BETA

Poetical Portraits.

Orient pearls at random strung.”

Shakespeare.

His was the wizard spell,1
The spirit to enchain :2
His grasp o’er nature fell,3
Creation own’d his reign.4

Milton.

His spirit was the home5
Of aspirations high ;6
A temple, whose huge dome7
Was hidden in the sky.8

Byron.

Black clouds his forehead bound,9
And at his feet were flowers :10
Mirth, Madness, Magic found11
In him their keenest powers.12

Scott.

He sings, and lo ! Romance13
Starts from its mouldering urn,14
While Chivalry’s bright lance15
And nodding plumes return.16

Spenser.

Within th’ enchanted womb17
Of his vast genius, lie18
Bright streams and groves, whose
gloom
19
Is lit by Una’s eye.20

Wordsworth.

He hung his harp upon21
Philosophy’s pure shrine ;22
And placed by Nature’s, throne,23
Composed each placid line.24

Wilson.

His strain, like holy hymn,25
Upon the ear doth float,26
Or voice of cherubim,27
In mountain vale remote.28

Gray.

Soaring on pinions proud,29
The lightnings of his eye30
Sear the black thunder-cloud,31
He passes swiftly by.32

Burns.

He seized his country’s lyre,33
With ardent grasp and strong ;34
And made his soul of fire35
Dissolve itself in song.36

Baillie.

The Passions are thy slaves ;37
In varied guise they roll38
Upon the stately waves39
Of thy majestic soul,40

Caroline Bowles.

In garb of sable hue41
Thy soul dwells all alone,42
Where the sad drooping yew43
Weeps o’er the funeral stone.44

Hemans.

To bid the big tear start,45
Unchallenged, from its shrine,46
And thrill the quivering heart47
With pity’s voice, are thine.48

Tighe.

On zephyr’s amber wings,49
Like thine own Psyche borne,50
Thy buoyant spirit springs51
To hail the bright-eyed morn.52

Landon.

Romance and high-soul’d Love,53
Like two commingling streams,54
Glide through the flowery grove55
Of thy enchanted dreams.56

Moore.

Crown’d with. perennial flowers,57
By Wit and Genius wove,58
He wanders through the bowers59
Of Fancy and of Love.60

Southey.

Where Necromancy flings61
O’er Eastern lands her spell,62
Sustain’d on Fable’s wings,63
His spirit loves to dwell.64

Collins.

Waked into mimic life,65
The Passions round him throng,66
While the loud “ Spartan fife67
Thrills through his startling song.68

Campbell.

With all that Nature’s fire69
Can lend to polish’d Art,70
He strikes his graceful lyre71
To thrill or warm the heart.72

Coleridge.

Magician, whose dread spell,73
Working in pale moon light,74
From Superstition’s cell75
Invokes each satellite !76

Cowper.

Religious light is shed77
Upon his soul’s dark shrine ;78
nd Vice veils o’er her head79
At his denouncing line.80

Young.

Involved in pall of gloom,81
He haunts, with footsteps dread,82
he murderer’s midnight tomb,83
And calls upon the dead.84

Grahame.

O ! when we hear the bell85
Of “ Sabbath” chiming free,86
It strikes us like a knell,87
And makes us think of Thee !88

W. L. Bowles.

From Nature’s flowery throne89
His spirit took its flight,90
And moves serenely on91
soft, sad, tender light.92

Shelley.

A solitary rock93
In a far distant sea,94
Rent by the thunder’s shock,95
An emblem stands of Thee !96

J. Montgomery.

Upon thy touching strain97
Religion’s spirit fair,98
Falls down like drops of rain,99
And blends divinely there.100

Hogg.

Clothed in the rainbow’s beam,101
’Mid strath and pastoral glen,102
He sees the fairies gleam,103
Far from the haunts of men.104

Thomson.

The Seasons as they roll105
Shall bear thy name along ;106
And graven on the soul107
Of Nature, live thy song.108

Moir.

On every gentler scene109
That moves the human breast,110
Pathetic and serene,111
Thine eye delights to rest.112

Barry Cornwall.

Soft is thy lay—a stream113
Meand’ring calmly by,114
Beneath the moon’s pale beam115
Of sweet Italia’s sky.116

Crabbe.

Wouldst thou his pictures know,117
Their power—their harrowing
truth,—
118
Their scenes of wrath or woe119
Go gaze on hapless “ Ruth.”120

A. Cunningham.

Tradition’s lyre he plays121
With firm and skilful hand,122
Singing the olden lays123
Of his dear native land.124

Keats.

Fair thy yomg spirit’s mould125
Thou from whose heart the streams126
Of sweet Elysium roll’d127
Over Endymion’s dreams.128

Bloomfield.

Sweet bard, upon the tomb129
In which thine ashes lie,130
The simple wildflowers bloom131
Before the ploughman’s eye.132

Hood.

Impugn I dare not thee,133
For I’m of puny brood ;134
And thou wouldst punish me135
With pungent hardihood.136