So the gentle poet's name To foreign parts is blown by fame; Seek him in his native town, He is hidden and unknown. LETTERS. Every day brings a ship, Every ship brings a word; Well for those who have no fear, Looking seaward well assured That the word the vessel brings Is the word they wish to hear. RUBIES. They brought me rubies from the mine, And held them to the sun; I said, they are drops of frozen wine From Eden's vats that run. I looked again,--I thought them hearts Of friends to friends unknown; Tides that should warm each neighbouring life Are locked in sparkling stone. But fire to thaw that ruddy snow, To break enchanted ice, And give love's scarlet tides to flow,-- When shall that sun arise? MERLIN'S SONG. Of Merlin wise I learned a song,-- Sing it low or sing it loud, It is mightier than the strong, And punishes the proud. I sing it to the surging crowd,-- Good men it will calm and cheer, Bad men it will chain and cage. In the heart of the music peals a strain Which only angels hear; Whether it waken joy or rage, Hushed myriads hark in vain, Yet they who hear it shed their age, And take their youth again. THE TEST. (Musa loquitur.) I hung my verses in the wind, Time and tide their faults may find. All were winnowed through and through, Five lines lasted sound and true; Five were smelted in a pot Than the South more fierce and hot; These the siroc could not melt, Fire their fiercer flaming felt, And the meaning was more white Than July's meridian light. Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, Nor time unmake what poets know. Have you eyes to find the five Which five hundred did survive? SOLUTION. I am the Muse who sung alway By Jove, at dawn of the first day. Star-crowned, sole-sitting, long I wrought To fire the stagnant earth with thought: On spawning slime my song prevails, Wolves shed their fangs, and dragons scales; Flushed in the sky the sweet May-morn, Earth smiled with flowers, and man was born. Then Asia yeaned her shepherd race, And Nile substructs her granite base,-- Tented Tartary, columned Nile,-- And, under vines, on rocky isle, Or on wind-blown sea-marge bleak, Forward stepped the perfect Greek: That wit and joy might find a tongue, And earth grow civil, HOMER Sung. Flown to Italy from Greece, I brooded long, and held my peace, For I am wont to sing uncalled, And in days of evil plight Unlock doors of new delight; And sometimes mankind I appalled With a bitter horoscope, With spasms of terror for balm of hope. Then by better thought I lead Bards to speak what nations need; So I folded me in fears, And DANTE searched the triple spheres, Moulding nature at his will, So shaped, so coloured, swift or still, And, sculptor-like, his large design Etched on Alp and Apennine.