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Which pump up oaths from clergymen, and

grind The gentle spirit of our meek reviews 110 Into a powdery foam of salt abuse, Ruffling the ocean of their self-content;I sit-and smile or sigh as is my bent, But not for them-Libeccio rushes round With an inconstant and an idle sound; I heed him more than them—the thunder

smoke Is gathering on the mountains, like a cloke Folded athwart their shoulders broad and bare; The ripe corn under the undulating air Undulates like an ocean ;-and the vines 120 Are trembling wide in all their trellised linesThe murmur of the awakening sea doth fill The empty pauses of the blast;—the hill Looks hoary through the white electric rain, And from the glens beyond, in sullen strain,

The interrupted thunder howls; above · One chasm of heaven smiles, like the eye of

Love On the unquiet world ;—while such things are, How could one worth your friendship heed the

war Of worms? the shriek of the world's carrion jays,

130 Their censure, or their wonder, or their praise? You are not here! the quaint witch Memory

sees In vacant chairs, your absent images, And points where once you sat, and now should

be But are not.—I demand if ever we Shall meet as then we met; and she replies, Veiling in awe her second-sighted eyes ;

“I know the past alone—but summon home
“My sister Hope,-she speaks of all to come.”
But I, an old diviner, who knew well 140
Every false verse of that sweet oracle,
Turned to the sad enchantress once again,
And sought a respite from my gentle pain,
In citing every passage o'er and o'er
Of our communion-how on the sea-shore
We watched the ocean and the sky together,
Under the roof of blue Italian weather ;
How I ran home through last year's thunder-

storm,
And felt the transverse lightning linger warm
Upon my cheek—and how we often made 150
Feasts for each other, where good will out-

weighed The frugal luxury of our country cheer, As well it might, were it less firm and clear Than ours must ever be ;—and how we spun A shroud of talk to hide us from the sun Of this familiar life, which seems to be But is not,--or is but quaint mockery Of all we would believe, and sadly blame The jarring and inexplicable frame Of this wrong world :-and then anatomize 160 The purposes and thoughts of men whose eyes Were closed in distant years;-or widely guess The issue of the earth's great business, When we shall be as we no longer areLike babbling gossips safe, who hear the war Of winds, and sigh, but tremble not;—or how You listened to some interrupted flow Of visionary rhyme,-in joy and pain

1 In Epipsychidion the same line, with a difference of one word, occurs with the same rhyme :

We two will rise, and sit, and walk together,
Under the roof of blue Ionian weather. -ED.

181

Struck from the inmost fountains of my brain,
With little skill perhaps ;—or how we sought
Those deepest wells of passion or of thought 171
Wrought by wise poets in the waste of years,
Staining their sacred waters with our tears ;
Quenching a thirst ever to be renewed !
Or how I, wisest lady! then indued
The language of a land which now is free,
And, winged with thoughts of truth and

majesty,
Flits round the tyrant's sceptre like a cloud,
And bursts the peopled prisons, and cries aloud,
“My name is Legion !” —that majestic tongue,
Which Calderon over the desert flung
Of ages and of nations; and which found
An echo in our hearts, and with the sound
Startled oblivion ;—thou wert then to me
As is a nurse—when inarticulately
A child would talk as its grown parents do.
If living winds the rapid clouds pursue,
If hawks chase doves through the ætherial

way, Huntsmen the innocent deer, and beasts their

prey, Why should not we rouse with the spirit's blast Out of the forest of the pathless past 191 These recollected pleasures ?

You are now In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow At once is deaf and loud, and on the shore Vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more. Yet in its depth what treasures! You will see That which was Godwin,-greater none than he Though fallen—and fallen on evil times—to

stand Among the spirits of our age and land, Before the dread tribunal of to-come

200

The foremost,--while Rebuke cowers pale and

dumb. You will see Coleridge-he who sits obscure In the exceeding lustre and the pure Intense irradiation of a mind Which, with its own internal lightning blind, Flags wearily through darkness and despairA cloud-encircled meteor of the air, A hooded eagle among blinking owls.You will see Hunt--one of those happy souls Which are the salt of the earth, and without whom

210 This world would smell like what it is a

tomb; Who is, what others seem ; his room no doubt Is still adorned by many a cast from Shout, With graceful flowers tastefully placed about; And coronals of bay from ribbons hung, And brighter wreaths in neat disorder flung; The gifts of the most learn’d among some

dozens Of female friends, sisters-in-law and cousins. And there is he with his eternal puns, Which beat the dullest brain for smiles, like

duns Thundering for money at a poet's door; Alas! it is no use to say, “I'm poor!”-Or oft in graver mood, when he will look Things wiser than were ever read in book, Except in Shakespeare's wisest tenderness.-You will see Hogg, -and I cannot express His virtues,—though I know that they are great, Because he locks, then barricades the gate Within which they inhabit;--of his wit

1 Robert Shout, statuary, of 18 High Holborn, from whom, presumably, Hunt purchased his plaster casts. -ED.

220

And wisdom, you'll cry out when you are bit. 230
He is a pearl within an oyster-shell,
One of the richest of the deep ;—and there
Is English Peacock with his mountain fair
Turned into a Flamingo;—that shy bird
That gleams i’ the Indian air—have you not

heard,
When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindoo,
His best friends hear no more of him? --but you
Will see him, and will like him too, I hope,
With the milk-white Snowdonian Antelope 239
Matched with this cameleopard :-his fine wit
Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it;
A strain too learned for a shallow age,
Too wise for selfish bigots, let his page,
Which charms the chosen spirits of the time,
Fold itself up for the serener clime
Of years to come, and find its recompense
In that just expectation.--Wit and sense,
Virtue and human knowledge, all that might
Make this dull world a business of delight, 249
Are all combined in Horace Smith.--And these,
With some exceptions, which I need not tease
Your patience by descanting on,-are all
You and I know in London.

I recall My thoughts, and bid you look upon the night. As water does a sponge, so the moonlight Fills the void, hollow, universal air :What see you?-unpavilioned heaven is fair Whether the moon, into her chamber gone, Leaves midnight to the golden stars, or wan Climbs with diminished beams the azure steep; Or whether clouds sail o'er the inverse deep, 261 Piloted by the many-wandering blast, And the rare stars rush through them dim and

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