II.
There is a spell by which the panting soul
Shakes from its stainless pinions all the gyves
Wherewith our frail mortality still strives
To bind it downward 'neath its stern controul;
When springing from the earth like the sweet lark
That wings its flight in music to the sky,
Amid the spheres it wanders, where the eye
Trembles to blindness, and the last faint spark
Of Earth's far gleaming flickers and expires;
Thine is the charm, dear Poesy, which sets
The cagëd spirit on its heavenward flight,
And fills its being with those pure desires,
And holy aspirations, which like light
Shower on the world in distillations bright.
III.
We wander on through life as pilgrims do
O'er trackless deserts to a distant shrine,
Weary and parch'd, and to our longing view
Springs many a false mirage of joy divine,
That fades before us as we fain pursue
The empty picture which our fancy drew.
O thou, my heart! seek not the empty shows
And gilded nothings of this little Time,
But let thine endless effort be to climb
Above Earth's petty vanities and woes
Unto a nobler range of feelings, joys,
Which no false leaven of decay alloys,
But whose substantial sweetness may increase,
And make thy journey pleasure, and thy slumber peace.
IV.
Sweet spirits of the Beautiful! where'er ye dwell,
Whether upon the misty mountain tops
With mantling crags about ye, or in dell
And sunny valley, by the hazel copse
Wherein the ring-dove nestles, or by streams
That wander amid woodlands, with the sheen
Of noontide trembling through the leafy screen
Down to their mossy banks in fitful gleams,
That murmur with the linnets and at e'en
Sigh with the plaintive nightingale, and oft
Mirror your bright eyes in the sparkling dew,
Circle me ever with your joyous crew,
Bring inspirations to me bland and soft,
And sun my slumbers still with happy dreams.