SONNET. TO SPENSER. SPENSER! a jealous honourer of thine, A forester deep in thy midmost trees, Did last eve ask my promise to refine Some English that might strive thine ear to please. But Elfin Poet 'tis impossible For an inhabitant of wintry earth To rise like Phoebus with a golden quill Fire-wing'd and make a morning in his mirth. It is impossible to escape from toil O' the sudden and receive thy spiriting: The flower must drink the nature of the soil Be with me in the summer days and I Lord Houghton, who first gave this sonnet in Volume I of the Life, Letters &c., 1848, appended in the Aldine edition of 1876 the following note :—" I am enabled by the kindness of Mr. W. A. Longmore, nephew of Mr. J. W. [sic, but quære H.] Reynolds, to give an exact transcript of this sonnet as written and given to his mother, by the poet, at his father's house in Little Britain. The poem is dated, in Mrs. Longmore's hand, Feb. 5th, 1818, but it seems to me impossible that it can have been other than an early production and of the especially Spenserian time." The transcript given varies in punctuation from previous versions; and I have followed it in the main. But there are two accidental variations, honour for honourer in line I, and but for put in line 12. Beyond escape for the 'scape of former editions, I find no other difference of any consequence. ODE TO APOLLO. I. In thy western halls of gold When thou sittest in thy state, Bards, that erst sublimely told Heroic deeds, and sang of fate, With fervour seize their adamantine lyres, Whose chords are solid rays, and twinkle radiant fires. 2. Here Homer with his nervous arms But, what creates the most intense surprise, 3. Then, through thy Temple wide, melodious swells Enraptur'd dwells,-not daring to respire, First given among the Literary Remains in the second volume of the Life, Letters &c. The date to which Lord Houghton assigns the poem is February 1815. 4. 'Tis awful silence then again; Expectant stand the spheres ; Nor move, till ends the lofty strain, Nor move till Milton's tuneful thunders cease, And leave once more the ravish'd heavens in peace. 5. Thou biddest Shakspeare wave his hand, And quickly forward spring The Passions—a terrific band- That with its tyrant temper best accords, words. 6. A silver trumpet Spenser blows, And, as its martial notes to silence flee, From a virgin chorus flows A hymn in praise of spotless Chastity. 'Tis still! Wild warblings from the Æolian lyre Enchantment softly breathe, and tremblingly expire. 7. Next thy Tasso's ardent numbers Float along the pleased air, Calling youth from idle slumbers, Rousing them from Pleasure's lair :- 8. But when Thou joinest with the Nine, 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 birth. HYMN TO APOLLO. I GOD of the golden bow, And of the golden lyre, And of the golden hair, Of the patient year, Where-where slept thine ire, When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath, The light of thy story, Or was I a worm-too low crawling, for death? 2. 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. This also was first given in the Literary Remains, where it stood next to the preceding, though undated. As Lord Houghton retains it between the Ode to Apollo and the stanzas To Hope (dated February 1815) in the chronological Aldine edition, the date February 1815 may be presumed to be that of the Hymn as well as that of the Ode. |