If to spurn at noble praise

Be the passport to thy heaven, Follow thou those gloomy waysNo such law to me was given; Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me, Faring like my friends before me; Nor an holier place desire Than Timoleon's arms acquire, And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.

[From Pleasures of the Imagination.] THE DEVELOPMENT OF POETIC AND ARTISTIC CREATIONS.

By these mysterious ties, the busy power

Of memory her ideal train preserves Entire; or when they would elude her watch,

Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste

Of dark oblivion; thus collecting all The various forms of being, to present Before the curious eye of mimic art Their largest choice: like Spring's unfolded blocas Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee

May taste at will from their selected spoils

To work her dulcet food. For not

the expanse

Of living lakes in summer's noontide calm,

Reflects the bordering shade and sunbright heavens

With fairer semblance; not the sculptured gold

More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace,

Than he whose birth the sisterpowers of art Propitious viewed, and from his genial star

Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind,

Than his attempered bosom must preserve

The seal of nature. There alone, unchanged

Her form remains. The balmy walks of May

There breathe perennial sweets: the trembling chord

Resounds forever in the abstracted

ear,

Melodious; and the virgin's radiant eye,

Superior to disease, to grief, and time, Shines with unbating lustre. Thus at length

Endowed with all that nature can bestow,

The child of fancy oft in silence bends

O'er these mixed treasures of his pregnant breast With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves

To frame he knows not what excelling things,

And win he knows not what sublime reward

Of praise and wonder. By degrees the mind

Feels her young nerves dilate: the plastic powers

Labor for action: blind emotions heave

His bosom; and with loveliest frenzy caught,

From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye,

From heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes,

Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call,

Flit swift before him. From the

An object ascertained: while thus informed,

The various objects of his mimic skill,

The consonance of sounds, the featured rock,

The shadowy picture, and impassioned verse,

Beyond their proper powers attract the soul

By that expressive semblance, while in sight

Of nature's great original we scan The lively child of art; while line by line,

And feature after feature, we refer To that divine exemplar whence it stole

Those animating charms. Thus beauty's palm

Betwixt them wavering hangs: applauding love

Doubts where to choose; and mortal man aspires

To tempt creative praise.

[From Pleasures of the Imagination.] RICHES OF A MAN OF TASTE.

WHAT though not all

Of mortal offspring can attain the heights

Of envied life; though only few pos

sess

Patrician treasures or imperial state; Yet nature's care, to all her children just,

With richer treasures and an ampler state.

Endows, at large, whatever happy man Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp,

The rural honors his. Whate'er adorns

The princely dome, the columnn and the arch,

The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold,

Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, For him,

His tuneful breast enjoys. the Spring Distils her dews, and from the silken gem

Its lucid leaves unfolds: for him, the hand

Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch

With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn.

Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings;

And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, Not a

And loves unfelt attract him. breeze Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes

The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain

From all the tenants of the warbling shade

Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake

Fresh pleasure unreproved. Nor thence partakes Fresh pleasure only: for th' attentive mind.

By this harmonious action on her powers,

HAVE you not heard the poets tell How came the dainty Babie Bell

Into this world of ours? The gates of heaven were left ajar: With folded hands and dreamy eyes, Wandering out of Paradise, She saw this planet, like a star,

She touched a bridge of flowers,

those feet

So light they did not bend the bells Of the celestial asphodels!

They fell like dew upon the flowers, Then all the air grew strangely sweet! And thus came dainty Babie Bell Into this world of ours.

O Babie, dainty Babie Bell, Now fair she grew from day to day! What woman-nature filled her eyes, What poetry within them lay:

Those deep and tender twilight eyes,

So full of meaning, pure and bright

As if she yet stood in the light Of those oped gates of Paradise. And so we loved her more and more; Ah, never in our hearts before

Was love so lovely born.
We felt we had a link between
This real world and that unseen,

The land beyond the morn.
And for the love of those dear eyes,
For love of her whom God led forth,
(The mother's being ceased on earth
When Babie came from Paradise,)-
For love of Him who smote our lives,
And woke the chords of joy and
pain,

We said, Dear Christ! — Our hearts bent down

Like violets after rain.

And now the orchards, which were white

And red with blossoms when she came,

God's hand had taken away the seal,
That held the portals of her speech;
And oft she said a few strange words
Whose meaning lay beyond our
reach.

She never was a child to us,
We never held her being's key;
We could not teach her holy things:
She was Christ's self in purity.

It came upon us by degrees:
We saw its sha low ere it fell,
The knowledge that our God had sent
His messenger for Babie Bell.
We shuddered with unlanguaged
pain.

And all our hopes were changed to fears,

And all our thoughts ran into tears
Like sunshine into rain.
We cried aloud in our belief,
"O, smite us gently, gently, God'
Teach us to bend and kiss the 100
And perfect grow through grief."
Ah, how we loved her, God can te"
Her heart was folded deep in ours.
Our hearts are broken, Babie Bell: