FANCY.-MUSIC.-ART.-MOODS. "Quotque aderant vates, rebar adesse Deos.". OVID. "By pain of heart, now checked, and now impelled, The intellectual power from words to things Went sounding on, — a dim and perilous way."-WORDSWORTH. INTELLECTUAL. THOUGHT. O MESSENGER, art thou the king, or I? Thou dalliest outside the palace gate Till on thine idle armor lie the late And heavy dews: the morn's bright, scornful eye Reminds thee; then, in subtle mockery, Thou smilest at the window where I wait, Who bade thee ride for life. In empty state My days go on, while false hours prophesy Thy quick return; at last, in sad despair, I cease to bid thee, leave thee free as air; When lo, thou stand'st before me glad and fleet, And lay'st undreamed-of treasures at my feet. Ah! messenger, thy royal blood to buy, I am too poor. Thou art the king, not I. |