"A true poet is one of the most precious gifts that can be bestowed on a generation." He speaks for it and he speaks to it. Reflecting and interpreting his age and its thoughts, feelings, and purposes, he speaks for it; and with a love of truth, with a keener moral insight into the universal heart of man, and with the intuition of inspiration, he speaks to it, and through it to the world. It is thus "The poet to the whole wide world belongs,Even... more...

PREFACE. Giacomo Leopardi is a great name in Italy among philosophers and poets, but is quite unknown in this country, and Mr. Townsend has the honor of introducing him, in the most captivating way, to his countrymen. In Germany and France he has excited attention. Translations have been made of his works; essays have been written on his ideas. But in England his name is all but unheard of. Six or seven years ago Mr. Charles Edwards published a... more...

Wedlock, oh! Curs'd uncomfortable State,Cause of my Woes, and Object of my hate.How bless'd was I? Ah, once how happy me?When I from those uneasie Bonds were free;How calm my Joys? How peaceful was my Breast,Till with thy fatal Cares too soon opprest,The World seem'd Paradice, so bless'd the SoilWherein I liv'd, that Business was no Toil;Life was a Comfort, which produc'd each dayNew Joys, that still preserv'd me from decay,Thus Heav'n first... more...

CHAPTER FIRST. ABOUT A YOUNG ENGLISH MUSICIAN, AND HOW HE CAME TO SPEND THE WINTER AT MOUNT CARMEL. great many turtle-doves lived about Mount Carmel, and there were orange-trees and cypresses there, and among these the doves lived all the winter. They had broods early in the year, and towards the end of March, or the beginning of April, they set off like great gentlefolks, to spend "the season" near London. All last winter a young English... more...

The Butterfly’s Ball and the Grasshopper’s Feasts Excited the spleen of the Birds and the Beasts: For their mirth and good cheer—of the Bee was the theme, And the Gnat blew his horn, as he danc’d in the beam. ’Twas humm’d by the Beetle, ’twas buzz’d by the Fly, And sung by the myriads that sport through the sky. The Quadrupeds listen’d with sullen displeasure, But the tenants of air... more...

The Butterfly’s Ball and the Grasshopper’s Feasts Excited the spleen of the Birds and the Beasts: For their mirth and good cheer—of the Bee was the theme, And the Gnat blew his horn, as he danced in the beam; ’Twas humm’d by the Beetle, ’twas buzz’d by the Fly, And sung by the myriads that sport through the sky. The Quadrupeds listen’d with sullen displeasure, But the tenants of Air were... more...

YE votaries of Fashion, who have it to boast, That your names to posterity will not be lost; That the last Morning Chronicle due honor paid To the still-blooming Dowager’s gay Masquerade; That the Minister’s Dinner has blaz’d in the Times, That the Countess’s Gala has jingled in rhymes; Oh! tell me, who would not endeavour to please, And exert ev’ry nerve, for rewards such as these? [p6] It was early in... more...

THICK-SPRINKLED BUNTING Thick-sprinkled bunting! flag of stars!Long yet your road, fateful flag—long yet your road, and lined with bloody death,For the prize I see at issue at last is the world,All its ships and shores I see interwoven with your threads greedy banner;Dream'd again the flags of kings, highest borne, to flaunt unrival'd?O hasten flag of man—O with sure and steady step, passing highest flags of kings,Walk supreme to the... more...

THE OLD HANGING FORK. I. O don't you remember those days so divine,Around which the heart-strings all tenderly twine,When with sapling pole and a painted corkWe fished up and down the old Hanging Fork—From the railroad bridge, with its single span,Clear down to the mill at Dawson's old dam—From early morn till the shades of night,And it made no difference if fish didn't bite? II. What pleasure it gives to think and to dreamOf... more...

THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. I love it, I love it; and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old arm-chair? I've cherished it long as a sainted prize; I've bedewed it with tears and embalmed it with sighs 'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart; Not a tie will break, not a link will start. Would ye learn the spell?—a mother sat there: And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair. In childhood's hour I lingered near The hallowed... more...