LXI.

If I in golden idol build my trust,
Or reedy palaces of earth-born fame,

By enchanted streams, therein to glass my name,
Do Thou, Great God, do Thou the gilded bust
To shivers rend, and scatter, turn'd to dust,
To waters of oblivion. If I frame

Ought earthly wish, wherein Thou hast no claim,
Let darkness be upon it! If I lust

To build a stair, that I on high may walk,
Or frame me a frail mirror in the talk
Of other men, my shadow there to dress;
And, stretch'd beyond my nature's littleness,
And the low door of life, therein to stalk,
Rend Thou that stair and glass to nothingness!

LXII.

THE GLOW-WORM.

Oft as I contemplate the glorious skies,
Studded so thick with many a crystal spar,
And each a mighty world that shines afar,
Struck with deep awe my spirit in me dies:
For what am I in the All-seeing eyes,

In which of worlds and men such myriads are?
But now, as I behold that living star

Lighting the o'er-hanging hedge wherein it lies,
I feel that ne'er a poet's boldest flight

Hath furnish'd Angel wings with glowing rays,
So bright and lustrous as that emerald blaze;
Thus I, though but a creeping worm of night,
May have within me my Creator's light,
On which the highest Angel stops to gaze.

LXIII.

Ὀψίνοος Επιμαθεύς. Pind.

Ask me no more. I am a luckless wight,
Wedded to pale After-thought, who makes me rue,
With her cold frown, whate'er I say or do ;
Oft gathering wings I seem, and that sly spright,
Imagination, bears me on all dight

With painted plumes; buoyant and blithe, I bound
Over all obstacles, nor touch the ground;

Then following from behind in sullen plight

Comes Common-sense, shouldering her crutch, and on
My sides belabour'd, and my brow doth pour
Dizzy amazement, then the spell is o'er :
My ingots are all leaves, my glass ware gone,
My Aladdin's lamp is out, and I alone.
I sit upon the ground, silent and sore.

F

The Country Pastor.