Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Homer seem'd living brass, not destitute
Of genius, and of mind; scarce unpossess'd
Of voice ambrosial: so divine the skill,
That e'en the brass appear'd a god in form.
For scarcely can I think, that labouring hand
Of mortal artist, station'd at his seat,
Could shape that brass; but rather Pallas' self,
Deep-counsell'd, fashion'd it: for she his form
Well-knew: she the rich song of wisdom breath'd
Through Homer, dwelling in his secret soul,
Apollo's partner: then conspicuous stood
My father, god-like Homer! Much he seem'd
Some aged man; yet was that age most sweet,

Distilling richer grace with beauty mix'd,
Venerably sweet, that brighten'd all his form.
Behind his bending neck a time-worn lock
Flow'd from his hair, which from beside each ear
Meandring stray'd: beneath extended wide
His beard, which mellow curl'd, not to a point
Tapering, but sloping broad, reflecting charms
Upon his naked breast, and lovely face.
Bald was his forehead: yet that forehead bald
Shewed wisdom seated, counsellor of youth.
Around his jutting eyebrows wandered art
Considerate, nor in vain: for from his eyes
Fled was the light: yet did he not appear
Like a blind man: for on his sightless orbs
Sat a sweet grace, which viewing, one might think,
Art labour'd much, to make it seem to all,
That from the secret fountain of his heart
The bard sent up a stream of heavenly light.

His cheeks were furrow'd o'er with wrinkling age,
And somewhat hollowed, but upon them fat
The Grace's partner, Modesty innate.
The bee Pierian round his sacred mouth
Stray'd wanton, big with honey-dropping sweets:
In mutual embrace his hands were lock'd,
Which, as when living, rested on a staff.
His right ear list'ning seem'd, as though some muse,
Or Phœbus' lyre, were near; likening him to one
With mind intensely fix'd; while here and there
Genius, from inward light divergent, stray'd,
Various and quick, weaving some war-like theme,
Whose well-proportion'd harmonies might charm,
Like Syren, warbling-soft Pierian airs.