Genius.

(DEDICATED TO CHATEAUBRIAND.)     [Bk. IV. vi., July, 1822.]     Woe unto him! the child of this sad earth,         Who, in a troubled world, unjust and blind,     Bears Genius - treasure of celestial birth,         Within his solitary soul enshrined.     Woe unto him! for Envy's pangs impure,         Like the undying vultures', will be driven     Into his noble heart, that must endure     Pangs for each triumph; and, still unforgiven,     Suffer Prometheus' doom, who ravished fire from Heaven.     Still though his destiny on earth may be         Grief and injustice; who would not endure     With joyful calm, each proffered agony;         Could he the prize of Genius thus ensure?     What mortal feeling kindled in his soul         That clear celestial flame, so pure and high,     O'er which nor time nor death can have control,         Would in inglorious pleasures basely fly         From sufferings whose reward is Immortality?     No! though the clamors of the envious crowd         Pursue the son of Genius, he will rise     From the dull clod, borne by an effort proud         Beyond the reach of vulgar enmities.     'Tis thus the eagle, with his pinions spread,         Reposing o'er the tempest, from that height     Sees the clouds reel and roll above our head,     While he, rejoicing in his tranquil flight,     More upward soars sublime in heaven's eternal light.     MRS. TORRE HULME