Identifier: poeticalworksoff001hall (find matches)
Title: The poetical works of Fitz-Greene Halleck : Now first collected ; illustrated with steel engravings, from drawings by American artists
Year: 1850 (1850s)
Authors: Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 1790-1867
Subjects: Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 1790-1867
Publisher: New York : D. Appleton
Contributing Library: Brandeis University Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

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ht hills—her cool and starry eves, The glorious splendor of her sunset clouds,The rainbow beauty of her forest leaves, Come oer the eye, in solitude and crowds,Whereer his web of song her poet weaves; And his minds brightest vision but displays The autumn scenery of his boyhoods days. XI. And when you dream of woman, and her love; Her truth, her tenderness, her gentle power ;The maiden, listening in the moonlight grove, The mother smiling in her infants bower;Forms, features, worshipped while we breathe or move, Be by some spirit of your dreaming hourBorne, like Lorettos chapel, through the airTo the green land I sing, then wake, youll find them there. MUSIC TO A BOY OF FOUR YEARS OLD, ON HEARING HIM PLAY ONTHE HARP. Sweet boy ! before thy lips can learnIn speech thy wishes to make known, Are thoughts that breathe and words that burnHeard in thy musics tone. Were Genius tasked to prove the might, The magic of her hidden spell,She well might name thee with delight As her own miracle.
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MUSIC. 103 Who that hath heard, from summer trees,The sweet wild song of summer birds, When morning to the far-off breezeWhispers her bidding words ; Or listened to the bird of night,The minstrel of the starlight hours, Companion of the fireflys flight,Cool dews, and closed flowers ; But deemed that spirits of the air Had left their native homes in heaven, And that the music warbled thereTo earth a while was given ? For with that music came the thoughtThat lifes young purity was theirs, And love, all artless and untaught,Breathed in their woodland airs. 104 MUSIC. And when, sweet boy! thy baby fingersWake sounds of heavens own harmony, How welcome is the thought that lingersUpon thy lyre and thee! It calls up visions of past days,When life was infancy and song To us, and old remembered lays,Unheard, unheeded long; Revive in joy or grief within us, Like lost friends wakened from their sleep,With all their early power to win us Alike to smile or weep. And when we gaze upon that face,Blo

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