THOU art a beam from God-the brightest ray That heaven hath earthward sent to cheer the soul And animate it in its house of clay, With dreams of light, and life, and glory's goal. Here, mutely worshipping, I gaze on thee, Till nascent haloes dawn around thy brow, And from the portals of eternity, The laurelled dead, returning, round thee bow. VI. TO HEBE. [A STATUETTE ON THE BOOKCASE.] GODDESS of Beauty, and eternal youth! Lovely ideal! Beatific beam! For which Canova made a house of clay ! No more thou art to me a Poet's dream. VII. TO A BUST OF HOMER. [STANDING ON MY DESK.] HOMER, thou art not dead! Thou canst not die Or, Fancy's smile illumes its chambers drear. As Cynosura through the treacherous night, And Ilium's tears, and sighs, and struggles vast, And Troy's proud walls come tumbling to the ground. VIII. TO MY BOOKS. HALLOWED Companions! tutors ! ministers ! If sickness fling her pallid mantle round me, Oh! who would spurn the shrine which Wisdom tends- IX. TO MY GUITAR. So dear a friend as thou I never knew Such truth, and faith, and love, and sympathy As I have drawn from thy soul-melody. When I am sad thou chant'st some Paynim story Until my woe is lost in woes of eld; When I am glad, thou sing'st of knightly glory, Beneath the power of thy delicious strains; And seraphs sing around the altars of my soul. |