IN verse alone I ran not wild
When I was hardly more than child,
Contented with the native lay
Of Pope or Prior, Swift or Gay,
Or Goldsmith, or that graver bard
Who led me to the lone church-yard.
Then listened I to Spencer’s strain,
Til Chaucer’s Canterbury train
Came trooping past, and carried me
In more congenial company.
Soon my soul was hurried o’er
This bright scene: the “solemn roar.”
Of organ, under Milton’s hand,
Struck me mute: he bade me stand
Where none other ambled near..
I obey’d, with love and fear.