When the Muses nine
When the Virtues meet,
Find to their design
An Atlantic seat,
By green orchard boughs
Fended from the heat,
Where the statesman ploughs
Furrow for the wheat,—­
When the Church is social worth,
When the state-house is the hearth,
Then the perfect State is come,
The republican at home.

HEROISM.

Ruby wine is drunk by knaves,
Sugar spends to fatten slaves,
Rose and vine-leaf deck buffoons;
Thunder-clouds are Jove’s festoons,
Drooping oft in wreaths of dread,
Lightning-knotted round his head;
The hero is not fed on sweets,
Daily his own heart he eats;
Chambers of the great are jails,
And head-winds right for royal sails.

CHARACTER.

The sun set, but set not his hope: 
Stars rose; his faith was earlier up: 
Fixed on the enormous galaxy,
Deeper and older seemed his eye;
And matched his sufferance sublime
The taciturnity of time. 
He spoke, and words more soft than rain
Brought the Age of Gold again: 
His action won such reverence sweet
As hid all measure of the feat.

CULTURE.

Can rules or tutors educate
The semigod whom we await? 
He must be musical,
Tremulous, impressional,
Alive to gentle influence
Of landscape and of sky,
And tender to the spirit-touch
Of man’s or maiden’s eye: 
But, to his native centre fast,
Shall into Future fuse the Past,
And the world’s flowing fates in his own mould recast.

FRIENDSHIP.

A ruddy drop of manly blood
The surging sea outweighs,
The world uncertain comes and goes,
The lover rooted stays. 
I fancied he was fled,—­
And, after many a year,
Glowed unexhausted kindliness,
Like daily sunrise there. 
My careful heart was free again,
O friend, my bosom said,
Through thee alone the sky is arched,
Through thee the rose is red;
All things through thee take nobler form,
And look beyond the earth,
The mill-round of our fate appears
A sun-path in thy worth. 
Me too thy nobleness has taught
To master my despair;
The fountains of my hidden life
Are through thy friendship fair.

BEAUTY.

Was never form and never face
So sweet to SEYD as only grace
Which did not slumber like a stone,
But hovered gleaming and was gone. 
Beauty chased he everywhere,
In flame, in storm, in clouds of air. 
He smote the lake to feed his eye
With the beryl beam of the broken wave;
He flung in pebbles well to hear
The moment’s music which they gave. 
Oft pealed for him a lofty tone
From nodding pole and belting zone. 
He heard a voice none else could hear