Think what the home would be if it were thine,
Even thine, though few thy wants!--Roof, window, door,
The very flowers are sacred to the Poor,
The roses to the porch which they entwine:
Yea, all, that now enchants thee, from the day
On which it should be touch'd, would melt, and melt away!
_SONNET_.
... "_gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name_."
Though narrow be that Old Man's cares, and near
The poor Old Man is greater than he seems:
For he hath waking empire, wide as dreams;
An ample sovereignty of eye and ear.
Rich are his walks with supernatural chear;
The region of his inner spirit teems
With vital sounds, and monitory gleams
Of high astonishment and pleasing fear.
He the seven birds hath seen that never part,
Seen the SEVEN WHISTLERS in their nightly rounds,
And counted them: and oftentimes will start--
For overhead are sweeping GABRIEL'S HOUNDS,
Doom'd, with their impious Lord, the flying Hart
To chase for ever, on aerial grounds.
_SONNET_.
A PROPHECY.
Feb. 1807.
High deeds, O Germans, are to come from you!
Thus in your Books the record shall be found,
"A Watchword was pronounced, a potent sound,
ARMINIUS!--all the people quaked like dew
Stirr'd by the breeze--they rose, a Nation, true,
True to itself--the mighty Germany,
She of the Danube and the Northern sea,
She rose,--and off at once the yoke she threw.
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