to the voice of a familiar bard. 'Twas here I sang of the consular fasces and of the winning back of Libya and here must I sing of the war that overthrew the Getae.

If our ancestors vowed temples to " Home-bringing Fortune " in honour of the return of their generals, never would this goddess more worthily claim for her services a noble temple than when their proper majesty is restored alike to the consulship and to Rome. The annual election in the Campus Martius is not the accustomed farce, nor see we a consul of other race than his electors nor a foreigner claiming pretended rights. The palace now our own wears a native dress, and while Quirinus associates the people with the armies of Italy, Mars gives back to his own Field its imperial suffrage.

B LEST was the hour — if bliss, indeed, belong
To the high fervours of Poetic song —
Blest was the hour — if 'tis the bliss of youth
To thirst for knowledge, and to pant for truth —
From Academic shades when Harvey came,
Wak'd the first spark, and fann'd the etherial flame:
When, midst Baeotian fogs, his purer ray
Pour'd on mine eye the intellectual day;
And, sole instructor of my youthful mind,
Rous'd the fine thrill extatic and refin'd —
Touch'd the keen nerve, and taught the tear to flow