WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. SECLUSION. (From Ecclesiastical Sketches.) METHINKS that to some vacant Hermitage My feet would rather turn-to some dry nook Crisp, yellow leaves my bed; the hooting Owl Tir'd of the world and all its industry. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. WALTON'S BOOK OF LIVES. (From the same.) THERE are no colours in the fairest sky So fair as these. The feather whence the pen In Statesman, Priest, and humble Citizen: O could we copy their mild virtues, then Methinks their very names shine still and bright; Or lonely tapers when from far they fling A guiding ray; or seen, like stars on high, Around meek Walton's heavenly memory. JOHN KEATS. ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. MUCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold, Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : He star'd at the Pacific-and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise- EDWARD LORD THURLOW. TO A BIRD, THAT HAUNTED THE WATERS OF LAKEN, O MELANCHOLY bird, a winter's day Thou standest by the margin of the pool; And, taught by God, dost thy whole being school To Patience, which all evil can allay : Unthrifty, to submit to moral rule, And his unthinking course by thee to weigh. WILLIAM STEWART ROSE. TO CONSTANTINOPLE. A GLORIOUS form thy shining city wore, When fearless gull too nigh his pinnace goes. |