from The Bijou Literary Annual, 1828
author: By Unknown
source date: 1828
edition published: 20170606
availability: Freely available via a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License

The Bijou;
or Annual of Literature and the Arts

compiled by William Fraser
William Pickering London
1828
pp. 195-197

The Infant Shakespeare

By Unknown

BY the living waterspring,
By the grass- green fairy ring,
Pillowed on the rathe primrose,
Lies a boy in rich repose.
Yet, though honey- dews of sleep
All his crimson beauty steep —
Though like languid lily- bands,
Fall on earth his infant hands;
And the veiling eyelids win
From us all the light within;
And, but for a passing glow,
Sculptured stone might seem his brow.
Yet that marble brow beneath,
Dreams are born too strong for death;
Thoughts, as with the stroke of lightning,
Soul- pervading, smiting, brightning.
Mighty visions are awake,
That shall yet the nations shake;
In that sleeping form enshrined,
Powers, and mysteries of mind;
That shall utter more than spell
Of a more than Oracle!

Now, on his enchanted sleep,
See the rich creations sweep;
Mark the lifting of his hand,
It has grasped a fancied wand;
Spirits, to its waving bowed,
Spring from earth, and fire and cloud.

Now he smiles! a kingly pomp
Comes with shout and silver tromp;
Or along the burnished waters
Float some fairy island's daughters
Or, as day's empurpled smile,
Fades on the cathedral pile;
Incense- winged the evening prayer,
Rises on the dewy air.

See, the sudden writhing brow!
See, the stealing tear below!
From his lip has gone the word,
Darkness from its depths is stirred;
And on fiery blasts are born,
Howling terrors, shapes forlorn.

But again the laughing lip
Quivers with the matchless quip;
Wit, with diamond point and play,
Bright for ever and for aye:
Boy, to witch the world — arise!
On that rose bank — SHAKSPEARE lies!