The Ideal And The Actual Life
Forever fair, forever calm and bright, Life flies on plumage, zephyr-light, For those who on the Olympian hill rejoice Moons wane, and races wither to the tomb, And ‘mid the universal ruin, bloom The
Genius
“Do I believe,” sayest thou, “what the masters of wisdom would teach me, And what their followers’ band boldly and readily swear? Cannot I ever attain to true peace, excepting through knowledge, Or is
The Imitator
Good from the good, to the reason this is not hard of conception; But the genius has power good from the bad to evoke. ‘Tis the conceived alone, that thou, imitator, canst practise; Food
Breadth And Depth
Full many a shining wit one sees, With tongue on all things well conversing; The what can charm, the what can please, In every nice detail rehearsing. Their raptures so transport the college, It
The Iliad
Tear forever the garland of Homer, and number the fathers Of the immortal work, that through all time will survive! Yet it has but one mother, and bears that mother’s own feature, ‘Tis thy
Greekism
Scarce has the fever so chilly of Gallomania departed, When a more burning attack in Grecomania breaks out. Greekism, what did it mean? ‘Twas harmony, reason, and clearness! Patience, good gentlemen, pray, ere ye
Elysium
Past the despairing wail And the bright banquets of the Elysian vale Melt every care away! Delight, that breathes and moves forever, Glides through sweet fields like some sweet river! Elysian life survey! There,
The Battle
Heavy and solemn, A cloudy column, Through the green plain they marching came! Measure less spread, like a table dread, For the wild grim dice of the iron game. The looks are bent on
Columbus
Steer on, bold sailor Wit may mock thy soul that sees the land, And hopeless at the helm may droop the weak and weary hand, Yet ever ever to the West, for there the
The Playing Infant
Play on thy mother’s bosom, babe, for in that holy isle The error cannot find thee yet, the grieving, nor the guile; Held in thy mother’s arms above life’s dark and troubled wave, Thou
Evening
Oh! thou bright-beaming god, the plains are thirsting, Thirsting for freshening dew, and man is pining; Wearily move on thy horses Let, then, thy chariot descend! Seest thou her who, from ocean’s crystal billows,
Pompeii And Herculaneum
What wonder this? we ask the lympid well, O earth! of thee and from thy solemn womb What yieldest thou? is there life in the abyss Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell?
Odysseus
Seeking to find his home, Odysseus crosses each water; Through Charybdis so dread; ay, and through Scylla’s wild yells, Through the alarms of the raging sea, the alarms of the land too, E’en to
Human Knowledge
Since thou readest in her what thou thyself hast there written, And, to gladden the eye, placest her wonders in groups; Since o’er her boundless expanses thy cords to extend thou art able, Thou
The Conflict
No! I this conflict longer will not wage, The conflict duty claims the giant task; Thy spells, O virtue, never can assuage The heart’s wild fire this offering do not ask True, I have