Gardens, where flings the bridge its airy span, A mimic mourner, O all-enjoying and all-blending sage, Long be it mine to con thy mazy page, 1 Boccaccio claimed for himself the glory of having first introduced the works of Homer to his countrymen. ? I know few more striking or more interesting proofs of the overwhelming influence which the study of the Greek and Roman classics exercised on the judgments, feelings, and imaginations of the literati of Europe at the commencement of the restoration of literature, than the passage in the Filocopo of Boccaccio: where the sage instructor, Racheo, as soon as the young prince and the beautiful girl Biancofiore had learned their letters, sets them to study the Holy Book, Ovid's Art of Love. "Incominciò Racheo a mettere il suo officio in esecuzione con intera sollecitudine. E loro, in breve tempo, insegnato a conoscer le lettere, fece leggere il santo libro d'Ovvidio, nel quale il sommo poeta mostra, come i santi fuochi di Venere si debbano ne' freddi cuori accendere." Where, half conceal'd, the eye of fancy views Fauns, nymphs, and winged saints, all gracious to thy muse! Still in thy garden let me watch their pranks, Of the trim vines, some maid that half believes IMPROVED FROM STOLBERG. ON A CATARACT FROM A CAVERN NEAR THE SUMMIT OF A MOUNTAIN PRECIPICE. STROPHE. UNPERISHING Youth! Thou leapest from forth The cell of thy hidden nativity; Never mortal saw The cradle of the strong one; Never mortal heard The gathering of his voices; The deep-murmured charm of the son of the rock, That is lisp'd evermore at his slumberless fountain. There's a cloud at the portal, a spray-woven veil At the shrine of his ceaseless renewing; It embosoms the roses of dawn, It entangles the shafts of the noon, The moonshine sinks down as in slumber, That the son of the rock, that the nursling of heaven May be born in a holy twilight! ANTISTROPHE. The wild goat in awe Looks up and beholds Above thee the cliff inaccessible ; Thou at once full-born Madd'nest in thy joyance, Whirlest, shatter'st, splitt'st, Life invulnerable. LOVE'S APPARITION AND EVANISHMENT. AN ALLEGORIC ROMANCE. LIKE a lone Arab, old and blind Who sits beside a ruin'd well, Where the shy sand-asps bask and swell; And now he hangs his aged head aslant, And listens for a human sound-in vain! And now the aid, which Heaven alone can grant, I sate upon the couch of camomile ; And-whether 'twas a transient sleep, perchance, I watch'd the sickly calm with aimless scope, Turn'd my eye inward-thee, O genial Hope, Drest as a bridesmaid, but all pale and cold, And then came Love, a sylph in bridal trim, She bent, and kissed her sister's lips, Alas! 'twas but a chilling breath Anxious to associate the name of a most dear and honored friend with my own, I solicited and obtained the permission of Professor J. H. GREEN to permit the insertion of the two following poems, by him composed. S. T. COLERIDGE. MORNING INVITATION TO A CHILD. THE house is a prison, the school-room's a cell; While the clouds, that had newly paid court at his levee, Spread sail to the breeze, and glide off in a bevy. Tree, and tree-tufted hedge-row, and sparkling be tween Dewy meadows enamelled in gold and in green, With king-cups and daisies, that all the year please, Sprays, petals and leaflets, that nod in the breeze, With carpets, and garlands, and wreaths, deck the way, And tempt the blithe spirit still onward to stray, Itself its own home;-far away! far away! The butterflies flutter in pairs round the bower; The humble-bee sings in each bell of each flower; The bee hums of heather and breeze-wooing hill, And forgets in the sunshine his toil and his skill; The birds carol gladly!-the lark mounts on high; The swallows on wing make their tune to the eye, And as birds of good omen, that summer loves well, Ever wheeling weave ever some magical spell. The hunt is abroad:-hark! the horn sounds its note, And seems to invite us to regions remote. The horse in the meadow is stirred by the sound, And neighing impatient o'erleaps the low mound; Then proud in his speed o'er the champaign he bounds, [hounds. To the whoop of the huntsmen and tongue of the Then stay not within, for on such a blest day We can never quit home, while with Nature we stray; far away, far away! |