'Tis still! Wild warblings from the Æolian lyre Enchantment softly breathe, and tremblingly expire.

VII.

Next thy Tasso's ardent numbers

Float along the pleased air,
Calling youth from idle slumbers,

Rousing them from Pleasure's lair :-
Then o'er the strings his fingers gently move,
And melt the soul to pity and to love,

VIII.

But when Thou joinest with the Nine,
And all the powers of song combine,

We listen here on earth :
The dying tones that fill the air,

And charm the ear of evening fair,
From thee, great God of Bards, receive their heavenly

HYMN TO APOLLO.

GOD of the golden bow,

And of the golden lyre,
And of the golden hair,
And of the golden fire,

Charioteer

Of the patient year, Where—where slept thine ire, When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,

Thy laurel, thy glory,

The light of thy story, Or was I a worm—too low crawling, for death ?

O Delphic Apollo !

The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,

The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;
The eagle's feathery mane
For wrath became stiffen'd—the sound

Of breeding thunder

Went drowsily under, Muttering to be unbound.

O why didst thou pity, and for a worm

Why touch thy soft lute

Till the thunder was mute,
Why was not I crush'd-such a pitiful germ?

O Delphic Apollo !

The Pleiades were up,

Watching the silent air;
The seeds and roots in the Earth
Were swelling for summer fare;

The Ocean, its neighbour,

Was at its old labour, When, who—who did dare To tie, like a madman, thy plant round his brow,

And grin and look proudly,

And blaspheme so loudly, And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?

O Delphic Apollo !

LINES.

1817.

UNFELT, unheard, unseen,
I've left

my
little

queen,
Her languid arms in silver slumber lying :

Ah ! through their nestling touch,

Who—who could tell how much
There is for madness-cruel, or complying?

Those faery lids how sleek !

Those lips how moist !--they speak, In ripest quiet, shadows of sweet sounds :

Into my fancy's ear

Melting a burden dear, How “Love doth know no fullness, and no bounds."

True !_tender monitors !
I bend unto

your

laws : This sweetest day for dalliance was born!

So, without more ado,

I 'll feel my heaven anew,
For all the blushing of the hasty morn.