An Ode for Music
WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thronged around her magic cell,—
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,—
Possessed beyond the muse’s painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined;
Till once...
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Is there for honest poverty
Wha hangs his head, and a’ that?
The coward slave, we pass him by;
We dare be poor for a’ that.
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Our toils obscure, and a’ that;
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,—
The man ’s the gowd for a’ that.What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin gray, and a... -
From the German by Samuel Atkins Eliot
From “Song of the Bell”LET us with care observe
What from our strength, yet weakness, springs;
For he respect can ne’er deserve
Who hands alone to labor brings.
’T is only this which honors man;
His mind with heavenly fire was warmed,
That he with deepest thought might scan... -
Anonymous translation from the German
“Ohne Hast, ohne Rast.”WITHOUT haste! without rest!
Bind the motto to thy breast;
Bear it with thee as a spell:
Storm and sunshine guard it well!
Heed not flowers that round thee bloom,
Bear it onward to the tomb.Haste not! Let no thoughtless deed
Mar for aye the spirit’s speed;... -
A Flock of sheep that leisurely pass by
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;—
I ’ve thought of all by turns, and still I lie
Sleepless; and soon the small birds’ melodies
Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees,
And the first... -
From “Prologue”
[Spoken by Mr. Garrick at the opening of the Theatre in Drury Lane, in 1747.]WHEN Learning’s triumph o’er her barbarous foes
First reared the stage, immortal Shakespeare rose;
Each change of many-colored life he drew,
Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new:
Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting Time... -
“London, 1802”
milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower.
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners,... -
From “Ecclesiastical Sonnets,” Part III.
THERE are no colors in the fairest sky
So fair as these. The feather, whence the pen
Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men
Dropped from an angel’s wing. With moistened eye
We read of faith and purest charity
In statesman, priest, and humble citizen:
O, could we copy their mild virtues,... -
Scorn not the sonnet; critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honors; with this key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch’s wound;
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound;
With it Camoëns soothed an exile’s grief;
The sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf
Amid the cypress with which... -
The Dreamy rhymer’s measured snore
Falls heavy on our ears no more;
And by long strides are left behind
The dear delights of womankind,
Who wage their battles like their loves,
In satin waistcoats and kid gloves,
And have achieved the crowning work
When they have trussed and skewered a Turk.
Another comes with stouter tread,...