To Mr. Bowring

ON HIS POETICAL TRANSLATIONS FROM VARIOUS LANGUAGES Bowring, the music of thy polished strains Through every tongue its equal power sustains. To the rude Russ it gives a softer touch, It melts to mellower sounds the homely Dutch, With bloodless conquest from each land it bears The precious spoil of long-recorded years; And, pleased its holy ardour to diffuse, With thy own spirit sanctifies the Muse. Thus, in some window's deep recesses laid, The soft Æolian harp its power displayed, From the shrill east wind and the stormy north It drew soft airs and gentle breathings forth; Subdued to harmony each passing sound, Waked with unusual notes the echoes round, With happy magic softened, as it past, The hollow whistling of the keenest blast; And each rude gust that swept the changing sky Dissolved to strains of liquid harmony.