. Poems . Pointing to such, well might Cornelia the rich casket shone in bright array,* These are my Jewels! Well of such as Jesus spake, well might his language be, Suffer these little ones to come to me! Thoughtful by fits, he scans and he reveresThe brow engraven with the Thoughts of Years;Close by her side his silent homage givenAs to some pure Intelligence fi-om Heaven;His eyes cast downward with ingenuous conscious cheeks, conscious of praise or blame,At once lit up as with a holy flame !He thirsts for knowledge, speaks but to inquire;And soon with tears relinq
. Poems . Pointing to such, well might Cornelia the rich casket shone in bright array,* These are my Jewels! Well of such as Jesus spake, well might his language be, Suffer these little ones to come to me! Thoughtful by fits, he scans and he reveresThe brow engraven with the Thoughts of Years;Close by her side his silent homage givenAs to some pure Intelligence fi-om Heaven;His eyes cast downward with ingenuous conscious cheeks, conscious of praise or blame,At once lit up as with a holy flame !He thirsts for knowledge, speaks but to inquire;And soon with tears relinquished to the Sire,Soon in his hand to Wisdoms temple secret converse with the Mighty Dead;Trembles and thrills and weeps as they inspire,Burns as they burn, and with congenial fire! Like Her most gentle, most but to die—who in her chamber sateMusing with Plato, though the horn was blown,And every ear and every heart was cill in green array were chasing down the sun!. 73 Then is the Age of Admiration—ThenGods walk the earth, or beings more than men ;Who breathe the soul of Inspiration round,Whose very shadows consecrate the ground!Ah, then comes thronging many a wild desire,And high imagining and thought of fire !Then from within a voice exclaims Aspire !Phantoms, that upward point, before him pass,As in the Cave athwart the Wizards glass;They, that on Youth a grace, a lustre shed,Of every Age—the living and the dead!Thou, all-accomplished Surrey, thou art known;The flower of Knighthood, nipt as soon as blown!Melting all hearts but Geraldines alone! j And, with his beaver up, discovering thereOne who loved less to conquer than to spare,Lo, the Black Warrior, he, who, served the Captive in his tent! Young B in the groves of Academe, Or where Ilyssus winds his whispering stream ;Or where the wild bees swarm with ceaseless hum,Dreaming old dreams—a joy for years to come;Or on the Rock within the sacred Fane;—
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Keywords: ., bookauthorrogerssamue, bookcentury1800, bookidpoemssam00rogerich
