Careless, and grand-fingers soft and round Parting luxuriant curls;-and the swift bound Of Bacchus from his chariot, when his eye Made Ariadne's cheek look blushingly. Thus I remember all the pleasant flow Of words at opening a portfolio. Things such as these are ever harbingers To trains of peaceful images: the stirs Of a swan's neck unseen among the rushes: A linnet starting all about the bushes: A butterfly, with golden wings broad parted Nestling a rose, convuls'd as though it smarted With over pleasure-many, many more, I partly owe to him: and thus, the chimes Of friendly voices had just given place To as sweet a silence, when I gan retrace The pleasant day, upon a couch at ease. It was a poet's house who keeps the keys Of pleasure's temple. Round about were hung The glorious features of the bards who sung In other ages-cold and sacred busts Smiled at each other. Happy he who trusts To clear Futurity his darling fame! Then there were fauns and satyrs taking aim At swelling apples with a frisky leap And reaching fingers, 'mid a luscious heap Of vine leaves. Then there rose to view a fane Of liny marble, and thereto a train Of nymphs approaching fairly o'er the sward: Une, loveliest, holding her white hand toward The dazzling sun-rise: two sisters sweet Bending their graceful figures till they meet Over the trippings of a little child: 1 Leigh Hunt's. The following lines are a description of the room in which the poem was written, with its decorations. And each imagin'd pinnacle and steep Of godlike hardship tells me I must die Like a sick Eagle looking at the sky. Yet 'tis a gentle luxury to weep That I have not the cloudy winds to keep, Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye. Such dim-conceivéd glories of the brain Bring round the heart an undescribable feud; So do these wonders a most dizzy pain. That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude Wasting of old Time-with a billowy main A sun-a shadow of a magnitude. 1817. March 9, 1817. ON A PICTURE OF LEANDER COME hither all sweet maidens soberly, Down-looking aye, and with a chastened light Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white. And meekly let your fair hands joined |