Part 2 — EARLY ENGLISH POETS.

Learned and illustrious of all Poets thou, Whose Titan intellect sublimely bore The weight of years unbent; thou, on whose brow Flourish'd the blossom of all human lore— How dost thou take us back, as 't were by vision, To the grave learning of the Sanhedrim; And we behold in visitings Elysian, Where waved the white wings of the Cherubim; But, through thy "Paradise Lost," and "Regained," We might, enchanted, wander evermore. Of all the genius-gifted thou hast reigned King of our hearts; and, till upon the shore Of the Eternal dies the voice of Time, Thy name shall mightiest stand—pure, brilliant, and sublime.

Not dearer to the scholar's eye than mine, (Albeit unlearned in ancient classic lore,) The daintie Poesie of days of yore— The choice old English rhyme—and over thine, Oh! "glorious John," delightedly I pore— Keen, vigorous, chaste, and full of harmony, Deep in the soil of our humanity It taketh root, until the goodly tree Of Poesy puts forth green branch and bough, With bud and blossom sweet. Through the rich gloom Of one embowered haunt I see thee now, Where 'neath thy hand the "Flower and Leaflet" bloom. That hand to dust hath mouldered long ago, Yet its creations with immortal life still glow.

Thou, too, art worthy of all praise, whose pen, "In thoughts that breathe, and words that burn," did shed, A noontide glory over Milton's head— He, "Prince of Poets"—thou, the prince of men— Blessings on thee, and on the honored dead. How dost thou charm for us the touching story Of the lost children in the gloomy wood; Haunting dim memory with the early glory, That in youth's golden years our hearts imbued. From the fine world of olden Poetry, Life-like and fresh, thou bringest forth again The gallant heroes of an earlier reign, And blend them in our minds with thoughts of thee, Whose name is ever shrined in old-world memory.