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VII.

HER only pilot the soft breeze, the boat
Lingers, but Fancy is well satisfied;

With keen-eyed Hope, with Memory, at her side,
And the glad Muse at liberty to note

All that to each is precious, as we float
Gently along; regardless who shall chide

If the heavens smile, and leave us free to glide,
Happy Associates breathing air remote

From trivial cares. But, Fancy and the Muse,
Why have I crowded this small bark with you
And others of your kind, ideal crew!

While here sits One whose brightness owes its hues
To flesh and blood; no Goddess from above,
No fleeting Spirit, but my own true Love?

VIII.

THE fairest, brightest hues of ether fade;
The sweetest notes must terminate and die ;
O Friend! thy flute has breathed a harmony
Softly resounded through this rocky glade;
Such strains of rapture as the Genius played.
In his still haunt on Bagdad's summit high;
He who stood visible to Mirzah's eye,

*

Never before to human sight betrayed.

Lo, in the vale, the mists of evening spread!
The visionary Arches are not there,
Nor the green Islands, nor the shining Seas;
Yet sacred is to me this Mountain's head,
Whence I have risen, uplifted on the breeze
Of harmony, above all earthly care.

* See the Vision of Mirza in the Spectator.

IX.

UPON THE SIGHT OF A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE,
Painted by Sir G. H. Beaumont, Bart.

PRAISED be the Art whose subtle power could stay

Yon cloud, and fix it in that glorious shape;
Nor would permit the thin smoke to escape,

Nor those bright sunbeams to forsake the day;
Which stopped that band of travellers on their way,
Ere they were lost within the shady wood;
And showed the Bark upon the glassy flood
For ever anchored in her sheltering bay.

Soul-soothing Art! which Morning, Noon-tide, Even,
Do serve with all their changeful pageantry;

Thou, with ambition modest yet sublime,
Here, for the sight of mortal man, hast given
To one brief moment caught from fleeting time
The appropriate calm of blest eternity.

X.

'

WHY, Minstrel, these untuneful murmurings— Dull, flagging notes that with each other jar?" "Think, gentle Lady, of a Harp so far

From its own country, and forgive the strings."
A simple answer! but even so forth springs,
From the Castalian fountain of the heart,
The Poetry of Life, and all that Art

Divine of words quickening insensate things.
From the submissive necks of guiltless men
Stretched on the block, the glittering axe recoils;
Sun, moon, and stars, all struggle in the toils
Of mortal sympathy; what wonder then
That the poor Harp distempered music yields
To its sad Lord, far from his native fields?

XI.

AERIAL ROCK-whose solitary brow

From this low threshold daily meets my sight;
When I step forth to hail the morning light;
Or quit the stars with a lingering farewell—how
Shall Fancy pay to thee a grateful vow?
How, with the Muse's aid, her love attest?
-By planting on thy naked head the crest
Of an imperial Castle, which the plough
Of ruin shall not touch. Innocent scheme !
That doth presume no more than to supply
the sinuous vale and roaring stream
Want, through neglect of hoar Antiquity.

A

grace

Rise, then, ye votive Towers! and catch a gleam Of golden sunset, ere it fade and die.

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