With attic emery and oil, The shining point for Wisdom's wand, Like those thou temperest 'mid the rills Descending from thy native hills. Without his governance, in vain Manhood is strong, and Youth is bold. If oftentimes the o'er-piled strain Pants in its cavern poorly fed. Life springs not from the couch of Death, Nor Muse nor Grace can raise the dead; Unturn'd then let the mass remain, Intractable to sun or rain. A marsh, where only flat leaves lie, He who would build his fame up high, Be still remaining in the place Delved for each polished pillar's base. 1 20 30 40 Thou raisest every edifice, Whether in sheltered vale it stand, We both have run o'er half the space He wrestles with and conquers Time. I wish them every joy above Save one: and that too shall be theirs, When 'mid their light thy light appears. 1833. 1837. Walter Savage Landor. 1855. MEMORABILIA Ан, did you once see Shelley plain, But you were living before that, My starting moves your laughter! I crossed a moor, with a name of its own For there I picked up on the heather 12 16 Robert Browning. TO ROBERT BROWNING THERE is delight in singing, tho' none hear In praising, tho' the praiser sit alone Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's, Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee, Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale, No man hath walked along our roads with step So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue But warmer climes Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the breeze Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on 1846. ON A BUST OF DANTE SEE, from this counterfeit of him Perpetual care and scorn, abide; Faithful if this wan image be, A lover in that anchorite? To that cold Ghibelline's gloomy sight 8 Who could have guessed the visions came Of Beauty, veiled with heavenly light, The lips as Cuma's cavern close, The cheeks with fast and sorrow thin, The rigid front, almost morose, But for the patient hope within, Declare a life whose course hath been Unsullied still, though still severe, Which, through the wavering days of sin, Kept itself icy-chaste and clear. 16 24 Not wholly such his haggard look When wandering once, forlorn, he strayed, With no companions save his book, To Corvo's hushed monastic shade; Where, as the Benedictine laid His palm upon the convent's guest, The single boon for which he prayed Was peace, that pilgrim's one request.' 32 Peace dwells not here,-this rugged face Betrays no spirit of repose; The sullen warrior sole we trace, The marble man of many woes. Such was his mien when first arose The thought of that strange tale divine When hell he peopled with his foes, |