THE HUMAN SEASONS. OUR Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man : He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span : He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. HE poetry of earth is never dead : When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead : This is the grasshopper's—he takes the lead In summer luxury,—he has never done With his delights, for when tired out with fun, He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth is ceasing never: On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, The grasshopper's among some grassy hills. ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. UCH have I travelled in the realms of gold, Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : When a new planet swims into his ken ;' ADDRESSED TO HAYDON. REAT spirits now on earth are sojourning : Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake, The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake: A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering. These, these will give the world another heart Of mighty workings?— Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb. O one who has been long in city pent, And open face of heaven,—to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Who is more happy, when, with heart's content, Catching the notes of Philomel,- -an eye That falls through the clear ether silently. |