The Poet. Thow who wouldst wear the name Of Poet midst thy brethren of mankind, And clothe, in words rds of flame, Thoughts that shall live within the general mund Deem not the framing of a deathless lay The pastime of a drowsy Cummer-day. But garber- all thy Powers, And wreak them on the verse that thou dost weave, At Kilent morning or at wakeful eve, While the tram current tingles throughthy veins, No smooth array of phrase, Upon the page wrste languid industry, 1 The secret wouldst thou know Let thy leps quiver with the passionate thrill; Then, should thy verse appear and harsh and all snaptly wrought, Fouch the crude line with fear, Save in the moment of impassioned thoughts Then summon back the orginal glow and mund The Atraiw with Expture that with fire was penned o Yet let no empty gust Of passion find an utterance in thy lay: A blast that whirls the dust Along the howling Street and died away; Sick'st thou in living layd Let all that beauty in clear vision lies Of tempests wouldst those king. To the tossed wreck with terror in they heart So shalt then frame alay "I hat witching hangs upon this poots page! "What art is his the written spells to find "That way, from mood to nood, the willing / sind! William Cullen Bryant Copied, Occr. 1875. , yet die, O listless woman, weary To feel once more they fresh, wild torill T'el give but who can live yout one? Schmund Clarence An angel face : — it's sunny wealth of hair rosy over Of the sweet mouth a smile seemed wandering ever! Edgar A . The wonders of all-ruling Providence ; |